As I type this, these late August days in Pittsburgh are unseasonably cool. Nighttime temperatures dip to the low 50s; I have a desire to drink hot coca and put on a sweater.
But I’m not here to write about the weather. As you may have guessed, this post is actually about dogs. One dog in particular: the latest addition to our family, a handsome, zippy little fellow we named Wilson.
Wilson is a roughly 1-year-old (possibly younger), mixed breed pup who appears to be part boxer, part retriever, part Staffordshire terrier, part tornado. He made his way to us by first being picked up as a stray by a local shelter, then taken into their care for a brief time, and then a fateful meeting during an adoption weekend.
He came into the room all tail wags and wiggles. He was a black and white bundle of energy, inquisitive, friendly, and very, very cute. In a few moments I was sitting on the floor, and Wilson had clambered into my lap and was licking my face. That’s when I melted.
We brought him home the next day and cautiously introduced him to our resident cat, Abby. Wilson approached her slowly, his tail gently wagging. Abby responded by jumping onto the kitchen table, arching her back, and hissing. (She’s since warmed up slightly – slightly – to the point of tolerating/ignoring Wilson. Thankfully, she’s not anywhere near as resentful as she appeared with the foster kittens this spring.)
Of course, not everything has gone smoothly. Wilson has a penchant for chewing. Not only toys, but paper, plastic, wood, sandals…even a sanding block and container of spackling paste. He typically cries if left alone. His leash manners are a long way from being polished. He’s destroyed two dog beds and is now prohibited from accessing foam or stuffing of any kind. He’s an incorrigible jumper and a loud barker. His reactions to other people range from spastic alarm to calm sniffs to nonevents. He climbs on furniture – and not just the upholstered kind.
But he is making headway.
His reactive barking is less frequent. He knows his name and comes when called. He’s learning to sit and stay and lay down. He has a laser focus on treats, which makes training him easier than it might be otherwise. He is having doggy adventures, like hikes (loves them), dog parks (loves them), and baths (tolerate, with treats.) And after his manic episodes pass, Wilson is the sweetest snuggler.
And I am reminded that dogs do not come into our lives to create convenience. They are often incredibly inconvenient. They require quite a lot of resources to care for: our time, our money, our energy.
Dogs ask a lot of us.
But they are also wonderful. Their exuberance is a source of joy, their boundless affection a continuous comfort, their progress a source of pride. They connect us to the best parts of ourselves. Which makes what we receive from them in return priceless.
