I choose to be more dog
Everyone is in a bad mood today except for Luna.
Alby is on edge. Anxious. Jittery. It’s week 5 of our neighbours having their floors ripped out and replaced. The banging is loud. The grinding of the drill, a deep, foundational shaking, cuts through everyone. Our neighbours are the best, and it’s all FINE, but it’s also hot and it’s loud and I’m grieving and I would like a break.
Alby thinks it’s the end of the world. Lying on the floor in front of the armchair she looks up at me, wide-eyed and juddering. Luna is lounging above her on a cushion. She doesn’t have a care in the universe.
This is my 10th year of living with an anxious dog, and I haven’t yet found any way of making life less scary for her. I know her triggers: banging or drilling, the hoover, the merest hint of emotion in a conversation. On the rare occasion voices are raised she trots upstairs to lie on our bed. I admire her boundaries.
To try and calm her I’ve tried: a kind voice, a stern voice, not touching her, cuddling her (usually a big NO in these circumstances but I had to try it), putting her in another room away from the noise, taking her for a walk so she can process the stress right out of her body. Nothing has made a difference.
The floors do need hoovering, and occasionally a nail does need to be put in a wall, so we just try to keep the fuss to a minimum. It must be even more scary when you can’t see where the noise is coming from.
Alby has always been a little aloof. Catlike. She does her own thing. Her Schnauzer face, while far less frowning than my OG bestie Mister Benji 2008-2021 RIP, is far less welcoming than Luna’s soppy Cavapoo smile.
But she’s always with me, always just a few feet away no matter what room I’m in. She follows me around the house like a friendly ghost, always lurking, not asking for anything from me.
At night she lies squat in the middle of the bed, a dead weight, unable and unwilling to be moved. As I turn sideways towards sleep she rests her chin ever so delicately on my ankle. It feels like pure love.
Luna is fearless – well, she thinks she is. It’s impossible to stay grumpy with this bold 3 year old bounding around, a cheerful, scrappy look on her face at all times. In hazy, waking morning moments she jumps on the bed, slumps herself down on my chest and lies there peering into my eyes, our noses nearly touching.
She’s the cuddliest dog I’ve ever known. At various points throughout the day she makes it clear it’s time for affection by jumping up to give me a pat on the leg then standing, waiting, ready to be embraced. I don’t know if she’s giving the love or needs to receive it, but as her furry shoulder meets mine a wave of emotion breaks over me. I feel protective but also protected. She’s got my back.
Luna is unfazed by the random banging and scraping sounds coming through the wall, but will kick off barking at the door the next time someone knocks. But she does listen to me: she started off barking and leaping at the door, now she saves us both some time by running into the living room to bark more generally at (and further away from) the “intruder”.
I think that’s called teamwork.
I got my first dog, Mister Benji, in March 2008. I was living alone in a studio flat in Peckham, I’d wanted a dog since I was 4 years old, and it felt like now or never. I wanted someone to look after, someone to be there for who’d be there for me in return. I wanted a reason to get up in the morning and go for a walk. I didn’t yet know about the delicate chin on my ankle, or the mid-morning hugs.
Benji was by my side as my life changed in all sorts of ways, from location (London to Bristol) to situation (renter to homeowner) to career (freelance videographer/photographer/social media person to independent music producer and solo artist). He sat on my lap on the tube on the way to record my first two albums, spending the days snoozing on music studio armchairs or under keyboards. He moved house with me 5 times.
When he died at the grand old age of 14 I was devastated. But it was all worth it. All the love, all the care.
Sometimes owning dogs is a hassle. Boarding is expensive. We can’t go out for more than a few hours. Training dogs to walk nicely on a lead can take a surprisingly long time (though I’ve found Cavapoos way more trainable than Schnauzers). It’s truly awful when they’re ill and when they die.
I wouldn’t change a thing, though. As I type the noises from next door have subsided. All is peaceful. My furry besties are conked out on the rug. They look like they’re enjoying the deepest sleep, but I know they’re listening. They’re poised and ready for anything. Whatever I’m doing, they’re there.
And if someone knocks on the door, Luna knows what to do.
Dogs don’t know what writing is. They don’t know what music is, either. They don’t care how well my latest album did, how much I make, or what my plans are for this week / this month / the rest of my life. They care about when it’s dinnertime. They care about going for a walk. They get ever so slightly grumpy if I stay up later than our usual bedtime. And Alby would prefer it if we didn’t hoover or do any DIY.
While I will continue to plan ahead, try to manage money well and try to figure out what my next set of ambitions are, I also want to accept the quiet wisdom of dog. Be present. Stay nourished and hydrated. Get outside more. Snuggle up wherever and whenever possible. Show your love.
Life is as long as it ends up being. I choose to be more dog.
Love,
Laura xxx
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