I recently read a quote by D. H. Lawrence that, even though he is an author I admire, I would have, until recently, passed off as soppy nonsense. It read:

Nothing but love has made the dog lose his wild freedom, to become the servant of man.

I never quite understood dog lovers or the purpose of owning a dog. Sure, some of them are cute, and for those in need of incentive to exercise they certainly provide impetus. The list of cons, however, was endless, they smell, lick, bark, require toilet training, and, lets face it, they’re an added expense at the end of the day. As far as I was concerned it all added up to extra responsibility that leads to stress- and that I can do without.

Don’t get me wrong, I like dogs and I’m happy for those who take pleasure in spending their time throwing a gritty dog-saliva covered ball in the same direction 50 times to amuse their beloved pet. I, on the other hand, had better things to do with my free time. This, I will admit, all changed just 6 short weeks ago.

It was a hideously hot Saturday morning when I collected my husband from his appointment- which happened to be next to a dog-adopt-a-thon. He was feeling a little under the weather due to a few too many vinos the night before and he wanted to ease the pain by immersing himself in a room full of barking orphan canines - different strokes for different folks, I guess. He had often recounted fond memories from his childhood with his devoted lab Daisy. I got the feeling he wanted to bring a pet into our family so I promptly suggested a cat. From what animal kingdom knowledge I had, it was the best possible compromise, they’re self-cleaning and manage to do their business in a more hygienic manner than dogs and I understood they didn’t smell as much. He informed me he wasn’t a cat person and it was then that he spotted 8 week old May, sound asleep with her litter mates crawling all over her.

Admittedly she was divine but I knew the ruse that puppy hood pulled, those cute little floppy ears were all a stunt to suck you in and then you’d be cleaning their ‘accidents’ off the carpet for the next year if not longer. Before I knew it, I was nursing her in the front seat of the car and within 5 minutes one of those ‘accidents’ had happened on my lap. The next 2 days were fraught for me as I followed her intently ensuring our carpet remained soil free. I can only say that what I felt must have been akin to some form of post-natal depression. I was heavily weighed with the thought that this beautiful furry thing was now in my care and I didn’t have the first clue in how to deal with her, especially when she cried at night. The questions were endless: did she miss her mother, did she have fleas, was she hungry, where was she finding all the dead mice that she kept bringing into to the house and, how would I get the smell out of the carpet?

I stocked up on fabric deodorizing sprays, candles and grooming products in the hope of lessening the scent for when visitors arrived. To my surprise everyone who met her soaked up her puppy scent. Then miraculously it came: the love, that is. She followed me everywhere and trusted me to care for her and I felt this strange warm sense of attachment and responsibility. At night I roll over to watch her sleeping next to the bed and every morning I’m elated to see her looking up at me. When I leave her and return to home she greets me as if I am some superhuman hero. I realize this all sounds like drivel but the stress I anticipated from having her in my life became, dare I say it, a source or positive therapy and good influence.

It was completely unpredictable and even I was surprised by my ability to love this puppy as much as I do but when I think about it it’s not so odd. When I’m frustrated or angry she will ignore my mood and sit with me making me feel wanted. And that time I came home late having selfishly left her alone for several hours there were no complaints but rather that same old super hero greeting. She listens to my dribble without answering back and she doesn’t complain about the food I provide and instead looks at me with thanks each time I dish out those dry, cardboard looking puppy pellets. If I want to go for a walk she’ll gladly accompany me and, yes, she provides impetus to exercise daily rather than yearly.

So there you have it, I am proof that people can change or, more to the point, that dogs can change people. But I’m not too worried or ashamed to admit it. If D. H. Lawrence feels compelled to comment, then so can I.

For more writing by Kirsten Moore visit: http://eastmountaintales.blogspot.com/