Over the past decade of my life just about everything has changed. Friends and relationships have come and gone, I’ve gotten married twice, divorced once, become a mother and moved more times than I’d like to try and count. Lines have etched their permanent mark on my face. I’ve grown older.

But through those 10 years there has been one absolute constant in my life. An unyielding force of love, loyalty, forgiveness and unyielding dedication.

His name is Oscar.

Oscar is a chocolate lab I picked up a lifetime ago in the form of a gangly, deathly-ill and completely awkward-looking puppy.

I had been searching with my then-boyfriend/future-ex-husband for a dog we both could agree to take home. We’d searched local shelters for decent mutt who we both thought would be safe to eventually have around children. The search was a long, depressing and fruitless one filled with cage after cage of mixed breeds known for violent attacks on people.

We still had yet to even agree about which breed we both wanted. In the name of research we decided to check out a local pet store to compare purebreds in the hope of finding a breed we liked then we could search for a local breeder.

People like me are why puppy mills stay in business.

There were many different kinds of dogs for sale in the store, and we played with most of them. Living in a tiny apartment in Portland the one thing we did agree on was we wanted a medium-sized dog, not a little yip-yip terrier and certainly nothing too large.

Looking back, I knew I wanted Oscar the second I laid eyes on him. It was undoubtedly love at first sight. With giant ears, paws and snout, great big watery eyes and a body that seemed too small for his legs and his skin wrinkling everywhere he looked pathetic. I played with him a minute then put him down to walk away, knowing how socially faux-pas buying a dog at a pet store is. After walking clear across the room I stopped to talk to my ex, only to feel a big ball of skin and mush plop down on my feet, then roll off, onto his face.

The rest, as they say, is history.

Oscar and I became the best of buds overnight. Over the next week I learned that he was about as sick as puppies come. My vet went as far to ask me after his initial check-up if I would consider swapping him for a healthier pick of the litter. All that did was made me want to save his life that much more.

Over the next few months, as he gained strength and got healthier he never really out-grew following me everywhere I went. He acted as though he knew I saved him, and he became the sweetest companion I’d ever had. So much for not getting a big dog though. He exploded into a 120-pound, drooling, stinky giant.

Ten years is a lifetime when you’re going from young and single to married with children. He was there waiting when I brought Kaya home from the hospital. Without ever having to say a word to him he instinctively knew to tread lightly around the little one and to watch out for her. Although he would let her ride him like a toy horse and tolerated her exploring his eyelids, he would make anyone know without question she wasn’t to be messed with.

Now, more than eight years later, every night at 8 on the dot he walks into Kaya’s room for bedtime and will lay by her bed until her breathing rhythm tells him she’s asleep.

A few years ago I found a lump on the top of his head that turned out to be cancer. Until then I had no idea something could hurt so much as the thought of losing my buddy. After such a pure, unadulterated friendship for so many years I was turned into a blubbering mess. I was told his chances weren’t great, but I did everything I could to save my friend once again.

Thankfully I’ve been blessed with more years with him. They removed his tumor and he’s been here since when I get home every night with a big wag of his tail. He’s still my big, stinky, faithful friend and ally, and we’ve been through hell and back, he and I.

This past year I was told I should watch the movie “Marley and Me.” The movie chronicles a man’s relationship with his yellow lab from the time the dog was a puppy until he had to put him to sleep. It literally took me four tries to make it through to the end, and I bawled like a baby every time. I’m just not ready to think about life without my Oscar quite yet.

But the years are marching on, and I’m starting to notice signs of age in him. He’s slowing down, going a little gray and dives in the ocean waves only a few times now, compared to his youth when he’d swim for hours. Though I’m not ready to say good-bye, I know the past couple years have been a great blessing to still have him around. There will never be another big stinkball like him, and I’ve been lucky to have him by my side.

— Elizabeth Reilly can be reached at elizabethreilly1@yahoo.com.