GHIN
I’m not sure how the bit started. But I do know I leaned into it at every opportunity, until at some point, there was more truth to it than I realized. I’m talking about my disdain for dogs, of course.
I guess I can trace some of it back to a very early age and an acute unease around them, especially the bigger ones. But it’s not like there was a specific incident that would’ve scarred me, literally or figuratively. We just never had a dog growing up. I sort of think my Mom could’ve had an allergy, but also, neither me, my sister, nor my Dad ever pushed for one, even in the slightest, to join the family. So maybe Mom didn’t have an allergy and it was an easy way to prevent our little minds from getting too curious. I don’t know.
I did, of course, have friends and even cousins with dogs, though my spectrum of affection for the four-legged beasts ranged from not minding on the one end, to annoyance on the other. To me, dogs were hairy, slobbery, and often smelly. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why anybody would willingly invite them into their home.
So anyway, as I grew older and went about my life, the idea of owning a dog just never occurred to me. I had so much uncertainty throughout every aspect of my life—career, location, relationships—that the dog question served to keep me a bit centered. It was never going to happen, and I’d always know that much at least. And to add to this, all around, we began to see the rise of dog-specific upscale restaurants, dog-specific spas, and, I still can’t believe it, dog-specific airlines. I couldn’t help but get cantankerous about dogs and wonder what in the actual fuck we, as a society, were doing!?!?
This is how I envisioned the rest of my life going until something peculiar happened. A tiny seed wriggled in through my outward anti-dog façade and began to germinate. Horrified, I realized that seed was slowly growing into the idea that maybe, just maybe, a dog might be perfect for me. There were three key pieces of evidence I couldn’t ignore:
1) Having moved to Denver without really knowing anybody there were *a lot* of times I would find myself rather lonely. Especially in the first twelve to eighteen months when this insidious dog idea first began to percolate.
2) I love walks. Love to get outside and take a stroll, especially by myself. As a natural introvert, I find it a great way to recharge my batteries and have a think.
3) I often lack a routine. Working remote and owning a business are wonderful things, but they’re not conducive, naturally, to routine. It’s been a constant battle for me.
You know what would help with all three of those things? A dog.
I knew it. Honestly, I knew it going back a couple of years at least. The problem, besides my now very public bit, was I lived alone and traveled a decent amount for work. Getting a dog simply wasn’t feasible, even if the idea had spread like a strange disease within my mind.
Enter my fiancé, Kat.
She and I met a little over two years ago in Denver. It was awesome from the start, natural and easy in all the ways I didn’t think were actually possible. And as things moved along, the idea started to grow in the back of my mind that if she and I were to work out, it would allow me (us, actually) to get a dog. Now, let me be very clear, she is not my fiancé because I wanted a dog; I now have a dog because she is my fiancé (just in case she reads this I want to make that point very clear).
This past April we moved in together. As exciting and monumental as that was, especially for me, I was almost as excited to have the dog conversation. As it was, she was an easy yes--she had grown up with them, loved them, and needed no convincing (except on the part where I was serious). And I was!
I turned forty last year and am beginning to better understand this is a short life and one best get on with what they want. So I lobbied her all spring for us to begin looking, and then in late June we got a call from a nice lady at Mile High Lab Rescue here in Denver. They were bringing a dog up from Texas that she thought fit us well—he was out of the puppy stage, about one-year-old, possessed a relaxed demeanor, and would be a great fit for somebody who’s never had a dog. Arthur is his name, she said, and sent us pictures.
I vividly remember the night we opened the link to look at Arthur’s profile. I think it was by the third picture of him that both Kat and I were completely smitten. He even had a bit of gangliness like me! It was a done deal. We called the lady the next day and said we couldn’t wait to meet him.
Arthur arrived July 20th, shell-shocked but preternaturally calm. I’ll never forget him nuzzling his face against Kat right from the start, seeing the tears of joy in her eyes. It was everything I could’ve hoped for, and I had no idea how much better it would get…
Now, I have to admit I was every bit as nervous as Arthur, and probably much more so. There was the matter of our house and what lay ahead with shedding hair, accidents, chewing, or whatever else we might come to find out. But more than that, I felt nervous about how I’d react to Arthur. Would it take a warming-up period for me? Would he even like me? Was there etiquette when walking a dog, and how quickly would I learn it? Was I going to pick up his poop with only a little plastic bag covering my hand? My mind was racing.
Thankfully, Kat took the lead on most everything, and day one easily turned into day two and oh my god, I was a dog owner. That little nagging thought at the back of my mind several years ago was now reality. And while I’ll say I can’t believe how quickly I got comfortable with Arthur as part of our life, the truth is I knew deep down I’d be all-in the moment I laid eyes on him. Which is exactly what has happened.
We’ve just passed a month with Arthur in our lives, and Kat will hate me for saying this, but I think I might be his favorite. Not that she and him don’t get along great, it’s just that he and I have settled into a routine when I’m at home which basically involves Arthur following me around while I do literally anything. Work, laundry, taking out the trash, weeding—you name it, Arthur is *always* game. What a blessing to have a companion for almost all the little mundane things in life. We’ll have full-on conversations most of the time, though they tend to be rather one-sided. I can’t imagine doing life without Arthur, which is crazy to say for me in general, but especially so some thirty-odd days into knowing him.
I’m writing this somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean on my way home from being in St Andrews for the Women’s Open. It was an incredible tournament; I hope you had the chance to watch it. Cody and I even got the opportunity to play the Old Course on Monday after the event, which was a real highlight. Ten years ago, hell, five years ago I would’ve done anything I could to extend the trip and see more of Scotland with my golf clubs. But I cannot wait to get home and see Arthur. This is the first time I’ve had to travel since we got him. I can’t wait to see him wiggle his body in excitement when I walk in the door. I can’t wait to play tug-of-war and maybe watch a Reds game tonight with him. Tomorrow morning we’ll be out the door at our customary 7 am for a walk, and it’ll feel great to not only be back in a normal routine but begin to recharge the batteries after an exhausting, though deeply rewarding week.
I’m a dog person now. But maybe I always was.
TONIC
Joey Votto retired last week. He’s my favorite baseball player. Always will be.
He’d been giving it a go this season in the Blue Jays farm system, but an injured ankle late in spring, and a summer full of bus rides in the minors led him to call it a career. He went on the Dan Patrick Show to talk about his decision, and how he knew it was time. It’s a wonderful seven-minute clip, in case you haven’t seen or heard it.
Joey Votto is exactly one month older than I am. This proximity in age has always been a big reason why I’ve felt connected to him. We’ve hit all the significant milestones of adulthood together, him a first baseman for my beloved Reds, me wandering down a lot of different career paths. During the uncertainty of my twenties and thirties, I always treasured Votto’s consistency. Any night during the season I could flip on the Reds and get to bear witness to him plying his craft, absolutely grinding through every at-bat he took. In a world where I wasn’t sure about a lot of things, I could be sure number 19 was there.
Votto was a perfectionist on the diamond, striving for the unattainable which marks any pursuit worth sinking one’s entire being into. And for long stretches of time, I truly did believe he’d mastered his craft.
Take for instance the second half of 2016, where Votto compiled a .408 batting average, .490 on-base percentage and .668 slugging percentage over 71 games. Or, the first half of 2012 where he hit 35 doubles and 14 homeruns in just 357 plate appearances before an injury derailed what would’ve been a truly historic year. In 2017 he decided he wasn’t going to strike out, so he didn’t. He walked 134 times with just 83 strikeouts. Not bad for a slugger who belted 36 home runs and carried a .320 batting average. I’m not sure when the phrase became part of the Cincinnati lexicon, but all Joey Votto did was bang.
I’m curious about what Joey will decide to do next with his life. For the first time, it seems our situations are reversed: Me, an owner of a golf business and possessing clarity in career and life like I haven’t felt before, and him an ex-athlete with all the time in the world but lacking firm direction. Whatever he does end up choosing to do with his time I know he’ll be great because that perfectionist in him is still there. Personally, I’d love to see him involved in baseball media. But if he doesn’t decide to be in the public eye, that’s fine too.
One day he’ll make a speech, don the wishbone ‘C’ of my favorite team, and take his rightful spot in Cooperstown. And I’ll be there to bear witness, one final time, to my favorite baseball player.