It has been four months since my dog died and I still feel like something is missing when I open my front door. At first, I can’t quite work it out. Did I leave the heating on at work? Should I have gone to the shops? Am I in the wrong flat? No, what’s missing is the patter of paws, the inquisitive nose and the affectionate barrage of fur.
After your first dog, there’s a solid chance that you will never live doglessly again
Lola was 14 when she died, which is old for any dog but especially for a German shepherd. She used to lie in the centre of the flat I shared with my then-girlfriend with an unencumbered view of every room so that she could monitor proceedings. Now, the whole place feels emptier.
Losing a dog may not have the same spiritual complexity as losing a friend or family member. But what I miss is the simplicity of our relationship – the natural joie de vivre that dogs are blessed with. I could come home from a tough day at work and be restored to happiness by the force of good cheer that radiated from her welcome. Dogs turn up the happiness in a home as effectively as a thermostat turns up the heating.
Not that their emotions are one-note. They are very empathetic and dutiful creatures. Whenever I was sick, my dog would march into the room and stand beside my bed, watching the door, as if my enemies might choose this moment to attack. (Now, when ill, I’m dangerously vulnerable.)
Besides, it is good to care for something – good both for its own sake and as preparation for life. I don’t want to sound like the sort of person who introduces himself as a ‘dog dad’; having a pet is obviously not like having a child but that doesn’t make it meaningless. Having a nice walk with an appreciative creature means more than browsing Facebook in bed. Hell, even mopping up mistimed pee is a productive challenge to one’s stoical capacities.
Since my dog died I’ve been tempted to get another. I’m sure I will at some point. After your first dog, there’s a solid chance that you will never live doglessly again. But I haven’t found one yet. I still need to get over my last dog. A pet isn’t like a jacket or a phone. You can’t pick up a replacement and carry on with life.
Dogs – and I’m sure that the same is true of cats – have their own personalities and your relationship with one can never be identical to your relationship with another. Lola was an especially charismatic hound who loved people as fiercely as she hated pretty much any other being (except for her rubber pigs). It would be unfair to think that I could slot another dog neatly into a Lola-shaped hole.
Besides, there are downsides to dog ownership. There are small ones, like your socks doubling in fluffiness when shedding seasons arrive or your pockets filling up with plastic bags. But there are also bigger ones. If you want to travel, for work or holidays, then you have an adoring elephant in the room. Perhaps your friends might be willing to look after your canine pal – but perhaps they wouldn’t be (and perhaps, depending on the dog, they wouldn’t be your friends any more after the experience). You could take them to the kennels, but that could be a sad and expensive ordeal. Dogs can be miserable when you leave them to go to the gym, never mind when you leave them to go to France or Hungary.
There is freedom in knowing that I can just drop everything and go to the mountains over the weekend if I want to, or book a foreign trip for my next holiday without wondering about where I’m going to leave the dog. As an expat, I’m looking forward to coming to England at Christmas and it wouldn’t feel the same if I knew that I was going to be leaving a furry friend in the kennels for a lonely holiday.
But I know I’ll get a dog before long. It’s almost as inevitable as the new year. Yes, it might mean not going to the mountains and it might mean putting off that foreign trip. But how much will all that travelling be worth if I end up coming back to open the door to a silent empty hall?
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