First published: June 1, 2012

Do you remember your very first dog, the one that was your very own? I do. She was a small brown and white Chihuahua-mix named Trixie. Actually I remember every dog I had after her and can recall most of them by name–even the confused goat who thought he was a dog. I don’t think this speaks to my infallible memory, since I can walk into a room and forget why I am there. It speaks more to the role that my pets have played in my life.

As a child, my dogs were my friends, the ones I couldn’t wait to see when I got off the school bus, the ones my mother had to drag me away from at suppertime. They were the ones who accompanied me to the woods behind our house to explore and keep me safe. We ran and played, and they often convinced me to take them inside for snacks and to watch their favorite show, “Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom.”

When I was a teen, they became more my responsibility than my parents’. It was I who would take them in for their vet care in my brand new, fourteen-year-old car. I was responsible for bringing home their food from my grocery store job–oh, and a donut or two from the bakery for the still-confused goat. They spent quite a bit of time with me while I did my chores and just sat on the porch with me in the evenings. They were my confidants who listened with unwavering interest and concern to my problems and concerns.
My first dog as an adult and on my own was a challenge. Vet care and preventive care had come a long way since I was a child, and I was determined she have the best care I could give her. More responsibility, that was fine–she was eight weeks old and she depended on me for everything for the next fifteen years. Her 12 x 14 photograph still graces the wall in my den, and it makes me smile and cry at the same time.

I guess you could say that dogs in my family have been quite the tradition. My father was open to the strays and throwaways. (Living in the country meant there were a lot of those.) While my mother would ask only once for us not to feed the dog, and then would wait every time for the same answer, “but I already have,” that was always the end of that. The dog was there to stay and she was as tolerant of us and them as any saint would have been.

Now I work with dogs and their people on a daily basis, and have grown to care for some of my patients as my own pets. When their job here on earth is complete, I share a portion of the grief that goes with their passing. Anyone who has had the unconditional love of any animal has been blessed.

I urge all reading this to take the responsibility seriously when considering taking on a pet. It’s not just cuddles and cuteness, but is a lifelong relationship that should not be taken lightly. And the joys we humans receive are far beyond measure!