When I was little, I wanted a pet. Anything furry with legs. But my mom was allergic to cats and my dad was afraid of dogs.
No fur friends for me.
Instead, we had a tropical fishtank for awhile, which grew cloudy from algae and neglect.
And an iguana named Izzy.
Who mysteriously disappeared one day. I’m pretty sure my dad was afraid to tell me that Izzy died.
I was ten when my parents divorced. In junior high school, my dad started dating a woman who’d rescued a dog from the streets of Italy. Cindy had named her dog “Street.”
Street was an affectionate, terrified, tiny thing who cowered when my father’s friends came over to play poker.
She was afraid of men, especially tall ones.
When Street died, Cindy got a Jack Russel Terrier. She was living at our house by then, and she let me name the dog.
I chose Tosh, after the reggae artist. I felt very clever. Tosh’s name was something of a pun: “Tâche” in French means “spot” and Tosh was a small white dog with black spots.
Cindy and my dad broke up. She moved out. I never saw Tosh again. I missed them both. But Tosh was never really my dog.
We didn’t get a dog when the kids were little
When we first met, the man I would eventually marry and I spent countless hours talking about breeds of dogs, the benefits of dogs, and the best ways to care for dogs.
But three years later, when we started a family, it felt like too much.
We both had allergies.
Money was tight.
Time was tight.
Besides, our landlord didn’t allow pets.
For me the transition from being a Type A highly motivated graduate student at Emory University to a breastfeeding, baby-wearing, take-life-more-slowly, you-are-not-defined-by-your-accomplishments 29-year-old mom was really hard.
It was all I could do to juggle finishing my doctoral thesis—which I submitted two days after our oldest daughter was born—breastfeed the baby, and prepare the classes I was slated to teach in the fall.
Getting a dog was the farthest thing from my mind.
It always felt like too much.
Who would walk the dog? Who would feed the dog? Who would pay for the dog’s food and other necessities? We struggled with the kids to do their chores. Our house was never as clean or tidy as I wanted it to be. And I felt overwhelmed by so many responsibilities already.
Still, I started a Pinterest board about making homemade dog food and natural pet health.
I read Marley and Me and Pack of Two and The Art of Racing in the Rain and I loved every word in the sections about Pearl, the German short-haired pointer, in Robert Parker’s Spencer novels.
I was even hired to write articles about dogs as doulas and horse-assisted outdoor birth and I researched the pediatric health benefits of having pets for the book Dr. Paul Thomas and I co-wrote together.
Dr. Paul is a cat person.
I was still pet-less.
But we still highlighted the health benefits of cohabitating with canines in our book.
Then I got cancer … and Serenity
Three of our four were already grown by the time the dog I’d been waiting for finally arrived. The OGs are quick to point out that their begging and pleading for a family dog fell on deaf ears when they were little and everyone in the family considers Serenity to be “my” dog and mine alone.
Serenity tends to agree. She’s lying at my feet as I write this and she does not like to let me out of her sight. When I come back from being away—whether for a few hours or a few days—she is beside herself with happiness. Her whole body wags and quivers, she covers me in wet doggy kisses, and she has been known to jump on my head in her joy.
I initially planned to have Serenity trained as a service dog. Technically a mutt (she’s half poodle from both sides, a quarter golden retriever, and a quarter King Charles Cavalier), Serenity came to me from a mom of five in Utah whose 40-something husband died unexpectedly from a side effect of a heart medication.
Nicole’s youngest wasn’t even a year old when her husband died and she—the baby—was having some very difficult health problems. On top of all of that, their beloved family dog had recently passed away.
Though everyone in her extended family was vociferously against her, Nicole knew she and her children needed a new dog to help her family heal. That dog, a certified golden doodle (if such a thing exists), is Serenity’s mom.
Millie, who is smart, affectionate, fun-loving, and patient, was a balm to the Gobles’ wounded souls and her puppies, including Serenity, are wonderful, kind, patient creatures.
Still. I thought I was getting a golden doodle cavapoo support dog. I didn’t realize we were signing up for a sock stealer, couch hog, picky eater (I will tell you about Serenity and her weird way of eating another time), energizer bunny (she’s a calm dog but she can be frisky as fuck Fido and once she starts to play, she NEVER wants to stop), and a living breathing teddy bear.
This dog is amazing.
Maybe everyone says that about their dog?
Her greatest joy in life (besides taking care of me) is chasing the wild turkeys that have become invasive in southern Oregon. She also loves to hunt squirrels and point at ground game. She keenly watches the hawks that careen overhead when my husband takes her to the range.
She’s fast and light on her feet but hops like a jack rabbit when she runs. It’s hard to describe and very fun to watch.
I try to write a gratitude list every day, based on the day of the month. So today I will write down 22 things I’m grateful for. Serenity—the dog—will be at the top of my list.
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What a Stranger’s Dog’s Pooping at the Pool Taught Me About Guilt
No Bones About It: Cohabitating With Mangy Curs is Good for Hominid Health
About the author:
Jennifer Margulis, Ph.D., is a new dog owner, an award-winning science journalist, and the author/editor/co-author/co-editor of eight books, including the #1 Amazon bestseller, The Vaccine-Friendly Plan, co-authored with Paul Thomas, M.D. Support independent journalism by becoming a paid subscriber to Vibrant Life. Or make a one-time contribution by buying her a cup of organic coffee green juice via Venmo at @Jennifer-Margulis-2 (last 4 digits: “1256”).
Dogs are the best therapy, even the ones that aren't trained to be therapy dogs. We are so lucky to have them, even if they misbehave sometimes. Serenity is adorable!
Serenity is a gift from God! So glad you found each other, finally. Ruth wrote about losing her senior dog. So sorry we sympathize.Our miniature schnauzer was my service dog, seizure episodes and migraines. She smelled them coming. Had a way of warning me, then comforting me while I recovered. She had a special bond with me. I called a service dog trainer, she heard our dog was a schnauzer and declined training! I begged her to just meet with us. She did! She was amazed how calm this terrier was, an willing to do anything for me. Our neurologist wrote a letter of praise over her abilities and even got a service dog himself. Boo has been gone three years now. We have a new schnauzer that is amazing! We think God sent Boo back to us. Roxy has taken up where Boo left off. We are in our 70's, she makes us laugh, go for longer walks, is a great traveler, and an all round sweet companion. She is only a year old, surprising everyone who meets her. Her whole body wiggles when she sees two year old children. My husband and I picture Boo in heaven playing with the children (she loved babies), God interrupted her, telling her she needed to go back. She is probably our last dog.
Our friends and family members want her if we die! We hope to live another twenty years. Our plan is we will all go together!
Thanks for sharing about Serenity.