“Ed, you need a dog to help you get through this.”

“Honey, a dog is so much work and I don’t have the energy I used to,” I replied.

For the past five years my wife Susan has been alternating taking care of her mother with her sister, which requires her to be away from home every other month—sometimes longer. Her mother’s home is 300 miles away from where we live.

Having Susan away from home for over six months a year eventually got to me and resulted in an anxiety attack and a trip to the emergency room of our local hospital.

After my anxiety attack, I remembered Susan’s advice about getting a dog, but my brain kept shouting at me how much work a dog requires and that I was in my 70s with diminished energy. I argued with myself for over a year, and eventually my heart told me to override my brain and that I indeed needed a dog in my life.

Then the questions started: What kind of dog would be best? Should I get a mixed breed or a pedigree? What about a rescue dog? Should I get a puppy from a breeder? It took me months of thinking and research to answer these questions.

One of the things that concerned me about a puppy was it might outlive us, which at first had me leaning towards an older, rescue dog. But then I thought with a rescue dog there might be more behavior or health problems down the road and this also concerned me.

And then there was Vito.

Vito was a French bulldog puppy Susan and I had encountered a number of years before on an anniversary trip. He was so cute we asked the young couple who owned him his name and if we could take his picture. They said we could, and I framed the picture and put it on a bookcase outside our bedroom. Whenever I looked at Vito, he made me smile.

I decided to check the traits of a French bulldog and learned the breed was a good choice for retirees because they don’t require much exercise or shed much, and they sleep a great deal and are friendly. I contacted a trusted friend who knew a reliable breeder. 

“Louie” arrived in the early stages of the COVID-19 crisis while Susan was away taking care of her mother. He was 14 weeks old. “Buyers regret” hit me the first night when I had to get up at 2 a.m. to take him out to our back porch where I had set up puppy pads so he could do his business.

I had done a great deal of preparation for Louie’s arrival. I had read “Lucky Dog Lessons,” Brandon McMillan’s book on effective training techniques; checked online for recommendations for the best food; and also researched the best crate, toys and treats for a French bulldog puppy. What I wasn’t able to research was the huge impact taking care of a puppy would have on my energy level, my time and my life in general.

As I write this, Louie is sleeping and snoring in back of my chair. He has brought into my life many smiles, a significant amount of work and some aggravation. I walk him, feed him, play with him and take him outside a number of times a day to do his business, seven days a week. He has a lot of energy and can be naughty, but I love him and as he quickly forgives me when I’m impatient with him. I do my best to return his forgiving spirit.

I have thought a number of times if it would have been better to adopt an older dog, and I’m not completely sure I made the best decision to buy a puppy, even though our daughter has promised to take care of Louie if anything happens to us.

Louie is older now and getting easier to take care of, and he brings joy and smiles to those who meet him. Susan often says he has made our home a happier place to be. As for me, I can’t imagine not being able to see his less-than beautiful face and ridiculous bat ears every morning and starting my day with a smile.

I guess adopting a pussycat or an older dog would have been a smarter, safer and less expensive choice to help me deal with Susan’s being away so much, but as I continue to hear Louie’s snores behind me, and remember how much happiness he has brought into our home, I’m glad I listened to my heart when it urged me to overrule my brain.

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