In the past 16 months, my puppy has visited 15 states. She’s befriended a pot-bellied pig, some horses and several friendly dogs. She’s graduated from college. She’s worked at a high school and in a newsroom. She has even begun dating a California boy.

And, yesterday, she received the most important phone call of her life.

“We’re calling back the counties,” Deb said. “Sometime in the middle of January.”

The counties. My Trego. Trego is one of 10 puppies born at KSDS, Inc., on July 11, 2008. The pups in her litter were all named after Kansas counties.

Deb, the puppy raiser coordinator for KSDS, Inc., offered me the chance to raise another puppy. She told me she’d put our letters in the mail with the official callback date. I told her I’d start crying now.

Trego is a service dog in training. I’ve known since I got her last September that she’d be called back to Washington, Kansas, to finish her training. I knew I’d have to give her up. I just didn’t know it would be this soon.

“March,” I used to tell people. “Sometime in May.”

“It could be any time between March and May… We’re not sure… I won’t get much notice.”

But not ever, “Sometime in the middle of January.”

So today I am sad. I am heartbroken, actually, because our countdown has begun too early. I have about six weeks with the puppy I used to call a “wiggly-butt pee machine.” She still wiggles her butt and shuffles her feet when she walks, but now that puppy is a dog. She’s a grown up who can fly on an airplane and ride on a train. She’s confident in crowds and is conscious of the fragility of little children. She comes when I call her and (sometimes) pees on command. I am heartbroken that this grown up dog will leave California in six weeks, but I am so proud of what she’s about to do. Our friend Lisa calls her a prodigy. She says these puppies are ready early, and that’s something extra to be proud of them for. I’m trying to believe her.

Regardless of how I feel about it, in about six weeks, Trego will return to Washington a confident, happy, healthy dog. And in about six months I will walk with her as she graduates, just like she walked with me.

And that day will make this heartache worth it.

Editor’s note: for the next two weeks we’ll be running the best of our This Ordinary Day pieces. We’ve enjoyed working with so many great writers and wonderful people and felt it was high time to take a look back at some of what they’ve brought us. If you’d like to see more pieces, please take a trip over to our archives page — it’ll be well worth your time.

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Do not ask me how I will give her up. Because I don’t know.

Every time she sits, tilts her head to the side, and looks up at me, I fall just a little bit more in love with her — all 12 pounds of her wiggly, Trego Winnebago self. And I’m not sure how my life will work without the constant companionship of this little girl who loves me unconditionally — even when I won’t let her chew on my shoelaces or I’m visibly frustrated with her for peeing on my floor.

How did I get here? How did I become not only a dog owner, but also a dog lover? That’s something else I don’t know.

But now I spend an inordinate amount of time hoping this happy ball of flesh won’t pee before we make it outside and I am — truly — overwhelmed with joy each time she sits patiently at the door, waiting to go out. She never even hops up and down or whines. She just waits. And then I let her out, giddy because my baby understands that the yard is her toilet, and, when she gets done with her “business,” I clap my hands, coo her name and thank her for urinating and defecating. Seriously? How did I become this girl? I don’t know.

So don’t ask me how, in 18 months, I will drive her then-grown-up self back to Washington, Kan., and then drive away. Don’t ask me how I will walk into a silent house after running errands or riding my bike. I’m not really ready to think about being able to eat curled up on the couch again without a dog face shoved between me and my plate. And don’t ask me how I’ll ride in the car with both hands on the steering wheel and an empty passenger seat. Because I don’t know.

So please don’t ask me how. But it’s OK if you ask me why.

Because last Saturday, on Trego’s first full day with me, we went to Amanda’s Dog Festival. And there, surrounded by canines of all breeds, shapes, sizes and obedience levels, I began to truly understand why I had signed on to be a puppy raiser.

See, Trego doesn’t have a dumb name just because. And she’s not allowed at my work just because. And I don’t get mad at people for giving her treats without asking just because. Trego is a puppy in training for Kansas Specialty Dog Services. I am her puppy raiser.

Someday, this pee machine — who only yesterday realized I wasn’t the only living creature in our front yard (damn squirrel!) — will be a service dog. And then, she’ll spend every waking moment (and most of the sleeping ones) with someone like Amanda. Or like Rachel. Or like Nancy’s best friend, Ryan. Trego will be like Bay. Or like Hamlet. Or like Kauffman.

She’ll have a job. And a family that not only wants her, but needs her too. And that need guarantees that she will be loved (as if her puppy dog eyes didn’t already have that covered!). And her partner will have the freedom I’ve had my entire life.

So that’s why I’ll take her back to KSDS, where she’ll enter Puppy College and prepare to be half of a working team.

And it’s easy to say why.

Just don’t ask me how.

I turn 24 today.

I’d like to stay 23.

About a year ago, I visited Natalie (of TOD fame) in Oceanside, Calif. (That’s where she calls Home these days). We went to the San Diego Zoo where we watched flamingos and talked about life. And then we went to Cornado Island, where we went to the beach and we talked about… well, life. Specifically I remember two conversations. Only one is relevant to my topic here: my birthday.

Twenty-three was amazing, at least for her, Natalie said. I was in for a treat. She was excited to be a part of what would happen to me at 23. I’d be graduating from college, starting a “new life.”

We perused the gift shops at the Hotel Del Coronado, and Natalie tried on a big, black, floppy beach hat. (She tried on a similar hat at a different store when I was in Oceanside a couple of months ago. It seems she hasn’t found the perfect big, black, floppy beach hat yet.) I eyed a book of poems about birds. We chatted about life some more.

A few weeks after I had visited Natalie, I received a birthday package in the mail. It turns out Natalie was the only gift-sending friend to whom I had neglected to tell a very important piece of information: I had canceled my 23rd birthday. I was excited to be 23, yes. But I was not ready or excited to celebrate a birthday.

My birthday experiences had not been wonderful in the past, so I was skipping all that. I’d be 22 one day, 23 the next. That was all. No fanfare, no pomp. No circumstance.

Then came Natalie’s present: the book of bird poems from the Hotel Del. With the book, Natalie included a card. She reiterated what she had said at the zoo and at the beach. She told me she believed in me. And that she knew I’d have a wonderful 23. She said she was glad we were friends.

With that tiny package — a manila envelope, folded over and taped for security — my avoidance of my birthday was impossible. I cried (in more than one go) and thought, and mediated and thought some more. My conclusions included (heh) the following:

1. I have wonderful friends.

I was grateful then (and am grateful now) that I had friends who respected my need to ignore my birthday in 2008. I was also glad to have Natalie — a friend who wasn’t informed of the birthday hiatus who felt a book of poems (really, a book with reminders of our friendship and our discussions at the zoo) and a reminder that 23 would be great was a necessity. (It turns out, she was right… about at least two things. First, that the birthday recognition was important. Secondly, that 23 would be my best year yet.)

2. I was a woman.

Twenty-three is a weird age. For me, it was strange to be in college but ready to be an adult. I had just taken on puppy raising — being the guardian of a future service dog. I was making decisions based on the needs of something other than myself. That was new for me, and it forced me to grow up.

Socially, I was an adult, too. I was ready to evaluate the relationships in my life and choose to pour time into those that were mutually beneficial and to end those that just weren’t working anymore. This was a painful process, one I sometimes find myself reevaluating even now, but one that I needed to complete to be fully myself.

3. Twenty-three need to be be “dude-free” so I could find myself, define myself and love myself.

This turned out to be an excellent — if flawed — plan. I spent my last few months of college free to flirt, explore relationships and dream about life outside of Kansas, because I chose not to be available. I was single, yes, but far from interested in changing that status. I learned how to turn down requests for my number (that sounds like I was being asked all the time… and, surprisingly, I was. For the first time in my life, men wanted to know how to get in touch with me… just as I had decided they didn’t have a chance.) I also learned how to flirt… how to let a conversation be a good time, and just a good time. There were no strings, no commitments and, absolutely, no second dates.

So here I am, one year after my birthday-free change of age and Natalie’s prophesy has come true: 23 has been my best year yet. I still have great friends; I still feel like an adult. I’m now a Californian… a two-hour time change or 24-hour drive from everything I grew up with. I am a mom — albeit to a puppy, not a person. And I am happy. So happy I’m not sure what to do with it sometimes.

As for the dude-free year… well… that’s another story.

She squished her little body (all 77 pounds of it) under the seat in front of me as I adjusted my seatback and tray table into the upright and locked position. We settled in and waited — OK, I fidgeted and waited; she fell asleep. We were on our first airplane flight together, headed from Sacramento, California, to Denver, Colorado.

I was nervous, but I’m pretty sure flying didn’t even register on Trego’s freak-out meter. She’d down-and-undered before. She knew what to do.

Her little face rested on my foot during take-off. She looked up at me just once, as if to ask me what I was so worried about. You, little puppy, I thought. I am worried about how you’ll handle being 30,000 feet in the air. And crashing. Yep. Definitely worried about crashing.

A few minutes after the fasten seatbelts signs turned off, a flight attendant named Katie took a seat next to us. She asked a few questions; I launched into my “She is a service dog in training…” speech. Soon I was focused more on helping Katie (and the children in the seats in front of us who had turned around to learn about the puppy on the plane) understand what puppy-raising is and why Trego was learning how to be a flying dog than I was on my fear and worries about where Trego would pee once we reached Denver.

An hour and a half after we left Sacramento, the fasten seatbelt signs came back on and my stomach began to churn again. Surprise! Trego was fine.

I gripped the armrest; she slept. As the plane touched down, Trego opened one eye. That was the climax of the flight for her.

We waited for the rest of the plane to deboard, then made our way toward the doors. Trego showed off a little for the flight attendants, heeling perfectly down the skinny skinny aisle of the plane. As we stepped into the airport, she whined a little, asking for a patch of grass, then licked my hand: See, Mom, no big deal, No big deal.

This Ordinary Day writer/editor Becka graduated from college, packed up her entire life and hit the road. She’s not sure where she’ll settle, but after 10 days of driving, she’s parking her trusty convertible in Sacramento for a while.

My friend Erin, my dog Trego and I headed west on June 18.

Trego County, Kansas

Arches National Park, Moab, Utah

Canyonlands National Park, Moab, Utah

Bridal Veil Falls, Salt Lake City, Utah

Redwood State Park, Humboldt County, California

San Francisco Bay, San Francisco, California

And then there were the stars.

God blessed America.

Music Playlist at MixPod.com

I need a day or two of selfish moping before my last semester of college begins. I want to slam the door to my bedroom, throw myself onto a twin-sized bed, prop my slippered feet up on a pillow and spend the day with my iPod and fancy headphones. I’d play these songs, and have Wilco, The Weakerthans, Kenny Rogers and the rest of them sing me to sleep. A girl can dream, right?