When I was three years old, my parents brought home a service dog, Wathen, for my sister to help with her autism. I was immediately intrigued upon meeting him for the first time; the idea of an animal being capable of helping humans so intelligently was beyond fascinating. As I got older, this thought stuck with me. If animals could help people, then couldn't people help animals too? I quickly started joining my parents in their veterinary visits with Wathen and listened closely as the doctor explained every step of his process. Each visit however, I noticed something particularly interesting: the doctor had never charged us for any of the appointments. When I asked him about this, he simply said, "a service dog's owners shouldn't have to pay for helping a creature whose life is devoted to helping them first." His words stuck with me for years, and I decided that day that my goal to become a veterinarian would not be limited to making dogs and cats feel better. I will carry on our doctor's mission into my own career long after he retires, and devote my dream to continuing his act of kindness in making sure money should never have to be a concern for people with service animals. This moment as a child was not the only thing to motivate me in my pursuit of becoming a veterinarian, however. Several years ago, two of my cousins had been diagnosed with terminal illnesses, leaving my aunt and uncle away from home to stay with them at the hospital for months. Their dog, Simba, needed someone to take her into their home during the course of my cousins' treatment, and my parents stepped up to bring her into our home. However, amidst all of the sickness in our family, Simba had unfortunately fallen ill as well after a year of being in our care. When we took her to the first veterinarian, they had told us she had stomach cancer and that the best thing to do was put her down. Devastated, I begged my parents to get a second opinion, to find another veterinarian; I couldn't accept that there was nothing we could do. Reluctantly, my parents agreed and we drove to another vet. To our surprise, however, the doctor told us that she might not actually have had cancer, but actually a twisted stomach. Being rushed into a surgery, we waited with baited breath at home by our phone, hoping for good news. I sobbed in relief when I found out she had survived that next day. This moment only solidified what I already knew: I had to become a veterinarian. I needed to be the person who could save animals in the future. Simba lived for another ten years, a time that would have been cut short if not for the veterinarian we visited that day who insisted something else might be wrong. I want to be the reason that these animals get another chance at life, and the reason that no animal under my care is unable to get treatment for any reason, whether it be financially or due to a misdiagnosis. I'm going to put the entirety of my effort into veterinary school after I graduate so that I can be the person I know that I need to be for the animals and people in my life.