The nightly ritual with my dog

My dog and I have a nightly ritual. I switch off the television or put down my book, and wake him gently from his favoured position snoozing beside me on the sofa. He looks at me regretfully as I carry him outside for a final five minute stroll. On re-entering the flat, I present him with his first biscuit. He leaps on this with gusto before realizing that, being a tiny animal, he cannot fit it into his own mouth. He gazes at me with absolute hope, trust, and unconditional love, sitting patiently at my feet, the picture of reliance. I crush the biscuit into bite-sized pieces, which he consumes while I brush my teeth and wipe off the layers of make-up that have seen me through the day.

As I undress, he gets a second treat, then waits until I am ready to lift him on to the bed. There, I check that there is no residual biscuit trapped down the sides of his poorly-designed jaw and deteriorating dachshund teeth. While I apply moisturizer and take my nightly pills, turn on an audiobook and slide under the duvet, he is already preparing his side of the bed for sleep, hollowing out his space under the covers. Once I have lain down, he rests his head on the inside of my waist or my thigh, nestling it warmly into my flesh. Almost instantly he is asleep.

For a 5 kilo animal, he can snore like a train, but there is no sound I would rather listen to while I attempt to drift off to sleep. In these times, when I wake a lot in the night and dream vividly, his snuffles and sighs are an anchor to reality, and a comfort in the lonely darkness. Everyone who has ever accused me of spoiling him is completely right, but the support and love we offer each other feels mutual and unconditional.

Love and reliance

I know this is the experience of many people who own dogs. For some women, it may also explain part of their desire to have children. Covid has seen an increase in dog ownership, perhaps in part as other relationships are put under strain. It is a strangely compelling thing not only to be loved – whatever it is it actually means for a dog to ‘love’ – but to be needed. For me, in my darkest and lowest moods, I do find myself coming back to the core question: what would happen to him if I were gone? I have written before about the harmfulness of perceiving oneself as irreplaceable, but his attachment to me is undoubtedly real and powerful. He suffered a lot of trauma before I owned him, and I cannot shake my sense of responsibility to him.

His trauma, combined with the many design flaws we have bred into miniature dachshunds, makes his reliance on me particularly palpable. More than just requiring food, water, medical care, my dog cannot undertake stairs on his own. He cannot jump on to the sofa or the bed. He cannot even bite into a normal dog biscuit or clear its remnants out from the back of his mouth. His past means that he suffers considerable anxiety when left alone or asked to endure the company of others.

I find that I am able to be patient with him in a way that I would not be with a person, even a close friend or relative. I forgive him instantly when he gets things wrong. Of course, this is in part because he is only a dog, and cannot be expected to behave like an intelligent human, even a child. But there is also something in our relationship, in what I feel obligated to do for him, that comes from what is definitely a form of love.

Accepting our need of others

At the moment in particular, suffering with my mental and physical health, I have found myself obliged to turn to other people in a way with which I am distinctly uncomfortable. It feels incompatible with my sense of personal strength and independence. There are people in my life who I know love me unconditionally, yet I find it almost impossible to accept that love when it extends to need or reliance.

It has left me asking the question as to why, when I rely on and gain so much from a relationship with a dog who needs me, I cannot accept that the same is true for others who are trying to help me. Doubtless relationships with other people, especially within families, are a good deal more complex than what I can have with a sausage dog. I also accept that it is a joy and a privilege to have people in my life who do offer this love and care, and that not everyone has what I have.

However, looking at it objectively, it seems essential that if we are to care for ourselves we must learn to accept the care of others. I need to find a way to understand that part of love and friendship is to recognize that we must allow others to support us in our vulnerability. When we are incapable of doing everything for ourselves, it is our responsibility both to ourselves and to others to accept their help. I must learn that this may not only be something that I need, but something that those who love me need, too.