Why I Love My Dog

Throughout my life--from as long as I can remember--I have owned a dog.  Some have been purebreds.  Many have been mutts.  And without exception, all of them have given me their devoted love.  That's true of the dog I own now--a 4-year-old Golden Retriever named Brodie.  I met Brodie when he was a little over a year old.  He was a "rescue dog", meaning he'd been saved from abusive owners who had raised him in a crate.  As a result, his hips are a little displaced because, as he grew, he couldn't stand up straight within the confines of the tiny space he was living in.  The story told to my wife by the rescue clinic is that the previous owner's neighbors felt so angry about the dog's mistreatment that--when the owners were gone--the neighbors sneaked into the back yard and released Brodie from his pen and then called the rescue clinic to come and get him.

So when Brodie came into our lives, he was thin and his hips were displaced, but he was a bundle of joy and enthusiasm.  For the first several months after he came home with us, he could barely believe that he could just be a dog.  No more pens.  No more confinement.  No more long, lonely, confusing days.  Instead, Brodie got to chase a tennis ball, terrorize our cats, go for walks, eat whenever he wanted to--all the things that make up the life of a well-cared-for dog.  And in return, he gave us his undying love and loyalty.

Some wise person once said "I want to be the kind of man my dog thinks I am".  I've always loved that.  Brodie thinks I am the greatest person in the world.  When I come home from work, he's the first one to greet me at the door.  He runs to get his ball and prances proudly with it, daring me to take it from him (actually, hoping desperately I will take it from him) so I can throw it across the yard and he can chase it and bring it back.  He wakes me up in the morning at first light, and licks my hand and wags his tail to let me know it's time to get up.

In the time I have known him, I don't think Brodie has ever had a bad day.  His disposition is remarkably and consistently fantastic.  The humorist Dave Barry once wrote this about his dog: "I can say any fool thing to my dog and he gives me this look that says 'My God, you're right!  I never would have thought of that!  You're brilliant!'"  I know exactly of what Mr. Barry speaks.

And at the end of the day, as I relax and read, Brodie loves nothing more than to pretend he's a lap dog and climb up on my couch and lay his head in my lap.  And he absolutely would stay that way all night long if I would let him.

God was smiling on mankind when He decided to create dogs.