I was effectively born a cat person. You could say it was pre-ordained: the nickname Saby, which I’ve gone by my whole life and has for all intents and purposes served as my “real” name, was decided while my mom was still pregnant with me. While I’m formally named after my dad, my mom presumably wanted to come up with something cute and diminutive to distinguish me from him. She’d had a cat by the same name and, for reasons that still elude me, decided to just transfer the nickname to her new incoming baby. So, yes, I was named after a cat.
Saby the cat perished at some point before my birth, but I arrived into a home with another feline, an ancient Siamese that was oddly energetic and playful for being as old as my mom claimed she was. According to my mom, Cleo had been around since my mom was 11 years old. I can’t verify whether that’s true, but I can say that an inherent appreciation for the mannerisms and body language of cats was imprinted on me early.
Like so many people who didn’t grow up around dogs, I found “man’s best friend” not only sloppy and physically clumsy but overbearing and — worst of all — way too needy. Not only did I absolutely hate the sensation of being licked or drooled-on, but I couldn’t imagine how someone could live with such a creature and not feel suffocated by the constant need for attention and companionship. “You just haven’t recognized,” someone once told me, “the specific way that dogs are magic.”
That started to change in my early 20s, when I rented a room in a house that was also home to a Black Lab/German Shepherd mix. As I found out upon moving in, the dog (who was named Smoker) could cut an impressively fearsome figure when he’d rear back in the doorway and bark, but he was as gentle as could be. Instantly, I understood what an extraordinary reassurance it is to know that you’ll be alerted to the presence of strangers approaching your home.
Fast forward almost 20 years later and I was lucky enough to again find myself living with a dog, this time with a Jack Russell terrier who was soon followed by another Jack Russell. I grew attached to both dogs and enjoyed walking them immensely. I can distinctly remember the younger of the two dogs jumping into bed one morning and licking my mouth after she’d been eating out of the cat litter box and looking into my eyes with the most loving expression, as if she’d just handed me a bouquet of flowers.
With a cat also present, it became quite clear to me that having the energy of both a cat and a dog in the home created a powerful balance of complementary energies — to say nothing of the sheer bliss of nestling with both kinds of furry friends sitting up against you. Around that same time, the PBS Nova released the documentary Dogs Decoded. By that point, it had already dawned on me: if walking into the house to be greeted by unconditional love was such a profound lift to me as a modern person, then the emotional boost to early humans must’ve been indescribable.
But Dogs Decoded went even further. To my astonishment, several people interviewed in the film asserted that dogs were directly responsible for our tragectory as a species. You can hear one of the interview subjects in the trailer below say flat-out that “without dogs, humans would still be hunter-gatherers.” Others in the film — in places like the Arctic, Scotland, and New Guinea — stressed that humans simply could not have survived in those environments without dogs to assist us.
About two years ago, I started getting the inkling that it would be really grounding for my daughter to grow up with a dog. There was already a cat living at her mom’s house, but although the cat always greeted me warmly, she maintained an emotional distance from my daughter. I broached the idea with my daughter’s mom and, one day in February of 2023, I got a phone call that they were driving from an Amish farm with a newly adopted puppy in tow.
On first meeting the puppy, a Boston Terrier/French Bulldog mix who I inadvertently helped to name Poky, he seemed abnormally timid. We all crossed our fingers and hoped that Poky was simply having trouble adjusting, and that he would eventually come out of his shell. I was also little nervous that my daughter might show enthusiasm at first but ultimately lose interest and withdraw from Poky. Part of me, however, felt that my initial hunch was correct, and that my daughter’s “love language” was more suited for the constant affections of a canine.
As it turned out, my daughter’s mom hit the lottery with Poky. Poky’s true colors soon emerged, and time revealed him as a lovable bundle of energy. Still, I found my familiar impatience re-surfacing. Over time, though, my tolerance for being licked and shoved and, well… hounded by Poky grew. My daughter, however, absolutely loved it from the start when Poky would insistently lick her face. I must admit, I’m still not there with getting my face licked, but Poky and I have grown quite close.
Strangely, Poky was the only dog I’d ever met who seemed reluctant to go on walks. He has plenty of land to run around on at my daughter’s mom’s house, but at one point while visiting, I just looked at him and said “You and I are going on a walk. Come on, it’ll do you good.” Needless to say, Poky took to walking instantly. And now walking together is our thing.
As I say in the short video clip above, it occurred to me recently with a laser-like clarity, that Poky is wiser than any buddha — certainly than any person could ever claim to be. In spite of my impatience with him, my hot-and-cold receptiveness and my intolerance, Poky has always been very accepting going in the other direction. In fact, looking into his eyes I saw only tolerance, and an ease with both giving and asking for affection. And it started to rub-off.
“He doesn’t need to be shown how to love,” I realized. “So,” I asked myself, “who’s really walking who?”
Now, I stop over in the mornings and he and I are off on our merry way, often walking my daughter to school together, much to the squealing delight of the other children getting off the schoolbusses as we head to the entrance while the morning bell rings…
Wisdom, alas, comes into our path from unexpected places. I never would’ve imagined that I’d one day look at this comical little creature and say that he has everything figured out that needs to be figured out, but that’s where I find myself.
<3 SRK
News flash: Dogs are wiser than any buddha.