My grandma bought me my Westie for Easter when I was 9. Chauncey lived to the ripe old age of 15 until his various issues became too much (he had hip dysplasia, as is common to Westies, as well as he was going blind and had some other old-age puppy issues).
Was very sad when he had to be put down, but it was getting bad. It was to the point where I was literally the only person he didn't growl at, and I didn't even live with him because I was at college. My parents had been his primary caretakers for four years and he barely tolerated them.
Then my mom's last Westie got cancer at 9, which was awful. My mom was really broken up about that.
And they got another one last year. Bridee is a handful.
And an edit for pure Westie joy: this year's litter(s) from Bridee's mom and her sister: