My first dog was acquired at the age of 26. I was recently engaged, and my then fiancée submitted to my begging and got us (me) a Doberman puppy. A Doberman was my dream dog; big and scary, with a loud bark, noble and tall, Dobies are known for being attached to their "one" person. I live with an anxiety disorder, and the thought of a dog that would scare the hell out of everyone immediatly soothed me. We named him Folsom, and I was a dog mom.

What I didn't know was how damn HARD having a puppy was. Between peeing all over the house, acclimating to a new home, learning how to walk on a leash, and not chewing up everything, we (I) hardly slept. Add on to the regular puppy stuff, Dobermans are known for having touchy tummys, meaning that my dog puked... ALL THE TIME. But my big guy grew, and he and I went to puppy classes. We learned to walk politely on a leash, and took off leash agility classes. He and I finally found a food that didn't make him puke every meal, and we snuggled: hard core under the covers in a king sized bed snuggled.

As Folsom grew, my relationship fell apart, and one day, I found myself moving out of my shared home, heartbroken, 87 days before I was supposed to be getting married. I was packing my boxes while my dog sat in his crate, his fate still undecided as to whom he would reside with. My ultimatum: give back my 1.5 caret diamond engagement ring for my dog.

Single, heartbroken, and back living at my parent's home, I found that the ONLY thing getting me out of bed some days was Folsom. He had to be fed and walked and loved. He depended on me, and I now depended on him.

What grew from this was a bond that I can not explain. It is different than that of a mother and child. He is my protector. He is also my investment. I am his food person, and the one who rubs his hips and sneaks him peanut butter after he has pissed off my husband. He scares the shit out of meat salesmen that come to the front door, and makes sure my son is safe playing in the yard. No one comes near me when we walk in even that roughest of neighborhoods, and yet, he loves the smell of tiny little baby toes.

Ladies, adopt yourself a big dog. Go through all the bad acclimating stuff with them. Clean up puke in your bed at 3am. Apologise profusely to the mailman when your dog barks too loud at them. Let them under the covers to snuggle on Sunday mornings, even if it will piss off your partner. Kiss that big dog goodbye when you leave the house knowing that all your valuables are safe. Allow yourself to love something non human that can make you feel safe.

Let me say that again: Love something other than a human that makes you feel safe.

Thanks Folsom for teaching me that. And also for teaching me how to clean up copious amounts of vomit in under two minutes.