Best Friends
When my neighbor Ellen retired recently, one of the first things she did was to get her dog Lucy. She had always wanted a dog, she told me, and now, finally, she had the time to care for one.
“I had a dog very briefly when I was a little girl,” she said, “but it turns out that my brother was allergic to it, and we had to give it away.”
She paused, gave a rueful little laugh, and then said, “I’ve never forgiven him.”
It was clear though, that she was finding her time with Lucy well worth the wait. Lucy is a charming cocktail of a dog, with the velvet ears and sleek coat of a Labrador retriever, the elegant posture and black and white markings of a Boston terrier, and the endearing curved tail of a Spitz breed. The shelter from which Ellen adopted Lucy told her that Lucy had likely lived most of her life on the streets in the South. Lucy’s affection for Ellen is palpable, almost as if she can’t believe her good fortune in finding such a loving home. And Ellen’s delight in everything about Lucy is a joy to behold.
Seeing them so happy together day after day, I couldn’t help but think of Kenny, my younger son, who has also wanted a dog his whole life, but couldn’t because my husband is allergic to dogs. One of Kenny’s first three words was “dog.” His favorite toy as a baby was a stuffed Labrador retriever (it went everywhere with him for years — I don’t think there is a photo of him as a toddler that doesn’t include it). He long considered Jenny, my sister’s Chocolate Lab, his favorite cousin — he would talk about visiting her with the same enthusiasm that most kids his age reserved for a trip to Disneyland.
Every Christmas and at every birthday, he’d make the inevitable request, and Dan, my husband, and I would always gently turn him down. We’d explain that even if my husband could find a way to manage his allergies, Kenny would still have to wait to have a dog until he was old enough to walk his puppy around the neighborhood himself. When he was little, it seemed like the perfect solution. We didn’t need to break his precious heart by telling him “no” — we just had to encourage him to have patience.
Well here’s the thing: kids grow up a lot faster than we expect them to and so suddenly we found ourselves with a persistent eleven-year-old who insisted that we make good on our promise. Kenny was well-prepared to combat the allergy argument, providing us with a long list of breeds that are said to be hypoallergenic. He also sent me a long text with all of his reasons for wanting a canine companion, ending the message with the simple words: “A dog would make me happy.”
I received his message on a dreary morning after I saw Kenny off to school. As a fifth grader on the cusp of entering middle school and adolescence; Kenny was chafing at any and all attempts to restrain his independence. It was a constant source of conflict between us.
I thought about all the arguments we had had in the past month. He was increasingly moody and full of pre-teen angst. I thought about my own childhood, and how hard the middle school years were. By the time I reached high school, I knew a bit about myself, but the awkwardness of early adolescence had been almost unbearable.
A dog would make me happy. The last line of his text haunted me for days while I pondered what to do. I was not sure that I want to add more tasks to my list of things to do (and we all know that no matter what promises might be made up front, much of the work of having a dog would, inevitably, fall to me). But how could I deny Kenny the one thing that he had always wanted? Would he, like Ellen, have to wait until he was retired to have the dog of his dreams?
Dan and I discussed the pros and cons endlessly. In addition to Dan’s allergies and all the work involved in taking care of a dog in New York City, we worried the expense of a dog and the fact that we would likely own the dog for a decade or so after Kenny left for college. Just as I was becoming convinced that after all those years of stalling, we would have to tell Kenny “no” after all, I experienced an incident that completely changed my mind.
One morning, I spotted Ellen and Lucy walking toward our apartment building about a half block ahead of me. They leaned into each other as they strolled along. Every now and then, Lucy gently caressed Ellen’s leg with her Spitz tail. A bit of a breeze ruffled Lucy’s fur and she reacted with joy, leaping and jumping around. Even from the distance, I could see Ellen’s broad smile and hear her murmured chuckle as she reached down to give Lucy a pat on the head. I knew then and there, that I wanted that always-there, easy-going companionship for my son.
Kenny, of course, was ecstatic. Yes, he would agree to take total responsibility for the dog, to feed it, to walk it, to train it, to bathe it, to clean up after it. Yes, he would agree to our house rules for the dog: it wouldn’t be allowed on furniture or in the master bedroom; it would sleep in Kenny’s room; it would have to be well-trained to listen, not jump up, etc. Yes, he’d prove he was responsibility by walking the neighbor’s dog every morning before school and every night before bed for a week. Yes, he’d read a book about dog training. Yes, he’d talk with an experienced dog owner to help him consider everything involved in owning a dog. Yes, yes, yes, whatever we wanted, yes.
Dan did some online research about hypoallergenic breeds. He decided we should get a Goldendoodle and set about finding one. Within a few weeks, we had a new member of the family, whom Kenny named Jenkins.
The difference in Kenny was palpable. Everyone from his teachers to the doormen in our apartment building remarked that since we got Jenkins, Kenny seemed to stand taller, smile brighter, and yes, be happier. He worked hard to train Jenkins, patiently cleaning up when the puppy had an accident, and setting limits regarding what is ok to chew (dog toys) and what isn’t (Mom’s favorite high heels).
Towards the end of our first summer with Jenkins, I happened to catch a glimpse of Kenny and his dog walking side-by-side on their way home from the park. Jenkins loped along on still-too-big-for-him puppy paws, feathery tail straight up and wagging happily. Kenny beamed with pride as a passerby complimented him on his adorable, well-behaved buddy. Boy and dog exhibited exactly the kind of relationship that I had hoped they would have: loyal, faithful, best friends.
This essay first appeared in Chicken Soup for the Soul: My Very Good, Very Bad Dog
