Five years ago, I met her in a shopping center. I was walking through the shop when I saw her. Then she came back to my house with me. After that, we became friends. Once she had to go into hospital to have an operation  on her leg. I was worried about her and looked after her every day. I made breakfast for her. I was not good at cooking, but she never complained. I also helped her take showers. I have no idea why we can be good friends, because she is quite different from me. I like writing, reading and playing computer games. But she loves outdoor activities. She likes playing balls best. She also loves sleeping. She will run all around the house to lick  my face if someone shouts "Kiss for Dad." That is the only name she knows me by--Dad, though I call her by many names--Pickle, Missile and Little. But her real name is Pixar. This week she turns seven years old. Where did the writer met Pixar?
On the street. In a hospital. In a shopping center. In an animal center.