Life With Dog
December 13, 2012One of the greater sadnesses of my life is that I never had a dog. As a child, there were cats in my family, first Orange then Dusty and Cleo. At the time I didn’t really know I wanted a dog because none of my friends had dogs so there was no first hand evidence of how remarkably better dogs were than cats. My doglessness was an absence barely felt.
Later, as a young adult, I began to see how childhood dogs were cherished and wondered why I hadn’t been given the same experience. Cartoons like this only drove home the feeling. Rest assured, I layered an appropriate amount of guilt upon my parents for my dogless upbringing. (The guilt was all the more stinging as they, like so many empty nesters, adopted a dog the moment I moved out of the house and immediately became one of the most dog-loving couples in the universe.)
Of course, once out on my own and living as a semi-functional adult, nothing was stopping me from adopting a dog. But I was too concentrated on my burgeoning journalism career and the 60-hour work weeks it involved to consider such a commitment. Later, once I found myself in Paris and beyond, life was so nomadic that the idea of caring for a dog seemed preposterous. Even when I was more securely installed in Marseille, there was a certain impracticality to the question; I always had one foot out the door, ready to move to Berlin or Montreal or someplace else where a dog would be a complication. So it was that I reached my forties without managing to achieve that simplest of dreams, dog ownership.
As with so much in my life, my children changed everything. Not only did they turn my barren apartment into a true home, but by the time my daughter Santoline was three years old she was stopping on the street and insisting to pet every dog and know its name, gender, and state of mind. (Il est content, votre chien?) My son Rosco was similarly dog-obsessed, though admittedly his love was of a less gentler nature. It got to the point where my children were so preoccupied with my parents’ dog Masie that several times a week they begged to fly back to Canada to play with the dog and the weekly Skype calls meant to cement the bond between long-distance grandparents and grandchildren often turned into a sporty game of getting Masie to sit still for the camera so my kids could see her.
Of course, the only thing that feels better than making your children happy is making them feel happy by giving them something you yourself missed out on as a child. Adopting a dog would both thrill my children and fulfill a decades-old dream. The search was on.
Although I have my own favorite breeds and an affinity for mutts, in this case the most important thing was to get a child friendly dog so I narrowed my search to purebred Labradors and Golden Retrievers which were on the podium of every expert’s list of child friendly dogs. I was leery of adopting a puppy because of the general fragility of baby dogs and the general reckless exuberance of my son. But, adopting an older dog was no simple task either because I wanted to be sure it hadn’t suffered any emotional trauma that might cause it to snap out at my kids. So, I began scouring Le Bon Coin (it’s France’s version of Craigslist) for a family with young kids putting a Golden Retriever or Labrador up for adoption because of extenuating circumstances.
A few weeks into my search I found Lana. She was a two-and-a-half year old female Lab who grew up in a happy, dog loving home with young children, including a boy Rosco’ age, meaning the dog was used to being poked in the eye, having her tail pulled, and assorted other indignities. Her owners were being transferred to another part of France on business and they couldn’t take Lana with them. We arranged a meeting, drove about an hour-and-a-half to Solliès-Pont and prepared to meet the family.
It was Lana who met us. She came bounding down the stairs, rolled on her back in an immediate display of submission, and then licked and wagged herself into a delirium while my children petted and tugged at her. There was no doubt. We packed Lana up in the car and drove back to Marseille. I finally had my dog.
And it is utterly disappointing.
Here’s the thing: I think the true profound love between person and dog occurs when the dog fills a vacuum of love or companionship in that person’s life. If I had adopted a dog when I was single, it would have been simply awesome; my dog would have been everything to me, a constant companion and a source of endless love. But my children were already my everything. I didn’t need the geysers of unrequited dog love because I am still living that magical moment when my kids bestow that unrequited love on me. It’s not that I don’t like my dog. I enjoy taking her to the beach to swim and watching her roam about the dog park and smelling her paws after she’s had a long run in the woods.
But the truth is, the only moments I profoundly love my dog are when I am watching her play with my kids: lying quietly and allowing them to bandage her imaginary wounds or meekly accepting yet another game of horsey. My children’s joy is so absolute that at the instant I love Lana for giving it to them.
I still haven’t given up on my dream relationship with a dog. I expect that in 20 or so years, when both children are out of the house and I am haunted by the empty spaces and lonely quiet I will adopt another dog. And then I will know true dog love as little by little he or she fills the raw new absence in my heart.
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