Lessons from a little golden wiener dog

A Long-Awaited Yes

Nearly 14 years ago, my parents finally agreed to let us get a dog.

I was only 10 years old when they gave in to our constant begging. We visited several shelters before one little golden puppy, shaped like a tiny hot dog, caught our eye. He was a blur of energy, racing up to us as we stood outside his kennel, wide-eyed and hopeful.

Several families were already interested in adopting him. It was easy to see why. He was the most beautiful, curious, and loving creature we had ever seen.

Yet somehow the stars aligned, and despite the odds, he became ours.

Learning Through the Unfamiliar

At the time, we were one of the first Punjabi families in our area to adopt a dog. Pets were often seen as an extra responsibility or financial burden, something unnecessary when life already came with enough challenges. Adopting him was a choice that felt unfamiliar, something that set us apart from those around us.

When we brought him home, that unfamiliarity became clear. None of us had grown up with dogs. For the first week, we felt unsure, maybe even a little afraid. We questioned whether we were ready, whether we knew what we were doing, whether we had made a mistake.

Over time, though, that little golden puppy taught us not to be afraid. His love was patient and steady. Slowly, he turned uncertainty into trust, fear into comfort, and transformed our house into a home filled with laughter, care, and growth.

The Lessons He Left Behind

This past Saturday, we lost our sweet boy.

The grief is heavy. Yet what remains is everything he gave us—his spirit, his loyalty, and the quiet lessons he taught us over the years. Most importantly, he showed us how to face the unknown without letting fear take over.

That lesson became even more important years later when I entered law school as a first-generation student. 

Walking into law school felt much like bringing him home for the first time. No one in my family had walked this path before. I didn’t have a roadmap or someone who could tell me exactly what to expect. 

Instead, I had to figure it out on my own, balancing the pressure of my own doubts with the weight of my family’s hopes.

First-generation students often live in two worlds. We carry the experiences and sacrifices of our families on our backs while trying to navigate spaces that were never built with us in mind. 

It is isolating at times—constantly feeling like you’re translating, adjusting, catching up. There is a quiet pressure that comes with knowing you are the first, and that your success feels like it carries more weight than just your own future.

I felt that pressure every time I stepped into a classroom filled with people whose parents were doctors, lawyers, professionals who could guide them through the process. I didn’t have that. 

What I did have, though, was the knowledge that unfamiliar things become familiar over time. My dog had shown me that firsthand. He taught me how to be patient with myself, how to lean into the discomfort of not knowing, and how to trust that I could figure things out along the way.

It is a lesson that grounded me when I questioned whether I belonged. When imposter syndrome crept in, when the workload felt endless, when the stakes felt impossibly high—I reminded myself that I had once been afraid of something as simple as bringing home a dog. Over time, I learned to love and care for him without hesitation. 

Law school, in many ways, was no different. The fear never completely disappears, but it no longer controls you.

Paving the Way Forward

His impact extended far beyond our family. 

After we adopted him, other families in our community began to feel more comfortable welcoming dogs into their homes. What once seemed unusual slowly became something others felt they could do too. That shift, small as it may seem, reminded me how much one decision, one act of bravery, can ripple outward.

Being a first-generation law student feels the same. 

It is not just about my own journey. It is about making the path clearer for others who will come after me. It is about showing my younger siblings and my community that we can belong in spaces where we have not traditionally been represented. 

Every time I take a step forward, I hope it becomes easier for the next person to take that step too.

The stars aligned for us once, all those years ago, when that little golden puppy became part of our family. I like to think they are still aligning now, in ways I may not fully see yet, guiding me forward.

He was the first of many.

So am I.