I have had the privilege of sharing my life with two different dogs during two different eras of my adult life. It doesn’t feel right to say I owned these dogs, for reasons that should be obvious to anyone who looks a beloved dog in the eyes and sees clearly another sentient being looking back at you with an expression that might be quizzical, adoring, or might reflect wisdom beyond our understanding. In any case it is clear the dog is its own person, so to speak, with its own motivations, thoughts, feelings, needs, and desires. The dogs owned themselves without doubt, and I have been fortunate to be their caretakers as well as being the recipient of their generous attention and care.
The first dog I brought into my life was a young, female Rottweiler I adopted from the animal shelter. Looking back I can see that a Rottweiler was a perfect dog for the somewhat insecure young, gay man I was, as her sturdy build and characteristic markings complemented the masculine image I was eager to project. When we walked down the sidewalk together, people often crossed the street in fear. You would never mistake me for a frightened sissy with such a fearsome beast under my control. She was as gentle a being as I’ve ever encountered, however, and she always greeted visitors as if they were long-lost friends. She had a deep-throated warning bark that sounded so fierce, my brother nearly jumped out of his skin one night when he came creeping into my house late in the dark. But even when neighbor children teased her relentlessly through the screen door at the front of the house,...
