Kodiak Michael Souto Dec. 13, 1993 - May 15, 2008

In February of 1994, when I was in 7th grade, my family and I drove out to a house in Mesa, AZ to pick out a new dog. My mom, dad, brother and I took a look at the adorable Husky puppies, and one in particular stood out. He had brown eyes, instead of blue, and a beautiful black and white face. When my mom held him like a baby, he didn't mind at all. We took him home in a box, but in his future puppy days he would crawl behind my mom's head and lay across her shoulders whenever she drove.

We named him Kodiak after the Kodiak bears of Alaska- a state that seems much better suited as home to Siberian Huskies than the desert of Arizona. But, Kodi was at home with us. He was a sweet puppy but very strong. We put a dog door in our back door, but he quickly broke through the plastic piece that was supposed to "close" the door. For those times when we wanted him to stay in the backyard, we tried piling bricks in front of the dog door, but he got through those at well. The only thing that worked was pulling the washing machine in front of the door to block him.

Sometimes, we took Kodi up north where he loved playing in the snow. We took him on road trips and camping trips; he was truly part of the family. One time, we had to leave him in the car when we went in to my uncle's house, and he was so upset at being left alone that he chewed up the dashboard. He was always happiest when he was with the "pack."

After more than 14 years together, we had to put Kodi to sleep. It was probably one of the most difficult experiences of my life. I was grateful that my mom was able to wait until I came back to Arizona so that I could say good-bye.

I love you, Kodi, and I'll miss you.