I can’t imagine sharing a living space with a dog. I don’t plan on doing so in this lifetime or any other, especially since having pets goes against my lease anyway. But, I’ll bet it wouldn’t be a lot of fun.

Last spring, the girl I was trying to get a house with had a dog. Lily was one of the smallest, sweetest dogs I have ever come into contact with, but she made signing a lease nearly impossible. Other possible roommates were ruled out as well because they wanted to bring their dogs to school, and time, as well as the decreasing number of vacancies in Charleston, was not on my side.

When I was younger, I loved animals. My first dog’s name was Rusty. Rusty roamed my subdivision freely, and like others before him, he was dubbed the beloved “neighborhood dog.”

One day, Rusty didn’t come home. My dad broke the news to my 11-year-old self and my little brother that a car killed Rusty. We were heartbroken.

Years later, our wounds had healed, and we sprang for a new furry friend. He was all white with little patches of brown on his head and backbone. We called him Hershey.

We didn’t know what to do with Hershey, since the family unanimously decided the indoors were no place for a dog. They drool and shed all over and trigger some wicked allergies.

The only thing we knew was Hershey would not suffer the same fate as his yellow-lab mix predecessor.

Since our backyard was small and we had limited options, we tied him up, giving him about a 10-foot roaming radius. It began as a temporary solution. That was 10 years ago.

One might argue that my family is horribly inhumane and that Hershey is a poor mistreated pup. I won’t be surprised to hear from animal lovers all over campus, but I must agree to disagree about my dog’s living conditions.

Hershey is healthy, lean and muscular. He has a healthy appetite and has suffered no diseases, to my knowledge, since the day we got him. He’s lived almost nine and one-half years longer than Rusty.

He certainly hasn’t suffered from any lack of love or affection. Not a day goes by that my dad doesn’t spend at least an hour of quality time with him. If I were home, I’d make it a point to go see him more often than I do now.

The only time he’s ever been inside the house was once when he was a puppy. Since all he ever did was sleep when he was small -the polar opposite of the way he is now- we put him on a carpet square in the walkway to our front door. That’s the extent to which he’s tasted the life of an indoor pet.

He hasn’t had it any worse than any of our other pets. The only ones that have made it inside my house have been those that lived in tanks or small cages.

Besides, what do people suggest we do with Hershey? I’m sure he’d have a better life at the pound. Or better yet, we could have just had him put to sleep once we realized maybe a dog wasn’t the pet for us.

Although he smells a little funky and gets overly hyper at times, and although I’m not the biggest fan of his kind, he’s still my dog. He has a special place in my heart, as he has since the day we brought him home.

What is good for some people can’t always be good for others, and the real truth is, Hershey doesn’t know any better. Maybe what he doesn’t know really can’t hurt him after all.