I love dogs. I love the "dogness" of them; the inherent openness of spirit; the unconditionality of their hearts; the inherent curiosity and wonder of their nature. I even love their childlike dependency. From the most adorable puppy or the most elegant pedigree to the scruffiest mutt, my heart melts for dogs.
The few periods in my life when I didn't have a dog were mere transitions. I grew up in a dog family and my son has never known a life without the comfort of a cushy, furry, drooly, devoted heart-on-legs. At first, we had two. Mandy was the "momma-dog" who cuddled the B-man and herded him away from perceived dangers when he was a toddler. We still miss her but we remember her with smiles and laughter. She was a character and the stories never grow tiresome, no matter how often the B-man asks me to tell them.
We still have Daisy. She has always been the B-man's playmate. Even now, at the age of 14, she staggers gamely along with him on our walks. She's not as fast as she used to be but the B-man shows his love by slowing down for her and not going where she would have difficulty following him ... because he knows that she would follow him anywhere he leads her. That's what dog-love is, after all.