I’ve never really considered myself a dog person. I liked them just fine, I guess, but I would have rather not been bothered. My husband and kids begged for a family dog for years, but I maintained a very firm “no” for a long time. In the end, though, I turned out to be wrong about the dog.
When I thought about having a family dog, I mostly thought about the negative experiences I’d had with other people’s dogs. When I visited my parents’ house, I was annoyed by their dogs who wouldn’t stay off my lap, shed everywhere, and made my kids nervous with their jumping. (Sorry, Mom and Dad!) I was also under no illusions about who would become responsible for caring for the dog–me. I knew I’d be home with the dog during the day, and my kids were young enough that “responsibility” was a skill they were still learning.
Eventually, my persistent kids and husband started to wear me down. We talked about getting a hypoallergenic dog who wouldn’t aggravate my kids’ sensitive skin and allergies. My husband also promised to take the dog for a walk every morning before work so that it could get some energy out before I was stuck in the house with it most of the day.
But my son, especially, began to change my mind. He insisted that he wanted to be a dog trainer or breeder when he grew up. He said, “That way I can always be surrounded by puppies!” When someone asked him how he imagined his future family, he said, “I’ll live in a house with 472 dogs.” Even more than that, it was when a medical professional suggested that a family dog might help with anxiety and emotional regulation that I really came around.
So, in Spring 2021, we brought home a Bernedoodle named Molly Weasley. (I made the deal that if we were getting a dog, I got to choose her name. I’m not a selfless woman, after all). Now, a few years later, I can’t imagine our lives without Molly. She is my buddy, and I am her person.
Don’t get me wrong: It hasn’t been perfect. Early on, we decided that “board and train” was an absolute necessity for my own sanity more than anything. She still drinks water too quickly and pukes it up. She barks at the poor mail carrier like every dog stereotype you’ve ever seen. She steals more than her fair share of pizza and pancakes from the kitchen counter. My wallet cries every time we pay for boarding her during a family vacation.
But none of that compares to the utter joy and comfort she brings to our lives–including mine.
When the kids are sad, she knows to give them lots of kisses. When one of the kids is upset, they know to seek her out for snuggles and comfort. And in what is a surprise to everyone, I have become a completely obsessed dog person. I talk to her in a goofy baby voice, I snap photos of her as if she were my fourth child, and now I can’t help but greet and pet every dog I see in public.
My favorite Molly memory is from Christmas a few years ago. We had purchased each child a new stuffed animal but forgot to wrap them. So, I lined the kids up, asked them to close their eyes, and placed the new stuffies into their hands. Molly watched this, snuck upstairs (where she’s normally not allowed), grabbed a stuffed animal, and lined up right next to the kids with her animal “present” in her mouth.
We know it, and she knows it: She’s one of us.
It turns out I was very, very wrong about the dog.
