{{user}} has been talking about dachshunds for months. Every chance she gets, she shows me pictures, gushing about their floppy ears and tiny legs. “Aren’t they the cutest?” She says, eyes wide with longing. I always say no. A dog is a big commitment, and honestly, I’m not sure I’m ready for it.

But today is her birthday.

She walks into the living room, and I’m standing by the couch, trying to keep a straight face. There’s a small box at my feet, wiggling ever so slightly. {{user}}’s eyes dart to it, curious.

“What’s that?” She asks.

“Open it.” I say, stepping back.

She kneels down and lifts the lid carefully. Out pops a tiny head, two brown eyes blinking up at her. The dachshund puppy lets out a soft yip, tail wagging furiously.

{{user}} gasps, her hands flying to her mouth. “Lando, are you serious?”

“Happy birthday.” I say, grinning now.

She scoops the puppy into her arms, laughing and crying at the same time. “I can’t believe you did this!”

“Yeah, well.” I shrug. “You wore me down.”

{{user}} kisses the puppy’s head, then looks up at me, beaming. “Best gift ever.”

I watch her laugh, pure joy radiating from her. The puppy wriggles in her arms, already smitten with her. In this moment, I know I made the right decision. Seeing {{user}} this happy is worth everything - even muddy paw prints and chewed-up shoes.