Yes.

My son Jacob has wanted a dog for years.

Ever since he was eight and read “Where The Red Fern Grows”, he’s embarked on a quiet but persistent campaign for a four-legged friend. Oh sure, his breed of choice has changed. At first he wanted a bloodhound. Then it was a black lab. Later he pined for a bull mastiff. Sometimes his desire would seem to wane, but it never went away. Just when I’d thought he’d given up on the idea, he’d say quietly, out of the blue, “So…when can I get a dog?”

We had lots of reasons for not getting a dog. First of all, my husband is not a dog person. He never had animals growing up and doesn’t think he missed out on anything. I had my own laundry list of reasons to avoid dog ownership. I don’t want hair everywhere, I’d argue. I have enough keeping me busy with all these kids. At least babies don’t have to go outside in the middle of the night to pee. And anyway, we were moving at the rate of once every two years and hadn”t bought a house yet.

But secretly, I knew something my husband didn’t. I did grow up with animals, so I knew my kids were missing out. And I knew I was missing out, too. When I was growing up, I was a passionate animal lover. But in the nearly fifteen years since I had lived with a dog or cat, I’d become intolerant of animals. Their fur, their wagging tails, their smells, their slobber. Not everyone is an animal lover. But I’d been one, once, and I’d changed. It felt wrong, somehow.

So finally…after my husband’s walls had slowly broken down over the last two years after exposure to some seriously adorable puppies, and after we bought the house (that backs up to a dog park, no less), and after our son continued to ask, cajole, beg, four years after his obsession first began, and when we could no longer mount a convincing argument against it…

We said yes.

Enter Moxie. We got her from a rescue about a month ago, when she was a stubborn and not-very-trained half-grown pup of five months old. Her momma is a German Shorthair Pointer. Guess what they think her dad is? I guess I didn’t get the memo about the notorious Beagle stubbornness. She’s now an only-slightly-better-trained six-month-old who frequently annoys us, tries to eat anything we leave laying out, and has made it her life’s mission to find food laying around because she’s convinced we are starrrrving her. Frankly, she’s a pain in the butt. But she’s also, strangely, growing on all of us…even my husband.

Jacob has risen to the occasion and is as good a dog papa as any 12-year-old could be expected to be…though he does occasionally get frustrated (“I didn’t know it would be so much WORK, Mom..” Tell me about it when you’ve got KIDS, son…)

I’m getting past the doggy smell and (for now, minor) doggy hair and allowing myself the simple pleasures of scratching a willing belly and watching a long-eared pup clumsily chase a ball.

Could it be that having a dog has actually made me a bit happier? It’s human nature to want to avoid extra work, and adding a dog to the family has definitely piled the workload on. I have to be even more alert, even more watchful, and in a wholly different way than with kids (sneaky and destructive as they can be, I’ve yet to have a child purposely poop on my rug or eat a book). And yet, I find the work enjoyable. It’s part of what having a dog is, and it’s kind of fun. Kind of like having kids, no?

So even as the remains of Moxie’s last  paper dinner lay scattered about my son’s bedroom and I contemplate having to take her on yet. another. walk., I find that I’m glad I said it. Yes. How many of the best surprises in life begin with that simple word?

(I do realize I totally missed days #3 and #4 of Five for Ten. What can I say? I’m trying to take my own advice to be flexible and not give myself too hard a time about it.)