November Days of Gratitude for November 9

Doggos!

Today I'm thankful for dogs! Yes, I'm especially thankful for my own sweet puppy girl, Jasmine, I do not discriminate: I'm thankful for your dog, your hairdresser's dog, and your grandma Esther's mailman's therapist's dog, too. They're amazing creatures!

I mean ... DOGS! When I see one out the car window when I'm driving, I shriek, "Puppy!" Whether they're poofy little floofs, lean, muscular runners, bug-eyed, purse-sized munchkins, or drooling, galumphing giants, I love them all. I mean, come on - who wouldn't be absolutely charmed by puppers?

Actually, I wasn't. Until I was 31, I was terrified of dogs. My deep adoration for canines is just six years old, and I'm so grateful to have dogs as such a delightful part of my life.

My first memory of my terror of canines dates from the age of eight, when a neighbor's dog, a big, dark, scary-looking thing, chased me home in a particularly traumatizing way. But I had already been uncomfortable around dogs, spending family gatherings uneasily on guard against such terrors as my cousins' sweet mutt, Daisy, my great-aunt's tiny Yorkie, Muffin, and my own father's harmless balls of drool, pugs Zorro and Tucker.

Of course, looking back, I have no idea what I possibly thought I had to fear from any of those. But my fear took a new turn in my early teens, when my dad switched from pugs to Bouviers de Flandres. These were improbably majestic giants - they looked exactly like black Scottie dogs you could ride on. I was scared out of my mind by the way they could put their paws on my stepmother's shoulders. They could take her down if they were especially excited. Sure, she was barely five feet tall, but the point stood.

Even as a teenager, I knew that I didn't have any right to dictate the way people lived in their own homes. Still, how was I supposed to have a moment's relaxation with these beasts stampeding about? How could I possibly let myself sleep? My fear told me that I had to be ever-vigilant, as if I might somehow fail to notice one of these pony-sized terrors barreling across a room and jumping up on me.

My dad promised me that the door to my bedroom would always stay shut until I opened it in the morning, that the dogs would never get in. And I won't say they always got in, but they usually got in, and I'd wake up to them jumping up on the bed and drowning me in drool. That left me with a strong distrust of dogs that lingered until my 30s. When my husband expressed a desire for one, I realized that I hadn't actively fled from a dog in at least 10 years, and that it was possible that I could acclimate myself to one, or even learn to enjoy it.

So we tried it, meeting up with a beautiful border collie mix who reminded my husband of a beloved border collie from his childhood. She was sweet, shy, intuitive, and, somehow, trusting. And I think I was too! It was love at first sight, and my feelings for dogs did a total 180: instead of being terrified of them, I was crazy about them.

Dogs are just an amazing combination of lovable, silly, frustrating, and inventive. Better writers than I have had more insightful thoughts by far, but what I know for sure is that my life would be poorer without a warm puppy to play with and dote on.

Even if she jumps up on the bed.