When you wish upon a star

For years I wanted a black Labrador because I missed Small, my childhood dog. For a short period of time when I was growing up, she gave me all the love she had. She didn't care who I was or what my family did. She only wanted me. I was in her home and in her pack. When I moved away from her, she remained faithful. You never forget that quality of love.
When I was a teenager and going through the nonsense that would make me the adult I've become, I missed Small's constant companionship.
When I delivered my first-born, I was barely older than a frightened adolescent; and, I missed Small's good nature.
When my family grew, I still craved Small's company.
Yet I knew I was growing up when I could finally say that I didn't need Small's company for me, I only wanted my boys to know her love.
Fast forward to a busy lifestyle, too many nights spent in the Children's Hospital emergency ward waiting for that all-important puff of asthma medicine, and a husband partial to cats, and you have the recipe of my canine-free reality.
I let my dream go. I accepted reality. I lived without a dog. I had no regrets. I had a family.
I'm not religious. I'm not New Age, and while I like Buddha, I don't believe I'm coming back as a butterfly.
I don't often believe in miracles. However, after more than two weeks of living with Root Beer, I can say, I believe in my small one.