She’s lying inches from my feet as I write this post, her forepaws curled into one another, the fur on her chest rising and falling with each breath from her nose. I just lathered the pads of her feet with Musher’s Secret to protect them from the salt recently poured on our sidewalks to melt the snow and ice.
I like to say that she’s my third redhead, and I firmly believe that she is one of the things that saved my life after divorce.
She’s Lily, a 40 pound flat coat red goldendoodle. Here she is:
“You can’t take care of a dog.” Those were the words of Darth when we were married. I’d wanted a dog for awhile. I’m one of those “dog-people,” a person who feels more complete with a furry canine around. I grew up with dogs, first a fluffy Samoyed and then a curly cocker spaniel mix, and even though there was so much that I wasn’t sure about post-divorce, the one thing I was sure of was that I wanted to bring a dog into my home.
For years, Darth had been saying no. We had a cat who liked attention, and was not fond of dogs. I thought she’d get used to one, but Darth didn’t want to stress her in her senior kitty years.
And if I’m honest, he was probably right that I couldn’t take care of a dog when Belle and Bugg were little. I couldn’t even keep a plant alive because every time I thought about watering it, I had to feed a child, or grade a paper, or rush to work, or schedule a doctor’s appointment.
But there’s a part of me that wonders: would a dog have saved our marriage? For those of you reading this who want to change your mindset before you lose a tit, a husband, and half of your kids’ lives, I would point out that taking Lily for walks 3-4 times a day (we don’t have a yard at all, much less a fenced-in one) is probably the single best thing that I do for my mental health. The walks range from 10-45 minutes, unless we’re going on a long hike, and they make time for me to clear my head, recenter my being, and stretch my body. Even when it’s 7 below, I feel better after coming back from a walk.
Walking a dog is good for my soul.
There’s also the training that comes with a walk. When I was a new pup parent, I kept wondering why so many other dogs were well-behaved, sitting calmly while my crazy dog tried to sniff and bark at them, yanking me around on the leash the entire time. Then I figured out that if I put a treat or two in my pocket before a walk, my dog is now the well-behaved one, waiting to see what she can do for me to get that treat.
We were training each other. I had to teach her how to be less reactive around other dogs which required patience, trial and error, and occasionally adjusting the destination for a particular walk if she was reacting too much.
Training a dog restored my confidence.
She taught me that I am in charge. If I don’t ask for something from her (or my kids, my boss, my students, my family, my ex) I’m not going to get it. I may have to ask multiple times, or multiple ways, and her behavior won’t be the same every time, but if I make my expectations and the outcome clear, she will respond.
It took me awhile to learn that I’m not responsible for my dog’s behavior. Have you ever seen someone yelling at their dog during a walk, or even yanking or hitting them? Here’s the thing: they think they’re responsible for their dog’s behavior. They’re not. They’re responsible for setting expectations, providing positive reinforcement, and keeping their own dog in environments that are safe for the dog and others.
Living with a dog makes me feel safer.
My home’s main level is on the second floor. Our couch is pushed up against a window that looks out onto our community. It’s Lily’s favorite place to people and dog watch (think Simba or Mufasa on Pride Rock – that’s exactly what she looks like most of the day) and to make the Amazon delivery drivers, mail carrier, neighbors, and neighbor dogs aware of her presence.
I could probably train all the barking out of her, but I don’t mind it. She’s doing her job, keeping her family safe. She’s so protective that I can’t even bring her to the park with the kids. When they get more than 10 feet away from her she whines and strains at the leash. She needs to herd them back in, to keep them close, to make sure they’re safe. I know how she feels.
And there’s something about those late nights when I can’t sleep because of the intrusive thoughts: What if someone breaks in while I’m the only adult home, What if there’s a fire, What if I hurt myself, Should I hurt myself? When the thoughts really spin out of control, I have reached for her paw to bring me out of my head and back into reality, to remind me that I am home, I am safe, and I’m not alone.
Many women rush into new relationships after divorce, but I knew I didn’t want that. I wanted companionship, but not the talking kind. I wanted someone to keep me company, to cuddle with, to hike with, to play with. It wasn’t a human companion that I needed. It was the serenity that only a dog can bring. They don’t always need to be entertained, but never tire from being at your side.
We adopted her from a one-woman rescue and never looked back. To the kids, she’s the younger sibling they never had. I sometimes watch them play together and wonder what it might have been like if we had a dog sooner. If they had developed that bond, learned that joy, and had someone to play with (other than me!). But there’s no question that bringing a dog into our home was the single best decision I made post-divorce.
