A thought on a dog.

It is amazing the trepidation and, dare I say it, fear that accompanied the thought of taking on responsibility for another living being. Perhaps there are those who take such a job more lightly—they enter into it on a whim, with only the immediate thought of the lovable, bounding ball of fur and tongue and tail. They might well become wonderful owners, parents, to their pet—my goal is not to dismiss their impulsiveness as reckless or inappropriate.

For myself, however, with that impulsiveness always came the fear of failure, the fear of doubt. Perhaps I held myself to too high a standard of what an owner should be; or perhaps I was just scared and unwilling, despite my vocalizations to the contrary, to commit. It does not matter now, because as I look at the living, breathing, loving being chewing up the last scraps of an edible tooth-beneficial-toy on our new carpet, I cannot imagine my life without him.