Wagging his tail, he jumps up next to me with his favorite toy, eager to play.  He rolls over as I pet him and then quickly jumps up to retrieve his toy, full of energy.  His white fur shines, freshly bathed, and flowing at his sides as he runs.  Everything’s perfect, except for one small flaw, a bald spot on his head.
       As I look at my dog, I think back to November.  From his bouncy personality, you’d never know how much such a small being went though just months before.  In November, a tumor was found on my dog’s head and he was diagnosed with cancer.  I guess it’s not that big a deal, right, because he’s just a dog.  Yet it sort of is.  I constantly debated this subject in my head, wondering what really is the purpose of pets, animals, etc., if their lives are seemingly less valuable than ours; if they’re just living, and that’s it. 
       When our dog came into our lives, I was eight and my brother was eleven.  All we wanted was a dog as a playmate.  My dad agreed to our request because no one could say no to our little puppy, his giant eyes filling most of his tiny face.  My mom went along with it too, though she really didn’t want a dog at all.  The truth is, none of us knew the purpose of a pet, or why we wanted one. We just did.  I named our dog Friday.  Thinking about it now, I have no idea why, but once I decided, that was our dog’s name from then on.  Maybe it’s because he radiates the same kind of hope that a Friday, most certainly the best day of the week, does.  Who knows, but I’m glad I did, because if I got a dog now I would probably name him something like Fred, or Martha, or Tom.  No, Friday would always be unique, definitely not a Tom.  So for the first year of Friday’s life, it was as if we were the family and he was simply our dog.  Then one day we reached this point when he became a part of our family.  Soon, he blended in seamlessly, as walking and feeding him became part of our family routine.  At night, he curled up on my bed, abandoning his crate.
       We sometimes become too comfortable in our routines, not realizing that in just moments they could change, not appreciating the simple peace in our habits.  When my dog was first diagnosed with cancer, it didn’t really sink in for me.  It was shocking, and one of those moments when you realize things are about to change; yet you can’t quite picture why.  I think it was in this moment that we really understood how important this dog was to us.  He wasn’t just our pet, but a true, important part of our lives.
       I remember the day when I realized things had changed.  It was the day Friday had surgery, and I sort of had this hope that once he came home, he would be exactly the same; everything would be the same.  When I saw him that day, his head was shaved, and a giant scar with stitches replaced his once fluffy fur.  The thing is, it was never his appearance that bothered me, but it was a harsh reminder of the pain he was suffering, and that we were all suffering.  The strange looks he received from people on the street filled me with a sort of resentment I had never felt before.  Yet through those rough months when Friday was undergoing radiation treatments, he continued to fill our household with the same hope and joy that he was named after.  Revisiting the questions I asked myself so many times, I finally settled on an answer.  Our dog was far from just living.  He was spreading a contagious energy through our home, radiating warmth that kept us together during those tough winter months.  His life had purpose, and our family would do anything to keep it that way.
       When Friday first came into our lives, none of us could imagine how much we would go through for a little white fluffy dog.  I often wonder if the hard times were worth it when our dog was just intended as a playmate, a source of joy and fun.  Yes, things didn’t go just how we imagined they would; yet in some ways, they went better.  Seeing our dog here with us today, healthy, is a feeling better than any I have every known before this experience.
       Our world is filled with hundreds, thousands, and millions of living things.  Each individual, whether man or animal, contributes something different to this earth, some on larger scales than others, but nonetheless each important.  As humans, we seek adventure; we look for excitement; yet we sometimes neglect the small things.  When we neglect the value of a living thing, no matter the size, we’re really neglecting the value of ourselves.  Take my dog, for example.  Some may say he has little value, no purpose.  Yet if his is nothing but life, than what are we?