Dear Sunny,

I realize this may seem odd.

For starters, you're a dog. And dogs — at least the ones I know — can't read. Some can barely understand what humans are saying.

But I thought I'd give it a shot anyway.

See, I'm fairly new at this whole dog-ownership thing.

An ex-boyfriend bought me a dog once, a black-and-white Papillon my family named Joey. I took him to the vet for his shots, fed him, bought him squeaky toys. But I didn't raise him alone.

Moving out didn't help.

Renters know the plight: There aren't a lot of landlords who don't want pets running around their financial investments. So Joey stayed with my parents who, honestly, didn't seem to mind.

I would visit him as often as I could, playing fetch with his favorite furry bone and sneaking him some leftover steak from my dinner plate. He'd spin in circles, then curl up in my lap and lick every inch of exposed skin.

His love was unconditional and endless.

A few months ago I found a pet-friendly rental in Hawai'i Kai — with a landlord who loves animals so much she once drove an errant toad down to a nearby stream — and toyed with the idea of bringing Joey to live with me.

But at 14, he was too old for such a big move.

Besides, I wasn't sure if I could handle the commitment. With a dog, I couldn't just meet my girlfriends after work or go on spontaneous weekend getaways.

Then I met you.

You had been at the pet store for months. Your sister left for a new home. And you were alone.

Well, not entirely alone. You played with the chihuahuas in the cage next to yours. And the employees at the store adored you so much, they even named you Taz.

Don't get me wrong: I thought you were adorable, with your Pomeranian coloring and toy fox terrier shape. You looked like a reindeer.

But when I held you the first time, I wasn't sure you liked me. And I desperately wanted to feel that connection.

Then you licked my nose. And that's when I knew.

You slept soundly in my lap on the car ride home. And every day since then, you've made me smile, whether it's when you stick your entire head into your water bowl or wrestle your new friend, Chloe, at the dog park, mixed-martial-arts-style.

Joey died last week. You met him a couple of times. (He mostly tried to ignore you.) He lived a long, happy life, devoid of human responsibilities and drama. Stuff you never have to worry about, either.

I just wanted to say that I'll do my best to be a good owner. I'll watch "Dog Whisperer" and feed you organic treats. I'll walk you every day and take you to the dog park. And I'll make sure you live a long, happy life, like Joey.

But be patient. Remember, I'm only human.

Reach Catherine E. Toth at ctoth@honoluluadvertiser.com. Read her daily blog at blogs.honoluluadvertiser.com.