All my life, I’ve owned a dog. Well, not the same dog as I’m pushing 40 and dogs have a considerably shorter lifespan than I’ve proven to possess.
As a kid, my family owned two dogs. There was Freddy, a black-and-white pooch with a friendly demenor. I don’t remember too much about Freddy besides the fact he used to follow me around as I played in the backyard; acting as if he had been assigned the role of my babysitter. After Freddy, there was Noel, a German Shepard who was afraid of balls being thrown or kicked anywhere near her. This might have had something to do with my ill-fated attempt to learn how to play soccer. Freddy and Noel lived outside - only coming into the house on the rare occasion when it was deemed too cold or too stormy to remain outdoors. In these magical moments, when the dogs would be allowed into the house, they acted skittish - afraid to make any move least my family realize they had made an error and throw the dogs back into the elements.
I liked dogs growing up, but I was also an inside kid through and through. My family dogs were like nerf guns or lawn darts - fun to play with when my parents forced me to get some fresh air but quickly forgotten when that court-ordained fresh air time had run its course and I could return to my video games.
When I was in college, my family adopted a new dog - Foxy. Foxy was a Chow / German Shepard mix - big, friendly, fluffy. After I graduated from college, I moved into an apartment by myself and my parents offered me Foxy, to keep me company. Foxy and I got into a lot of great adventures. We went swimming in golf course lakes, we went camping, she even once protected me from a pair of women who attempted to break into my apartment in the middle of the night (a story in and of itself). Foxy was also the first dog I owned who was exclusively an indoor dog. She slept in bed with me and would eat every meal seated at my coffee table, right alongside me, as we watched TV together.
I moved back into my parents’ house a few years after college and I brought Foxy with me. By this point, my parents had retired and were home all day. After I moved back into my own place, it made more sense for Foxy to stay with my parents them to move into a cramped apartment with me - especially considering the fact I was gone most nights for work functions. Foxy passed away a few years after my parents readopted her and I was hit hard. More than any previous passing of a pet, Foxy’s death hurt. A lot.
Maybe it was because I was missing Foxy, maybe it was because I was once again starting to feel lonely due to living by myself but - a year after Foxy died - I adopted another dog, Lola. Lola - a furry AF Shibu Inu - was a great companion, even if I was not yet ready to be her companion. I rushed into Lola’s adoption without thinking things through - things like the fact that my job had me away from home most nights and out of town most weekends or the fact that I lived on the third floor of an apartment and taking a dog outside to pee every few hours got annoying real fast. I found myself asking my parents if they could watch Lola more and more until, almost a year after I had first adopted her, I asked my parents if they wouldn’t mind keeping her indefinitely.
I regret the way I handled my adoption of Lola, but I do not regret adopting her. In the last six years, Lola has become a fantastic companion for my parents. She’s good natured, loyal, has a ferocious bark that keeps strangers at bay and - most importantly - she loves my parents a great deal and they love her. In the last few years, as my life has settled into more of a routine and I found myself at home more and more, I inquired about bringing Lola home from my parents only to be told that ship had sailed. Lola was my parents' dog now.
Which brings us to Bingo. As my partner and I rented a new home together at the end of last year, we began talking about the possibility of adopting a new dog. We live right across the street from a dog park, plus I have found a love of walking in the last few years and it would be nice to have a companion to walk with on my daily hikes. I had avoided adopting a new dog since Lola, haunted by the way I abandoned her so quickly after bringing her into my home. Having my partner adopting a dog with me felt different, though. We were, after all, partners - I wouldn’t have to shoulder the responsibilities of a new dog alone.
In the last month, Bingo has certainly provided her fair share of responsibilities to shoulder. She’s an eleven-month-old puppy - full of unbound energy and enthusiasm. She’s eaten through wooden window blinds, pooped on bathroom rugs, tracked dirt and mud through every corner of the house and proven that she will - if given the chance - eat her weight in food on any given day. Bingo has also kept me active. With a dog, it’s impossible to live a seditary life and Bingo has ensured that I’m constantly on the move - even if it’s just chasing her down to take away the pair of shoes she has inserted into her mouth.
Every dog I’ve owned has been different and every relationship I’ve had with those dogs has been different. Bingo is the first dog that’s ever forced me to install babygates into the walls in order to keep her corraled. Bingo is also the first dog who caused me to Google whether or not a nut she ate off the floor would kill her. I’ve always treated my dogs as more like roommates than children but Bingo definitely has Big Child vibes. Maybe it’s because I’m sharing responsibility for Bingo with my fiancée or maybe it’s just because Bingo acts like a big baby half the time, but adopting Bingo has been like adopting a kid. My partner and I haven’t had a date night in a month and any attempt to leave the house together - even if it’s just to run down the street for donuts on a Saturday morning - involves us obesseively checking the baby monitor we installed facing her kennel.
My partner and I don’t know for sure what kind of breed Bingo is. We’ve been told she is potentially part Husky, part Besenji and part Australian Cattle Dog. That’s a lot of parts. From her facial features, though, we feel pretty confident in the fact that Bingo also has some pitbull in her. I have teased my partner that Bingo is going to eat a baby (both a reference to her pitbull breed and the fact her name rhymes with ‘dingo” - who says my comedy isn’t multifascited). My partner doesn’t like these jokes but it wasn’t my Good Boyfriend role that made me stop making them. I stopped a few weeks ago when I took Bingo to a dog park and she spent ten minutes following a small child around, licking her lips.
I look forward to spending the time I have with Bingo. She’s going to keep me moving - something I desperately need to do as I attempt to lose weight and get healthier. And, I guess, having to worry about whether your child is going to bite another child is just part of being a (dog) parent.