The Planner

When C and I first moved in together, we lived in a small apartment in Vancouver. Our neighbours had dogs. Our friends had dogs. And I wanted one. Desperately. I spent hours online perusing the SPCA website, scouring rescue sites, and researching breeders. 

C said what I knew to be true but didn’t want to acknowledge: It was not the right time. Fuller than full-time work. Grad school. A small, and I mean teeny tiny small, apartment. No parks nearby. No time to make sure the dog was properly walked and cared for. No time even for ourselves. A dog would be part of our family eventually, we were sure. But not at that point. And so, instead, we bought a big peace lily and a beautiful pot. This would have to suffice. For now. 

When we finally welcomed Chilli into our lives, it was the right time, finally. And our life with him has been nothing short of amazing. For three of Chilli’s nearly five years of life, we’ve talked about a second dog. We’ve once again hemmed and hawed and gone to and fro. Questioning whether it was the right time, whether we were in the best position to welcome a second dog into our lives, and whether a second dog would or would not enrich Chilli’s life.

Three years ago, when we first started talking about a second dog, we reached out to dog rescuers and breeders. Ultimately, we decided we weren’t quite ready and what we wanted wasn’t available. A few months later, abnormal blood test results for me meant three weeks in Vancouver for a bone marrow biopsy, various other tests, and appointments. I was diagnosed with a myeloproliferative neoplasm. 

It was a stressful experience. One that we felt would have been much more difficult with a young puppy. At the time we were grateful we only had Chilli. 

And then things settled and the puppy once again was in our minds.

But I was working on my dissertation; we weren’t sure where we might be living in the next few years; we worried about Chilli’s well-being; we talked about budget, pet insurance. All these things were considered. We spent hours and hours and weeks and months thinking, puzzling and debating.

But now, here we are. Decision made. Finally. Yes! We are getting a second dog. 

I am the type of person who takes a long time to make decisions. I mean, mostly. Sure, I have been known to make spontaneous purchases, like a pair of pants without trying them on or shoes I see online that I like. However, when it comes to the big things, both C and I tend to take our time. 

Take our new couch, for example. We’ve discussed a new couch for years. We’ve never had a brand-new couch and we’ve thought about the purchase for a long, long time. It may seem ridiculous to some, after all, our new couch isn’t anything fancy, but it’s just the way we are. We take our time. 

There is an element of ease to the life events that just happen. The decisions that take time seem to be weightier even if the actual decision being made is relatively trivial. So not like a puppy, but like where to go for dinner or what movie to watch. Sometimes we overthink it. And with all that overthinking expectations build up. Expectations because of the assumption that this is the perfect choice. Expectations because the lengthy decision-making process automatically disqualifies one from experiencing something negative. Maybe if the movie or the restaurant had been picked for me, I’d just go with it and be happy enough because I’d have no preconceived idea of what I was getting. Maybe I’d just be content. It seems to me that in the end, no matter how much time we spend thinking, planning, and deliberating, we cannot predict what will happen.

When we paid our deposit for the new puppy, I was filled with a surge of excitement. And then immediately and suddenly, I had a pang of guilt. Oh God, I thought, what will Chilli think. I mean, we’d thought about that very question for years. We’d questioned whether a second dog would enrich his life, and on and on. But in that moment, I imagined Chilli hating me. It pained me that I might not be able to communicate that we aren’t replacing him. That I love him more than anyone could ever know. And ultimately, I can’t control how Chilli will ‘feel’ (I know, I know, I am really anthropomorphizing here). But I also know that we have and will continue to do everything in our power to ensure it’s a positive experience for him.

I like to know. To plan. To control. I like predictability and routine and stability. Change, whether it’s a new couch or a new puppy, is exciting, but it also requires the ability to recognize that there will always be things, no matter how much you analyze and plan, that are outside of your control. It’s about management. Recognizing that, no matter what, we will deal with what happens.