“We aren’t getting a dog!” March 23, 2020

“This is our new dog, Sgt Meatball.”  August 29, 2020

First let me say, I am a dog person. I love dogs. I just didn’t want to own one. To me, there were so many reasons not to take on dog ownership, especially during a pandemic. These past nine months have been (and still are) really hard. Our lives went from being normal to resembling a low-budget indie film about the apocalypse that only had the ability to shoot at one location and the runtime was half a year.

Plus, why would I add more stress to a time when we are all already carrying a tremendous amount of anxiety and depression? Which probably accounts for why I cried at the end of Hubie Halloween “Goddammit Mayor Hubie, you finally got the respect you deserved.” So, in this state, the last thing I wanted to do was be down on my hands and knees trying to scrub an “accident” out of a rug while a dog barked at me.

I know, I’m distilling the entire dog owning experience to cleaning up one rogue accident. Which is akin to not wanting to drive your car because there is a chance you might hear Mr Justin Bieber’s “Baby”. I get it. It’s a minor inconvenience, but I just didn’t want to take it on. I didn’t want to challenge myself. I didn’t want to bring anyone else into my life that I needed to care for, when I felt like my own self-care was taking such a backseat, I wasn’t even sure it was still in the car.

Or maybe I’m just a contrarian who saw everyone adopting pets during the pandemic and didn’t want to follow the pack. This is also the same instinct that made me wait to watch The Sopranos until two years ago and guess what, people were right. It’s very good.

Or maybe there is another reason...

If I’m really going to psychoanalyse myself – and why not, I’ve got the time – I think I was scared. I’ve had dogs throughout my life, but my last dog, which I got when I was out of college, definitely messed me up good. First of all, he was given to me as a gift. (Note: Never give anyone a dog as a gift. Save that shit for a Kia commercial.) My ex gave it to me, she probably was subconsciously aware that our relationship was falling apart, and this was her last-ditch attempt to save it.

(Note: while we are on this topic... Never “make a baby” to save your relationship, either. Save that shit for a premise of CBS multi-cam series. Actually, I’m going to use that. Note to self: call Mr Chuck Lorre asap.)

Long story short, this large adopted puppy that broke me had the energy of the Tasmanian Devil and the intimidation and strength of a pissed off Mr John Cena. We tried everything. We trained, we took classes, long walks, dog parks, bring your dog to work day. No matter what we did, it didn’t stick.

Every day, we’d come home to find some sort of apartment nightmare from a lopsided couch (he ate one leg off of it) to a diarrhoea trail that seemed like it was treasure map drawn by the drunkest pirate and when you got to the end, guess what? There was no treasure, just more diarrhoea.

It’s not fair to blame the dog for all of this. We just failed as dog parents. Plus, we were in our early twenties and just weren’t ready for this commitment. We broke up. Shocking – I know – that adding more responsibility, obligations and jockeying for who knows best as a parent of a dog actually can hurt an already tenuous relationship, but it did. She took the dog and I was relieved, which I felt immediately guilty about. But I got lucky. I was freed from a responsibility that I clearly wasn’t cut out for, and I vowed that would be it for me and dog ownership.

Cut to 15 years later, I’m married, happily. I have two kids, who are the best, and our life, even in this hellscape, has been pretty wonderful. To me, it was all working. But to them something was missing. They wanted a dog. But it was too soon. No. No. No. I promised myself. I can’t handle this type of commitment and responsibility.

Keep in mind I’m the father of two kids (under six), I do more before 8.00am than I do on my most productive days. So here I am, I’m the Ms Susan Collins of my own house going against the majority, vetoing the one thing our family desperately wants, a dog.

So, after a lot of bartering (“no puppies”), and because each member of my family is just too damn cute, I caved. We decided that when my youngest turned four, we’d get a dog. Now, his birthday was months away, I just bought myself some major time. I found a loophole that made everyone happy. We stopped talking about the dog. I was a mastermind. I found the perfect way to keep everyone happy and keep me dog free. But then on the eve of my son’s birthday, out of nowhere, he said the words I was dreading, “Remember, tomorrow we get a dog.”

It was a gut punch. “Tomorrow? No,” I stammered. I redirected. “Tomorrow we start the search for a dog. We probably won’t find one for a while. I hear all the dog adoption places are cleared out.”

“Nope, there are a lot of great options, what do you think of this one?” my wife said as she flashed her phone, open to a dog rescue Instagram page right under my nose. Little did I know my wife was working behind my back the entire time, essentially running a dog Tinder through the local pet rescues in our areas.

I said “No” to that first dog. But the floodgates were open. My wife started sending me texts, just with pictures of dogs and question marks. She’d snuggle up to me and then flash me a pic of the latest cutie. But I was defiant. I found reasons to reject them all.

Then I saw him. A bulldog. The type of dog that I’ve always loved. The type of dog I’ve always wanted. I didn’t know what came over me, but when I saw this dog’s picture on our text chain, I just hit the thumbs up. My rational brain turned off and my instinctual brain kicked in.

Wait, did I just agree to get a dog? I quickly backtracked my approval. This was just an agreement to “meet the dog” and, truthfully, we weren’t going to get the first dog we met, I knew this. Chances are by the time we’d get to see him, he might already be adopted.

I prepared the kids: “I don’t want you guys to get discouraged, if this dog isn’t a perfect fit for our family. There will be more out there. We have a long journey ahead.”

We pulled into the parking lot. The line outside the rescue centre was long. I was positive this dog was going to get adopted before we made it halfway to the inside. A wave of relief passed over me. Once again, I outsmarted my family.

When the attendant approached to check us in, she asked us who we’re here to see and I said, “Todd.” Her eyes lit up, “Todd! We love Todd. You are the first people to see him. Come this way.” Shit. She parted the line and we walked right inside to meet him.

Todd, the bulldog. Todd wasn’t his name, it was just a temporary one because they found him with no tags, and he wasn’t chipped. As a matter of fact, the pound listed him as a cat. But there he was slobbering and weighing in at a healthy 99lb. He was cute, but I didn’t want to admit it.

Then when we brought him into the playroom, he ran right up to me and sat in my lap. Picture Koko the gorilla cradling Mr Rogers, but the other way around. He licked my face. I was in love, but I didn’t want to admit it. I was looking for a flaw, but dammit this dog was perfect, sweet, cuddly and great with the kids. My wife looked at me and I said, “Yes.”

As I said that word “yes”, those hesitations, the fear, the anxiety, everything I had carried with me for the last 15 years evaporated. I was excited. This was going to be the new member of our family and I couldn’t wait to make him feel at home. He rode back to the house with us on the backseat of our car sprawled on my lap and so happy to be out of that place (which was a beautiful place, but you get it).

In the short time we’ve been with him, we’ve gotten him DNA tested (he’s not a purebred, he’s part terrier and weirdly three different breeds of bulldogs). We got him on a diet (he lost over 10lb), he got a sweet set up, and he even came to the Grand Canyon with us.

Oddly, in a house with a lot of energy, he’s added a calming, almost grandparental energy to the entire place. He’s now become my moment of Zen, my late-night companion, my reminder to get up and move my body.

Our walks have made me enjoy my neighbourhood for the first time, meet people I’ve never talked to (albeit at a 6ft distance). And yeah, he’s had one or two accidents and you know what, it wasn’t a big deal. I bought some Nature’s Miracle and tried to get the stain off. I screwed it up and then just happily threw away the carpet because who cares about an accident when I see my kids loving their new slobbery brother or seeing my wife’s joy in having him sit at her feet while she works? He is truly the salve to this insane time.

I think my wife, who often is right, said it best, “I don’t know how I got through my whole life without this dog.” And I couldn’t agree more.