1. He's my first.
You usually remember your first kiss/car/boyfriend/girlfriend/paycheck with some fondness. As a kid, I was nuts about dogs and my parents dog-blocked me at every turn, producing sibling after sibling until we were 10.
"Dogs are cheaper than kids," I'd yell. "Turn off the sibling faucet!"
They didn't listen, although they did give me a series of guinea pigs. (Ask me about my guinea pig graveyard sometime ... those poor little guys never lasted long.)
Moxie (also known as Mr. Socks, Pooch and The Moxter), now four years old, is my first dog. He won't be my last, but he'll always win the pissing-to-mark-territory contest for my heart.