Penny.

When I was seven, my family got a new puppy. We got precious little Shetland Sheepdog (also known as a Sheltie) and named her Penny Starlight Bennett. "Penny" because she was the color of a shiny new penny, "Starlight" because she had a white star on her forehead, and "Bennett" because she was the newest member of our family.

That dog was something else. Since she was a sheepdog, she had a compulsive urge to herd things. Trees, people, cars... Danger was not in her vocabulary. It always frightened us when she would get out of our yard because she went straight for the cars. But she was so full of life! When she was inside the house and could not actively chase cars or trees, she would sneak into the living room (which was highly off limits for her) and watch the cars go by. We only half-heartedly scolded her for being there. She was meticulously trained not to go in any area of the house which was carpeted, a rule which she generally maintained unless there was a thunder storm or someone was vacuuming. Her barking drove us crazy and she shed more fur than you would believe, but we loved that dog within an inch of her life.

Penny was a part of all of our memories. She was there on Christmas and always received her fair share of presents (her favorite gift was the contraband ham-bone that my grandmother always brought). My grandfather affectionately referred to her as "Penelope". She joined us on every Thanksgiving day for our annual family hike...

For spring break in my sophomore year of high school my family went to Alaska. A few days into our trip we were much distressed when we received a call that Penny had had a stroke which had paralyzed her. The vet recommended putting her to sleep, but we said to wait for us to get home so that we could tell her goodbye. The next day, however, we got another call. Penny had died on her own... We were devastated. This was the day that we went snowmobiling, and all I can remember is the pain of having my tears freezing on my face as we sped through the stunning Alaskan landscape.

Though we eternally complained about the shrillness of her bark, we loved Penny more than any of us could say. She really was a member of the family. She was the member of the family that never argued back. She was always there when you needed a shoulder to cry on. She always ready to celebrate with you. She loved us all unconditionally.

The Key.

Gestures of love appear in all forms, shapes, and sizes... And they appear everywhere in every culture.

Though I steer clear of watching even the smallest amount of TV, the last couple of years I have nursed an addiction to The Office. In the season two episode entitled "Valentines Day", there is a classic example of a great gesture of love. Dwight finds himself in a conundrum and asks Pam for advice on what to give his girlfriend for Valentines Day. Pam has been struggling all day because her fiancee has sent her nothing while Phyllis has received a plethora of bouquets, chocolates, and teddy bears... When Dwight asks for advice, the following interchange ensues:

Pam: Well, sometimes the gift is really about the gesture, you know, like what it means instead of what it is.

Dwight: You mean, like a ham?

Pam: No. Not like a ham. It's about doing something so that the person knows that you really care about her. That you remember her.

Dwight: Okay, I get it. That's great. Okay, shut up.

Dwight proceeds to get Angela a copy of the key to his apartment as a gesture of affection. Though the key is the tiniest of gifts, the implications of the key are monumental.

It's the thought that counts.