I went through my early twenties with a singular goal in mind: to make enough money to be able to afford to rent a place that allowed me to have a dog. At the time I was living in London, which made that goal particularly difficult to reach because, like New York City, it is always a landlord’s market. Apartments get listed and scooped up in minutes and it’s really more of a ‘take what you can get’ situation.

When I was working towards this goal, I was part of a ‘we’.

‘We’ wanted a dog. And we finally found a spot that met all our other needs (central location, affordable enough, had windows, etc…) and allowed a dog the year that I turned 27.

Now, to be clear, the type of dog that I had in mind was a small breed, with relatively low activity requirements, like a French Bulldog or a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel.

I wanted a lapdog – a little fluffball that would keep me company while I was my typical homebody self.

My long-term partner, on the other hand, was a college athlete turned marathon runner turned Iron Man, and he wanted a dog that could run with him. He was thinking of a Vizsla or Border Collie.

Our compromise was a Golden Retriever.

She is a compact little fluffball like I wanted. She is cuddly and full of personality and believes that everyone is her friend, and she requires a lot of activity.

Being the nurturer that I am, and given the fact that I was not training for an Iron Man during her puppy year when her little joints were still developing and she wasn’t able to run yet, we developed a pretty strong bond.

I never thought that I would be the pet parent that refers to themselves as ‘mom’, but the day that she ran to me for a cuddle after she hurt herself, I knew she was my baby.

And so, when that ‘we’ chapter ended, it was a no-brainer that the pup was coming with me. I booked us both a plane ticket across the Atlantic, and we re-started together in America.

That next chapter of my life was pretty rough; my breakup and international relocation coincided with COVID. I was lonely and depressed as hell.

And that puppy got me through it. Even though she wasn’t trained as a support animal, she knew exactly how to comfort me on my darkest days. She has an uncanny ability to sense my emotions, and she has straight up nudged me up off the floor during bad days.

Without a doubt, having a high-energy dog is one of my biggest challenges in this chapter of life. But I know I wouldn’t have made it this far without her. She gives me a reason to get out of the house and into the sunshine everyday, and I make sure she gets the exercise she needs to stay healthy and happy. Together, we take care of each other – and I wouldn’t have it any other way.