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It wasn’t my idea to get a dog – but I am glad I did.
At our age, you start to think more about what you can manage rather than what you might like. Fewer long commitments. Fewer responsibilities. Certainly nothing that needs walking twice a day in a relenetless Canadian winter!
But then Alfie arrived – small, sandy-coloured, with ears far too big for his head and a look that suggested he knew something about life that I didn’t.
He was, as far as anyone could tell, a terrier mix – the sort of cheerful, slightly scruffy combination that probably had a bit of Norfolk Terrier in him, perhaps a dash of Cairn Terrier, and a healthy dose of “no one really knows”. The best kind, if you ask me.
He wasn’t even meant to stay. A neighbour, new to the street and already overwhelmed, asked if I could “just keep him for a few days.” Those few days turned into a week, and the week quietly became forever.
Alfie isn’t much of a talker, which suits me fine. He listens. Properly listens. The kind of listening that doesn’t interrupt or offer advice or check its phone halfway through.
I found myself telling him things I hadn’t said out loud in years. About work, once upon a time. About people who had drifted away. About plans I’d quietly shelved without quite admitting it.
He’d tilt his head, as if weighing it all up, then wander off to investigate a particularly interesting lamppost. And somehow, that was enough.
There’s something about a dog that brings your world back into focus.
You notice things again. The crunch of frost underfoot. The smell of rain before it arrives. The way the light hits the river just before sunset. Alfie insists on stopping for all of it.
He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t worry about what’s next. He’s entirely committed to whatever is happening right now–whether that’s chasing a leaf or watching a squirrel with the intensity of a seasoned detective.
Evenings are different now, too. Where once the house felt, well, quiet… it now feels occupied. Not noisily so. Alfie is not a particularly demanding presence–but reassuringly.
He has his spot by the chair. I have mine. Occasionally, he’ll sigh, deeply and theatrically, as if the day has been an enormous effort. I tend to agree with him.
There’s comfort in that shared rhythm. No need for conversation. No need for anything, really, except being there.
If you’d asked me a year ago whether I’d get a dog, I’d have said no. Too much work. Too much responsibility. Too many early mornings. And yet, here we are.
Alfie, the little terrier cross with a big personality, didn’t just change my routine. He changed the texture of my days. Made them fuller. Days with purpose and pleasure.
He wasn’t part of the plan. But then again, the best things rarely are.
Do you have a special pet like Alfie? Then tell us the difference it makes by filling in the form below.
