Her life began in a hut.
Her first memory was not of a mother's touch or the gentle purring she would soon know to be her mother's; instead, her first memory was of the gentle warmth she felt as she heard the rain hit the roof in a steady pitter-patter that went on endlessly. Her mother licked her neck, and she mewed affectionately, nuzzling her back.
This was her first memory; of warmth in the pouring rain.
At this point, she did not have a name; but she had a purpose she was happy to fulfill for her human masters. All she had to do was tell them when other humans came along, calling loudly for them. She saw many people in her time, some who tried to hide and some who made it very obvious that they were there, but either way, she loved her mountain home where she could work alongside her sisters and brothers as what her master called a 'guard dog'.
However, though her early life had been filled with unmatched joy, she soon found that fate had a habit of picking her for the hard jobs.
The first thing fate threw at her was the death of her very own mother. The Tibetan Spaniel had been young when she had delivered her; that did not stop her from reaching an old age. One day, she sniffed the air with a little nervous twitch and tried to warn her siblings of what she smelled. She'd only caught whiff of it a few times before on distant winds, but this smell was strong, and it was nearby. With warning, her siblings began to raise the alarm to wake their master and get him out there.
Oh, if only she could predict death. It would have been easy to catch her mother and speak to her in whimpering, pitying tones, at least a little, before her mother lay dead before her, body stiff as stone and eyes faded as a poor human's fabric. She heard clearly the upset sounds her master made as he lifted her motionless mother off the ground, away and to a small hole that was made quickly for her. He placed her in there, held his hands together, and then buried her under the dirt, a stone placed there later the only recognition that she had ever been there.
Her brothers and sisters were confused and unsure, but memory of their mother soon left their minds as they stayed ever devoted to their duties. She, however, remembered a time of rain, a pitter-patter on the roof and the warmth of fur against hers as a tongue trailed over her spine. Every day she made an effort to stand before the grave. She could not 'pray', but she could remember.
Perhaps that was the way she first knew.
I am different.