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 ≈ Dogs. Can’t Live With ‘Em, Can’t Live Without Them ≈

∞ The More Things Change the More They Stay the Same ∞


I was born in Doctors Hospital in Manhattan, which opened in 1929, a year that carries a certain… reputation. It was a small 14-story private hospital known as a "fashionable treatment center for the well-to-do." Sitting across from Gracie Mansion on the Upper East Side, overlooking Carl Schurz Park and the East River, a beautiful oasis in a busy city. Elegant, historic, and, judging by its patient list, Michael Jackson, Marilyn Monroe, Jackie Gleason, Clare Boothe Luce, and then me, pretty good company for a newborn.

My parents weren’t of the “well to do”, but the baby doc there served with my Dad during WW II and were fast friends, and friendship, it turns out, can occasionally outrank income brackets. So, I made my grand entrance into the world with a spectacular skyline view… and then promptly went home to Brooklyn, where the real story begins.

Because waiting for me there was a dog. There was always a dog.

Not a planned, carefully researched, breeder-vetted dog. No, these were the “showed up and never left” dogs. Always a stray that we took in, or the time a neighbor brought one to us that followed him home. Strays, rescues, neighborhood drifters who somehow found their way into our lives and, more importantly, into our hearts.

That was normal. That was home.

Then life moved forward, as it does.

I finished school and my wife and I got into our car and headed west on a classic, romanticized, underfunded cross-country trip to de-stress before careers and kids started to come into the picture. Apparently we thought navigating the country, staying in one 5 buck a night motel after another would be easier with a 75-pound dog. So, we bought and brought with us our first together dog, a German Shorthaired Pointer, and, with respect to Paul Simon, drove off to look for America. Well, that GSP years later turned into the next GSP, which years later turned into a Beagle which years later turned into an Australian Shepard, whom, although not her name, I affectionately called Last. Last died about a year ago and I said “done”.

For young families, dogs are magic. They give kids companionship, comfort, and unconditional love. A best friend who listens without interrupting, judges without speaking, and forgives faster than anyone else on earth. Kids learn responsibility. They learn empathy. They learn that sometimes love means cleaning up a mess you didn’t make—and still hugging the one who did.

For older people, the argument shifts. There’s much freedom in not having a dog. having to wake up and walk them, feed, care for, bathe, walk them, travel without thought, walk them. (Yes I know I repeated “walk them”). Especially in January when the wind seems to have a personal vendetta.

In reality, dogs are a big responsibility. We had our share of wonderful dogs, so we understood the commitment. It’s a big one, and at some point, you start to think you're a bit old to plan your life around returns for feeding time and to be taking on negotiating with a creature who weighs less than you but controls your life.

Then science steps in and ruins your carefully constructed argument. Emotion, backed by science, is a tough combination to argue with. If you do a straight study of the affect dogs have on our lives the science is consistent, with The Mayo Clinic saying it best, “No bones about it: Dogs are good for your health”. They lower stress, reduce blood pressure, get you moving, and, this is the technical term, they make you feel better.

And it turns out that as you get older, you need an incentive to get your butt out of the house and walk. And when you get out there you realize how much you’ve been missing beyond the exercise. Those walks along streets, trails, and paths add up. Physically and mentally, both for the better.

Dogs also make you smile and feel good. Weird? Not so much. Turns out that there are actually natural feel good as well as anti-stress chemicals in our body that are released when we interact with our dogs. Dog owners live longer and their blood pressure is lower. As Casey Stengel said “You can look it up”. (For those of you who remember Casey Stengel…).

So, here’s the thing, we know better now. “Last” isn’t really about finality. It’s about continuity. About returning to something that has always been part of the fabric of your life. It’s about choosing the walks, the responsibility, the occasional frustration… because of the joy that comes with it.

So it turns out Last won’t be. Emotion supported by science is tough to overcome. There are so many special things about sharing your life with a dog that despite my protestations that I wanted the freedom from the responsibility, in the final analysis I was willing to trade that freedom for the love and companionship of a dog. I approached my wife carefully, like someone presenting a risky business proposal. I had my reasoning ready, my tone measured, my expectations? Realistic. She didn’t even let me finish. She was all in. Smiling. Already there.

I’ll probably nick-name this one “Last,” as well. because I understand it now. It’s not about being the final one. It’s about being the next one. The continuation. The return to something that has always been part of the fabric of your life.

So when you talk about the circles of life, here we are 54 years later, me, my wife, and our about to be new dog, back to the beginning, and more driving off to look for America.

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