In July 2016, I adopted my first baby, Bob. As soon as I laid eyes on him, I was in love. I’m not sure exactly what did it — maybe it was his white hair, or his sparkling brown eyes. Perhaps it was his sense of calm on the first night I brought him home, only to realize I’d forgotten to buy him a leash.
Four year later, I find myself completely smitten with my furry little one. Every night, my son nestles into my legs as we fall asleep, and each morning, I wake up with so much Oxytocin that I feel l could start lactating rainbows at any moment.
Since my dog came into my life, I feel fundamentally changed. I’m calmer, happier, more present — and just like most parents, I’m willing to do anything to make sure my dog has the best life possible.
Also like most parents, I pay all my dog’s hefty medical bills, cook all of his meals, make sure he’s happy, exercised, enjoys a full life of play dates with his doggie friends, has health insurance (which I do not).
When my dog is sick, I don’t think twice about staying home to comfort and take care of him, and when he’s asleep, I sit beside him on the bed gently stroking his cheek and softly singing Aerosmith’s “Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing.”
Between ages two and five in children, there are similarities between raising dogs and kids, but after that, everything changes. I take this to mean that it’s not so much that having a dog is so very unlike having a kid, but rather, that having a dog can be similar to having a child, up to a point. Perhaps, just as there are spectrums in terms of sexuality and gender, there are also spectrums of maternal love, and for some of us, dogs are included somewhere on that spectrum.
Until that day, all I can do is relish the little things, like the pitter pater of furry feet as I turn the key in my front door and proclaim my two most favorite words in the world: Mommy’s home.