April 24th, 2025. My dog Jackson turns sixteen years old. Even as I’m writing this, that number amazes me. Sixteen. A lifetime and the blink of an eye. He’s been around for every second of my life—longer than my little sister, longer than I’ve had to worry about spelling bees, college crashouts, or any real understanding of the world. I was about to begin kindergarten when we brought him home. Now, I’m in college. And he’s still here.
Jackson is a 12-pound Shih Tzu, a breed whose name, in Chinese, means “lion dog.” Despite his relatively small size, the name really does fit—he has always been a brave soul with a large personality. We named him Jackson in tribute to Michael Jackson, who had just passed away about a week before when we got him in the summer of 2009. At age four, I still hadn’t caught on to this idea of paying homage, but somehow, the name felt right.
A few days after bringing him home, I slipped and fell on the floor Jackson, being a mere curious little pup, came running over—not to check on what had happened to me, but to dive into my curly hair. He tugged at it with playful intensity, treating it like his own personal chew toy. That moment, full of chaos and laughter, was the first time I realized just how spirited and silly he could be.
One of my earliest memories is chasing him around the backyard, typically after whoever had opened the kitchen door or side gate had done so heedlessly. He’d take off like a rocket fueled with the thrill of freedom. He earned the nickname “Sunny Bunny” for the way he’d hop like a bunny to fetch tennis balls. He’d sit and watch Alvin and the Chipmunks with seeming genuine joy, eyes glued to the TV. He once got stung trying to fight a praying mantis, and once he came home proudly skunk-sprayed, oblivious to the devastation he left behind.
He’d poke his nose into the car window every time we passed Carl’s Jr., and chase his twin sister Pumpkin, who stayed in the neighboring house, for hours at a stretch. I still remember how I’d stare at his initial litter of puppies—little and wide-eyed, just like when he was really small. And I’ll always remember how he chased the birds in the back yard, believing that he was some fierce predator. He truly believed he was tougher than his size let on.
Jackson has been my quietest but most constant friend throughout the years. He rode with me through the transitions that shape a person: the first day of school, the woes of adolescence, the angst of college life. He accompanied me on sick days and sad days, always knowing when to curl up next to me. When I came back home after weeks of being gone, he never greeted me with anything other than pure joy.
Now, his steps are slower. His face is graying. He sleeps more than he plays. But he’s still Jackson—still the dog who’s been with me through it all. Still, the dog who, in his way, helped raise me.
Sixteen years is a gift, one that not every pet owner receives. I’m eternally grateful for each and every second we’ve shared. From crayons to college, Jackson’s been there for it all—and I wouldn’t be the same person if he hadn’t.
Happy sweet 16, Jackson. Thanks for your quiet love, your strong loyalty, and your consistent presence. Thanks for growing up alongside me.
Cherish your pets and value every second you have with them <3