Originally published by The Clifton Courier, April 21, 2021

I think I need to get a dying dog. 

I have always been someone who liked the idea of living alone. I like having my own space. I like being the authority on what is mess and what is an artful arrangement of items that portrays a homely, lived-in vibe. I like getting to decide what the appropriate volume is for each specific moment of a TV show (sometimes you need to crank it up when there’s a whispering scene and sometimes there’s an explosion that’s very, very loud – the volume setting needs to be adjusted accordingly).

I mean, I like knowing exactly how much milk is going to be left in the fridge at any given time. But I also like not being lonely. 

It’s nice having someone around when you get home. It’s nice having someone to talk to. It’s also very nice to know that if there’s a noise, it can be explained away on another living creature you’re on good terms with rather than the vengeful spirit of a young girl who died in a well in the 1800s but for some reason is directing her unholy anger towards you. 

It took me a while to learn this, but it turns people aren’t supposed to be alone and I, for one, would prefer not to be. 

Mum suggested getting a puppy the other day. 

It’s not a terrible idea. I do like dogs. You can give them long cuddles without it being weird. You can take them for walks. They love you for no reason, even when your undeserving soul is a bitter, withered prune. 

But there’s a few flaws in the puppy plan.

I work pretty unpredictable hours and puppies seem to need structure so they don’t turn into jerk dogs. I don’t think I have the discipline to train a puppy. And I’m not really a fan of all night barking, which is something I anticipate I would deal with as a careless puppy educator. 

Plus, I’m a strict outdoor dog kind of person. I get a little allergy-y when I’m around dogs and I don’t want their fur in my carpet, on my couch or blowing around in the hallways of my lungs. I also don’t want my house to smell of dog. And my backyard isn’t an ideal space for an energetic puppy with its whole life in front of it. 

I also don’t think I can commit to a decade with a dog. I’m not sure where I’ll be in 10 years’ time. I don’t know if I’ll have to move cities or go interstate or have to live on an abandoned oilrig in the middle of the stormy ocean.  

And another thing: I don’t want a needy dog, you know? Like, puppies tend to love people too hard. They cry when you leave for the day and follow you around all the time. It’s a too bit clingy for me. I don’t want a dog who’s so obsessed with me that it has to come with me to everything. I also don’t want to become too dependent on it in return and drag it to every brunch, brewery visit or beach trip I go on. Like, I don’t want having a dog to become my entire personality – I already have a fully-formed/mutated personality, thank you very much. 

What I need is a dog who’s cool with spending most of their time lazing around in my tiny yard, but is also happy to go out for a stroll on a golden afternoon. I need a dog who is too lazy to bark at possums. And, most importantly, I need a dog who loves me deep down, but has its own thing going on and gives me sassy side-eye when I’m being ridiculous. 

What I need is an old dog, preferably in the last year or two of its life. These are the kind of shelter dogs no one wants so they’ll be cheaper, and I’ll seem like a nicer person because I’m “selflessly” giving an unwanted dog a loving home. It’s a win-win. 

Of course, there is the issue of the dog eventually actually dying and the certainty of the hole that I tried to fill with an elderly canine widening even further when the inevitable occurs. 

But let’s just cross that bridge when we get to it.