To The Dogs Who Taught Me How to Mother
A thank-you and an acknowledgment of all that has changed between us
Welcome, I’m Lindsay. The Slow Studio is a space I’ve created to write about my approach to slow(er) living as a design studio owner, multifaceted creative, first-time motherhood and more. Keep up with me on Instagram, Pinterest and TikTok.
It’s 2 a.m. and Brooke has been crying relentlessly for the last hour.
The bitter storm outside batters and shakes our windows; I hold her close and try to ‘shhh’ her back to sleep while praying for a break in the storm and a chance to shut my eyes.
She writhes and wriggles with fear, her chest heaving with every anxious breath.
Meanwhile, I catch a glimpse of my 7-month-old daughter asleep in the glow of the monitor, blissfully unaware of it all.
Brooke is a 15-year-old Australian Cattle Dog – my husband’s “college dog,” who is now our dog.
I fell for her just as quickly as I fell for Paul when we became acquainted over a decade ago.
I’d grown up with dogs, but not like this one: wiry and intelligent, perceptive and athletic, always down for the next adventure. We became fast friends, and with time, she accepted me as her mom.
Over time, life happened:
Rushing her to the vet at the drop of hat when a bout of kennel cough set in; cleaning up her carsickness en route to Colorado without blame; holding her through the night to quell the fear and panic stirred up by summer storms.
She taught me how to mother.
We adopted River, another Australian Cattle Dog, soon after moving into our first home.
Shy and sweet-natured at his core, he’d been passed from shelters to foster families and back again thanks to his reactivity toward unfamiliar dogs.
When he trotted up to Brooke like a familiar old friend without so much as a bristle, we knew he was ours.
Protecting him from himself; practicing unwavering patience while he assimilated to life outside of the shelter system; learning to guide and correct with love – these became our foundation.
He taught me how to mother.
They taught me how to mother first – and now I’m a mother to my daughter first.
Things look so different between us now, the dogs and I – they sense it, too.
Our days at home have settled into a delicate dance, the rhythms of feedings and playtimes and naps setting the tempo.
They weave in and out of my legs all day long while I race to “get things done;” I feel their presence when a tail or wet nose brushes my leg, but I am not fully present with them.
They trail after me into the nursery for every diaper change – Brooke leading the charge and River right behind – curling into their respective spots on the rug to watch.
They’ve learned to temper their energy around the baby; to slow their steps and take care to observe from afar and maintain a safe distance .
A distance that has extended to me, too.
I’ve allowed myself to be willfully ignorant about the fragile concept of time for far too long.
But the truth is, they’re running out of it. Quickly, in comparison to us.
And that breaks me.
At night after my daughter goes to bed, I lay my head on Brooke’s side and clutch her fur between my fingers, breathing her in and hoping she feels my love in the same way as before.
Hoping that she knows that I’m still her mother, too, until the end.
To the dogs who taught me how to mother, who are now the loving witnesses of my motherhood: thank you, I love you – and I hope I’m making you proud.
This was so beautifully written. While I'm not currently a parent, as my husband and I discuss having children, we've pointed to puppyhood as a great learning experience. There's so much they can teach us.