After a long day away from home, I open the front door, weary and weighted down. It is so very easy for the world outside my home to have that effect on me, and I am always grateful for the blessing of closing both the garage door at the end of the day and closing the metaphorical door of another long day in the crazy, chaotic world out there.
Today, as with many other previous days, I am greeted at the front door by two rather large mixed breed coonhounds and a flurry of activity topped off by eagerly wagging tails. Whether the tail was wagging the dog or the dog was wagging the tail is totally irrelevant. All I can see in front of me is a happiness so full and innocent that I can't help but smile and feel the hard day behind me start to melt away into the past.
As I bend down to pet the two happy heads, I ask both of them whether they are happy to see me... the childless dog lady. While I see a brief quizzical look pass across their faces, their expressions quickly return to the wildly enthusiastic "She's home, She's home" mode. Their unbridled happiness tells its own story. They could care less if I am childless not by choice or childless by choice. I am their cat's meow. Pure and simple.
As the internet continues to churn on J.D. Vance's negative views of childless women, I've had plenty of opportunity to reflect on my own childlessness. While it wasn't my choice to come home to two delightful coonhounds and the pitter patter of four paws rather than two feet, I have found peace in my alternative life. While some seem to think that the childless among us bring home dogs to try (pathetically, unsuccessfully, or otherwise) to fill the hole left by the absence of children, I can confidently say that Willow and Lazer are not caulk on the seams of my broken heart.
I didn't bring them home to serve me, but for me to serve them. Adopting rescue dogs most of my life has come from a sincere desire to make a small dent in the immense population of homeless and unwanted dogs in the U.S., a result of over-breeding, accidental breeding, and a culture that seems to think that custom-made pets should be a thing.
Mixed breeds are always an adventure, a mystery bag that unfolds year over year into a combination of challenges, chuckles, and cheer that no one could have ever custom-designed from scratch. So, in our home where the inhabitants make up a group of hearts, minds, and souls that seem far away from the mainstream nuclear family, we have nevertheless found the warmth, safety, and closeness of family. Stitched together, one paw at at time.
On days that I can shut out the voices of what I should be doing and should have done with my life, I am content and happy. Due in no small part to those crazy coonhounds running around the house.
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