Summer was more than just my favorite time of year; it was the name bestowed upon me by the girl I loved more than anything in the world. Her name was Jaqueline, better known as Jelly, and she loved me, too.

When I made my entrance into the world with six other littermates, I realized from the beginning that the farm was the best place to grow up. We chased each other around, caught bugs, and rolled in the grass. It was always great fun, and I knew I was loved.

As time went on, visitors would arrive to play with us. I was a little sad when, one by one, my siblings got into the cars of these families and drove away. Eventually, I was the only one left, and I wondered if Meemaw and PopPop would keep me there or if a family would come and take me away, too. After days of no cars, I figured the farm would remain my home.

It was still a great place to live, but it was a little boring. The cows and chickens did not want to play, and although occasionally PopPop would throw a stick for me to chase after, he was busy tending to the farm. Meemaw didn’t allow sticks in the house, but she would pat me on the head, scratch behind my ears, and drop food on the ground while she was cooking. I knew my people loved me.

Then, one sunny day in June, Jelly arrived. Unlike the other eager children who had shown up with their families, Jelly’s demeanor was sad and sullen. She sat on the porch steps while her mother had loud words with Meemaw and PopPop. I sat next to her and leaned my head against her body. She stiffened at first, seemingly uninterested in the unrequited love I was offering.

I stayed put, figuring she would eventually crack. But the sadness in Jelly reached her soul. So, I sat at her feet and waited patiently for her to love me.

When Jelly’s mother came storming out of the house, she said some things that made them both cry. Then she got into her car and drove away. Not only did she not take me, she left Jelly behind as well. Fat, wet tears rolled down the girl’s face as her body heaved silently. Meemaw came outside to comfort her, but she wasn’t looking for solace; she needed to grieve. PopPop suggested giving her time and space to let her emotions out, escorting his wife back inside.

I crept up each step slowly, until I was level with Jelly’s lap. I put a paw on her leg and waited to be invited the rest of the way. But instead, Jelly yelled at me and shooed me away. I took a step back but stayed close. She would need me soon enough, and I was determined to stick by her side until she knew that.

It took a day or two for Jelly to get the idea that I wasn’t going to “shoo.” Still, though she didn’t play with me, she didn’t scream and shout anymore.

One day, as silent tears dripped off her cheeks, I leaned in to catch one on my tongue. Without any warning, Jelly threw her arms around me and buried her face in my fur. I could feel her sorrow and let her hold on tightly as she sobbed for quite a while. I stayed in her arms, hoping my fur would help soothe her.

Once her breathing returned to normal and her eyes stopped leaking, she let go of my neck. But she looked at me with her blotchy red face and said, “Thanks, Summer Dog.”

In my head, I called her Jelly Belly, but it came out, “Woof, woof!” It made her laugh, and I remember thinking that I’d never heard a more beautiful sound.

After that day, Jelly Belly and I were inseparable. She still had sad moments, but we chased each other playing tag and fetch, we rolled in the grass, and we splashed about in the nearby pond.

Little by little, I felt her heart heal, and not just with me. She offered to help Meemaw in the kitchen, and she let PopPop teach her farm chores. Jelly was no longer just surviving; she was thriving.

And so was I.

Forgotten were the moments of envy that had burrowed in my heart when my littermates left in fancy cars with families who loved them. I had my Jelly Belly, and I loved her with my entire being. I knew she loved me, too, because we spent every waking moment enjoying the fresh air and sunshine, and every night we’d look out the window at the stars and cuddle till we fell asleep. She let me sleep on her bed, even though Meemaw pretended not to like it.

Fall crept in with its vivid colors and cooler air, but Jelly’s mama didn’t return. Meemaw and PopPop had loud words on the telephone, and for a day or so, my sweet girl with her sun-streaked hair and serious eyes didn’t play with me.

Shortly after that, Jelly got into PopPop’s truck and waved goodbye. I felt like my entire world had ended when she left me that day, and PopPop came home without her. I let out a mournful sound so loud that Meemaw said, “Stop howling, Summer,” and a whole bunch of other people words I didn’t understand.

I went outside and lay on the porch to sulk for the rest of the day. I must have drifted off because I never heard PopPop’s truck until it was pulling back into the drive.

My ears perked up when I heard my girl’s voice call out, “Hey, Summer Dog! I’m back from school. Didja miss me?”

She came back!

I wagged my tail, letting Jelly Belly pet me all over. I knew then I was more than just her Summer Dog; I was loved.