I came home to find Lily sitting under the table. My boyfriend had texted me a picture of a dog, a fluffy yellow puppy that, in another life, had probably starred in commercials with Christmas trees and Nordic-looking nuclear families. “If you came home with that I would not be mad,” I wrote back. Let us be very clear: I was kidding. We had talked about getting a dog in the past, but it was, I’d thought, less a plan than a running joke. Dogs! Hahahaha! But then I came home, and there was Lily.
I have always considered myself an ambitious person. I generally want things that are hard to get, and if I have not been terribly consistent in getting them, I maintain some sense of myself as “goal-oriented.” As a small child, I’d wanted a dog, but my parents had pointed out that having a dog would mean walking a dog, which in turn would mean less time for drawing, and did I really want that, if I thought about it? I did not want that. I was an aspiring graphic designer then — I was also four — and took my aspiring very seriously. (In retrospect, this was an inspired move on the part of my parents, and you should feel free to borrow it.)
As my parents saw it, animals were not a good use of one’s time. People who volunteered at shelters had questionable priorities. They made it clear that while the girls in my elementary school class who wanted to be veterinarians or horseback riders might be nice girls, they were not like me. I was ruthless. I did not have time for caring. I was going to be the Claire Underwood of graphic design. When I refused to ride a horse at summer camp, my parents were proud.
When Lily appeared under the table, I was working a dream media job that had become a lonely, stressful nightmare in less than six months. I woke up and wrote and drank coffee and then wrote and then wrote more, but it was not clear to me that I was writing what anyone wanted to read. Other than for the founder’s occasional missives regarding my lackluster photography (correct), we rarely spoke. I cried about advertisers. I cried about metrics. I cried about an interview subject who had not liked my assessment of his pizzeria. I tried to quit and failed. I cried again.
A dog is what you get when you’re successful, I thought, something I might get when I had a sitcom, or health insurance. At a certain point, I would have achieved so many achievements that there would be literally nothing left to do but get a schnauzer. I was not at that point.
Two weeks after Lily’s arrival, I quit the job for real, going out on a feature about babies in restaurants. I had nothing lined up. To quit a job — a theoretically okay job — and return to a life of networking emails (“I hope this finds you well!”) seemed stupid. Worse, it seemed millennial. I was now an occasional SAT tutor with a liberal arts degree and bangs wandering around Brooklyn with a border terrier.
The problem was that I liked Lily. She was skittish and enjoyed eating. I also was skittish and enjoyed eating. Still, when we decided not to keep her — technically, we’d only agreed to foster — I was relieved. I could go back to my real life. A month later, though, we got a call: could we take a schnoodle with eye trouble? A Jack Russell puppy? A compulsively masturbating corgi? Yes. The answer was always yes. We framed pictures of them around our apartment. We recounted their health problems to our friends in such excruciating detail they stopped calling, at which point we settled for recounting their health problems to each other.
A few months into my tenure as dog guardian, I had coffee with a high school mentor. “This is Lucia,” I told her, showing her a furry black lump on my phone. “That is HILARIOUS,” she said. “You?!” And I agreed that it was hilarious, an endearing contradiction. As long as the dog remained a punchline, I could be a person who buys dog sweaters without becoming a person who buys dog sweaters. “Can you believe I’m doing this?” I’d say, rolling my eyes, before throwing seven dollars at the bar and running home to my puppy.
“Glenn Greenwald has eleven dogs,” my boyfriend regularly points out. “And he seems to be doing pretty well.” This is not quite true: according to the latest counts, he now has twelve. The fact is, lots of people I respect and admire and want to be have dogs and also have careers. Andy Warhol regularly brought his dachshund to interviews. Enough Daily Show writers have dogs that they roam freely through the office. Jill Abramson has, for better or worse, written a memoir about her golden retriever. There’s no question that dog ownership does not preclude professional success. (Obviously. People manage to have children.)
It’s not that the time I spend walking our current geriatric terrier — our ninth — would otherwise be spent in important meetings that I am turning down because of the dog. This dog, like the last eight dogs, is probably not preventing me from greatness, even considering the severe separation anxiety. But every hour spent on training and walking and dog sweater–shopping makes me anxious (much like the terrier, actually): this is complacency, I think. I am complacent. Whatever ambition looks like, it is not sitting on the floor of your apartment for four days painting your dog’s Halloween costume. When you are rescheduling appointments so you can take the dog to get her anal glands expressed before the one groomer with good Yelp reviews closes, you begin to have doubts. Is this my life? (Yes.) (Also, you owe the anal gland expresser $15.)
Recently, I stumbled across an article about how dog ownership is actually great for your career. Dogs humble you, the article told me. Dogs put you on a schedule. Dogs force you to take walks. This is, for the record, dog propaganda. It is also true. I am on a schedule. I do take walks. If we’re being honest, I’m happier. I love dogs, it turns out. It is a surprise to me, too.
I thought I’d get a dog when I had won, and until I’d won, I would focus on winning. The dog would be a barking lifetime achievement award. I have not won any lifetime achievement awards. I do, however, have a basket devoted to dog socks. (They come in sets of four!)
Eventually, we’ll find a home for the geriatric terrier. We’ll get another.
brb, forwarding to my spouse
This was delightful. Scritches and dog sweaters all around!
I really wish this article had a slideshow of dogs in sweaters.
I mean, I liked it a lot anyway, I just prefer all essays to include as many animal pictures as possible.
“A dog is what you get when you’re successful, I thought, something I might get when I had a sitcom, or health insurance. At a certain point, I would have achieved so many achievements that there would be literally nothing left to do but get a schnauzer. I was not at that point.”
Yup. Pretty much.
We’ve been discussing and thinking and planning and debating for SO LONG about whether we are “ready” for a dog. Partner is in school and will be starting grad school next year. My work is demanding and I have to travel and work long hours and weekends occasionally. But there is this space in my heart that dogs go in, that my lovely, wonderful, affectionate cats just can’t fill. I often wonder if we should just go ahead and do it but then I get doubts. I don’t know.
This used to be the way people talked about having kids; I wonder if the ten-year-olds of today will someday dream of enough stability to maintain a goldfish.
Idk seems like that might not be a bad thing. Goldfish deserve good lives and to be properly cared for.
My friend and her long-term boyfriend decided they were settled enough to get a dog, and are getting one from a breeder friend. Then she found out she was pregnant. Now it’s going to be puppy and baby. I suppose if you’re a real settled adult like they are…
I’ve wanted a dog for most of my life. Once I got a house (yard) and enough savings for an Emergency Dog Fund, I took the leap. After dog #1 (Mogwai/Mogs/My Handsome Prince of Dogness), I got him a brother. We ended up having to rehome, but I got him housebroken, crate-trained, worked out the separation anxiety and possessiveness issues, and then found him his forever home. It was a tough call to make to rehome, but he’s now happier than ever, with his forever family. It was a learning experience, and I plan to do fostering in the future.
I wait for the day when I can once again be a dog owner with bated breath. Until then, I have a toddler and an upstairs apartment, which sometimes creates eerily similar scenarios to my dog-owning/dog-training/dog-showing days. The toddler, for the record, is still not crate-trained. But we have high hopes.
Even though my dog kept me up all night last night with his stressed out panting because it was windy outside (he is scared of the wind now in his old age for some reason), I would not get rid of him for anything.
Get him a Thundershirt – they really do work miracles for dogs who get stressed out.
I love that there exists a hierarchy of professions in which veterinarian ranks below graphic designer.
I always thought “You can’t get a dog til you get a house with a yard.”
Then I realized, Jesus Christ, I don’t want a house. I want to live in an apartment three blocks from my favorite bar and the good/cool/new restaurants. I want someone else to fix the dishwasher, and I want to use a pool I don’t have to clean. Home ownership gives me hives.
Finally I said fuck it and started to foster. My particular specialty is emergency/short term placements and pet sitting for long term fosters on vacation. A dog parachutes into my life for 2-10 days, then parachutes out. I provide snacks, walks, and a place on the couch to watch The Mindy Project. It’s pretty terrific. I do wish at times (mostly when it’s 6 am and raining) that I had a yard to let a dog out into to potty but generally, I’m content.
EXACTLY about the evils of home ownership. Who wants to be responsible for repairing plumbing or a septic tank? I hear that runs into thousands of dollars.
I lost my rescue dog Penny to cancer a short three years after adopting her and I have had a massive hole in my heart since. I’m slowly wearing down Mr.BHam (who is dog-neutral, bordering on dog-averse) but maybe if I send him this piece…
We are fostering our first dog and I think the hardest part will be when she find a home and we have to say goodbye. The organization we are fostering for is nationwide so she most likely will be very far away and we will never see her again. *sniff*
Two years ago, I moved to Chicago to pursue an acting career. I got a job walking dogs and pet sitting, just to pay the bills until my big break. Now there are 300 dog pictures on my phone, and I haven’t auditioned for anything in months. And honestly, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.
Honestly, if I could support myself walking dogs, I would absolutely do it. Damn you, student loans.
I really enjoyed this piece! A dog was my reward for finding a professional job, and although she is kind of neurotic (and worse lately; I think she is reacting poorly to my separating from my husband), she is the light of my life. I don't have a yard and I'm in a perpetual state of financial anxiety, but nothing makes me happier than my little scruff monster.
This piece has maybe my favorite title of anything I’ve read on this site.
So wonderful. I just tried to take in what I hoped would be the first senior cat in a long line of senior cats that needed homes for their final days. Unfortunately my current cats very strongly disagreed with the idea. Still, fostering has been a very special experience and I’m glad there are people who can do it more successfully than I could.
Give your pups a big hug for me.
So wonderful. I just tried to take in what I hoped would be the first senior cat in a long line of senior cats that needed homes for their final days. Unfortunately my current cats very strongly disagreed with the idea. Still, fostering has been a very special experience and I'm glad there are people who can do it more successfully than I could.
Give your pups a big hug for me.
I got laid off (from a job I hated) and lavished attention on my not-boyfriend’s dog for almost an entire year before I felt compelled to work again.
It’s not weird.
I literally can’t function without a dog, which must be odd, considering how far from “making it” I am. 😉
I got my dog for a bad reason: I was depressed and lonely and shouldn’t have been “just looking” at rescue sites. But I’ve never regretted it. She is a joy, a fuzzy white pit bull shaped bag of snuggles. There’s nothing like coming home, having a dog do an alleged potty dance, letting her out & having her stand on her hind legs to hug you until she’s ready to go back inside.
I would like to add some words as John Grogan says,”Such short little lives our pets have to spend with us, and they spend most of it waiting for us to come home each day.It is amazing how much love and laughter they bring into our lives and even how much closer we become with each other because of them. ”
-)Jeanine Ellis.