What are you most grateful for?

Here are just a few of the things that make my list, in no particular order

My dog Mister Almost ten years ago, on the coldest day of the year, I got dressed in layers, leashed up my dog Sammy, and went to a pet adoption fair on Bleecker Street. I’d been wanting a buddy for Sammy and me for a while, and was committed to that dog being a rescue—for all the karmic reasons, but also because Sammy, a Schnoodle, and the Shih-Tzu that preceded him, the beloved Weetzie, were plagued by the kind of heartbreaking and expensive health problems that smaller purebreds are vulnerable to. A bigger dog with a little hybrid vigor felt like just the thing.

Mister was curled up in a tight ball in the corner of his cage when I first saw him. He was from Thailand, the volunteer told me—his parents were street dogs, and he was born in a shelter—and this great foundation had sponsored his travel to the U.S. to find his forever home. Thinking of this poor pup traveling in the cargo hold of a plane for 20 hours, probably terrified, killed me. He looked scared, a little meek. Very intense and beautiful eyes. I loved him instantly. After making sure he and Sammy were not incompatible, I decided to take him home.

After the first week, I was pretty sure I’d made a mistake. Mister was skittish around sudden noises and movements, and quick to provoke—I had to stop going to the dog run, because he got into so many fights there. Even though he was born in a shelter, he had many street dog instincts—a dog trainer I met not long after adopting Mister would classify him as semi-feral. Which meant that he was domesticated, but only somewhat. He wasn’t especially affectionate. He would fuck with anyone who he even suspected was fucking with his food or treats. Wasn’t always great with kids. In short, he was a challenge. But giving him back was not an option, not for a second. I already loved him too much.

As the years passed, Mister got better trained and chilled out, and became a much better boy. Sammy died during Covid, which was horrible, but that bonded us closer together.

These days, if I’m home, he’s usually close by. He sleeps at my feet every night, and makes me feel safe whenever I’m out with him after dark, or home at night alone. He is deeply stubborn—he went through a phase over the summer when he refused to go on his evening walk unless everyone in the house came along too. And, as my husband Paul pointed out once early in our relationship, he doesn’t really know how to ask for love. His way of showing a desire for affection is to stand a short distance from you, maintain eye contact, and issue a low growl. But he’s my boy.