The creative common denominator of companion animals

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I've drawn many a pet portrait in my time. If you're reading this, there's a chance I've drawn your dog for you. It's a common denominator amongst many a fan or friend or bandmate - whether we're in a gallery or a venue, everything slows down when a dog enters the room. I could point to a long list of my favorite works of art and music that pay homage to companion animals, so I'm going to take a detour today to talk about one of mine.

I recently moved to a city that doesn't have a 24-hour emergency vet within a 45 minute drive. My 12-year-old step-dog Poppy came to stay with me once last summer and every time she went for a wander in the big backyard - something that's supposed to be an asset when you have a dog - I worried she would find a lone scorpion or a snake or that a coyote would hop the chain link fence and I wouldn't be able to help her in time. Or maybe her bad kidneys would have a rough day and I'd be too far from the ER. I couldn't let her visit again because I knew I couldn't live with myself if anything happened. My life choices shouldn't effect someone else's furry child.

Helping to take care of a slowly aging dog, a calm weirdo who just wanted to be next to you but not necessarily touching, gave me the confidence to adopt another little terrier of my own. I saw the kind of bond and memories that my partner at the time had with her dog and it solidified my suspicion that maybe I just needed a companion animal. Maybe a good coping mechanism for life would be a small dog who only knows how to chase squirrels, eviscerate stuffed toys, and love you fiercely.

Last week Poppy unexpectedly lost a battle with a mystery illness. While she was a senior dog and not without her fair share of health issues, the end hadn't seemed imminent. It happened fast and I didn't get to say goodbye. I knew there was a 50% chance of this happening, living a couple hours from her home, but the sudden nature of the loss doesn't hurt any less.

I had considered these feelings and joked that maybe I had made a mistake, caring for a dog, because it would inevitably mean almost unthinkable grief. But then I have a bad day and they make a weird face or do that weird half-bark thing or look up at you with their chin on the couch and there is no amount of money you could pay me to give them up.

Having dogs in my life is the best thing to ever happen to me. It's been the best thing to shift my mental health and priorities, even though it has led to some helicopter-parent level of anxiety and ugly crying this past week.

If I can recommend one thing to help you get your shit together it's to adopt a dog.

Force yourself to take care of a creature who can sense you're coming home minutes before your car even pulls into the driveway. Who sometimes destroys your belongings but you can't even be mad because look at that face. Who makes you invisible on the street because omg look at that dog. Who makes you take care of yourself a bit better and make it home at the end of the night because who else would be there to let them outside or feed them or keep them safe?

Lucy is pretty smart, but I can only hope that she'll never fully understand that her big sister isn't around anymore. Poppy only lived with us half time time in Los Angeles thanks to millennial dog co-parenting practices, so her being elsewhere sometimes hasn't been totally foreign.

I'll live vicariously through small dog logic: It's ok. Poppy's just at her other house.

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