Lisa Carnley is managing editor of the Lampasas Dispatch Record. When my children were growing up, I placed a high priority on humane treatment of animals. My sons knew they were accountable for how they treated our pets, and if they couldn’t treat them like brothers or sisters, they had to stay away from them.

That’s how I was raised; that’s how my kids were brought up. Animals always were an important part of my life growing up.

When my younger son, Zach, was a college student at Stephen F. Austin in Nacogdoches, he decided he “needed” a dog.

Even though he understood the heavy responsibility that went along with that commitment, I foresaw a mound of vet bills, the cost of getting the dog “fixed,” and a never-ending supply of dog food and accessories.

But the biggest worry was losing the share of a deposit I put on an apartment for him after a puppy had shredded carpeting, cut teeth on window sills and baseboards, and chewed strips out of the linoleum.

Well, my fears were not unfounded.

Zach, the president of a fraternity, was doing his community service in -- of all places -- an animal shelter. (That’s one place where suckers for animals should never go, because they don’t leave empty-handed.)

When Zach told me that was where he was headed, I knew the sound of a whining puppy couldn’t be too far behind.

It only took one visit for him to decide he had to have a furry friend.

I got a phone call that night (I had been expecting it) that went something like this: “Mom ..."

And my response: “You got a dog, didn’t you?”

I may not be psychic, but I do know how my kids think most of the time.

And he didn’t get just any dog. He took one that at five weeks old looked cute and cuddly, but it was easy to tell it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

Flash forward several months, and Tannah -- who is part rottweiler and part something else -- grew to weigh 65 pounds. The problem is she still thinks she is a puppy.

Tannah thinks nothing of jumping onto your lap when you are in the middle of watching television. In the time it takes you to recover and catch your breath, she is completely settled -- and immovable.

Her tongue has to be at least six inches long, and it covers you in slobber, which Tannah is more than glad to share.

She sheds like a Christmas tree that has been kept out too long, and if she wore shoes, they would be about a men’s size 11 or bigger. In other words, she is big. But she is a big baby, as well.

Now, at 6 years old, she loves my son like he is the only person on the planet, and she is very protective of him. She lives to hear him call her name in that funny little voice that he makes just for her. She can hear him from across the house, and like a bullet fired out of a gun, she hurtles up the stairs two at a time to find him.

So while I wasn’t thrilled Zach had acquired a dog -- it turned out to be as expensive as I knew it would -- I have been inspired to see such devotion between man and beast. I genuinely believe Tannah would lay down her life for my son.

And you can’t put a price tag on that.