Dogs don’t use calendars.
They don’t know when January becomes February.
They have no idea when spring officially begins, when summer vacation starts or why someone suddenly drags an enormous tree into the living room every December.
But dogs know when things change.
They know when the snow is deep enough to disappear into.
They know when the first warm afternoon arrives and the back door stays open a little longer.
They know when suitcases appear.
They know when the camping gear comes out.
They know when the kids stop leaving for school every morning.
And they definitely know when someone reaches for the leash.
Spend an entire year with a dog and they become part of almost everything.
The holidays.
The seasons.
The trips.
The routines.
And thousands of completely ordinary walks around the neighbourhood.
Here is a year with your dog.
January — The First Walk of the Year
The world is quiet.
Snow covers the sidewalks.
Your breath hangs in the air.
You stand near the door wearing boots, gloves, a coat and enough layers to survive an expedition across Antarctica.
The dog is ready immediately.
Apparently fur was an excellent investment.
Outside, familiar neighbourhood smells have been completely redesigned by fresh snow.
Every footprint requires investigation.
Every snowbank deserves closer inspection.
And if your dog happens to love winter, there is a very good chance that the creature who reluctantly walks around the block in July suddenly believes it could complete the Iditarod.
Eventually you head home.
The dog brings approximately half the snowbank with them.
Another year has begun.
February — Your Other Valentine
There may be flowers.
There may be chocolates.
There may even be reservations somewhere nice.
Your dog remains unimpressed by all three.
They would, however, like to remind you that they have loved you enthusiastically for years without requiring dinner reservations.
They greet you at the door.
Follow you from room to room.
Sit beside you on the sofa.
And occasionally stare at you with an intensity that would be slightly concerning from almost anyone else.
Valentine’s Day celebrates love.
Dogs have been practicing all year.
March — Mud Season
Spring is coming.
Unfortunately, it arrives through the backyard.
The snow begins disappearing.
The ground softens.
Puddles appear.
And the dog somehow discovers every single one.
You wipe four paws at the door.
Three seconds later, there are paw prints across the kitchen floor.
You clean those.
The dog needs outside again.
There is a brief period every spring when dog ownership appears to consist primarily of towels.
But beneath all that mud, something wonderful is happening.
Winter is ending.
Walks are getting longer.
And the world is waking up again.
April — The Walk Gets Longer
One evening you notice something.
Dinner is finished.
The dishes are done.
And it’s still light outside.
So you grab the leash.
The quick winter walk around the block becomes two blocks.
Then three.
Perhaps you wander toward the park.
Perhaps you take the trail you haven’t walked since autumn.
The dog notices everything.
New smells.
Running water.
Birds in the trees.
People emerging from houses after months spent hiding from winter.
Nobody officially announces that walking season has returned.
Nobody needs to.
The leash already knows.
May — Everything Is Growing
The grass is green again.
Gardens are beginning to bloom.
Patios reopen.
People linger outside.
And suddenly the dog’s world becomes considerably larger.
There are longer walks after dinner.
Weekends in the yard.
Trips to the garden centre.
Maybe even the first afternoon on a dog-friendly patio while someone quietly hopes a piece of lunch falls beneath the table.
May feels like possibility.
Summer is close enough to see.
And your dog intends to participate in all of it.
June — The Road Trip
At first, nothing seems unusual.
Then the bags appear.
A cooler is carried toward the door.
Someone starts loading the vehicle.
The dog watches carefully.
Because there is one question that matters more than anything else:
Am I coming?
Then the leash gets packed.
Excellent.
Whether the destination is a campground, cabin, hotel, family visit or simply somewhere a few hours down the highway, travelling with a dog changes the journey.
There are more stops.
More water breaks.
More hair in the vehicle.
And considerably more excitement every time someone says:
“Want to go for a ride?”
The destination matters.
But to the dog, being invited might matter even more.
July — Find the Water
Summer has arrived.
The pavement is hot.
The afternoon sun is intense.
And suddenly every shady patch of grass looks extremely appealing.
For some dogs, July means lakes.
Rivers.
Sprinklers.
Kiddie pools.
Garden hoses.
Or a perfectly good water bowl that they ignore in favour of drinking directly from whatever questionable outdoor source they discover first.
Other dogs want absolutely nothing to do with swimming.
They will stand safely on shore while everyone else makes poor decisions.
Either way, hot weather changes the routine.
Walks move toward cooler mornings and evenings.
Water comes everywhere.
And sometimes the best summer afternoon is simply spent lying somewhere shady doing absolutely nothing.
Dogs are very good at that too.
August — The Dog Days of Summer
The phrase seems appropriate.
The days are long.
The evenings stretch on.
Windows are open.
Someone is cooking outside.
And the dog has positioned itself close enough to the barbecue to monitor quality control.
August is made for slow evenings.
A walk as the temperature drops.
A nap on the deck.
A weekend at the lake.
A car ride for absolutely no reason.
Maybe everyone sits outside until the mosquitoes finally win.
There is no urgency to any of it.
Summer has settled into its rhythm.
The dog has too.
September — Where Did Everybody Go?
For weeks, the house has been busy.
Kids everywhere.
Doors opening.
Food appearing at unusual times.
People coming and going.
Then one morning, backpacks appear.
Lunches are packed.
Shoes are found.
And suddenly everyone leaves.
The dog stands in the quiet house trying to understand what just happened.
Back to School changes routines for pets too.
Walks may happen at different times.
The house may be quieter during the day.
The people who were constantly available throughout summer suddenly disappear for hours.
But eventually the front door opens.
Someone drops a backpack.
And a dog who has spent the entire afternoon sleeping reacts as though their family has returned from a seven-year expedition.
Every single day.
October — The Best Walking Weather
The air changes.
Leaves crunch beneath your feet.
The evenings arrive earlier.
And walks suddenly become wonderful again.
No blazing pavement.
No mosquitoes.
No oppressive afternoon heat.
Just cool air, colourful trees and a dog with absolutely no reason to hurry home.
Then Halloween arrives.
Pumpkins appear on porches.
Children roam the neighbourhood dressed as superheroes, ghosts and creatures your dog cannot possibly be expected to understand.
The doorbell rings repeatedly.
Candy is everywhere.
And someone may attempt to put the dog in a costume.
October is strange.
But the walks are excellent.
November — Come Sit With Me
The clocks change.
Darkness arrives early.
The temperature drops.
And life begins moving indoors again.
Blankets return to the sofa.
The fireplace comes on.
Wet paws get wiped at the door.
And the dog that happily spent summer sleeping across the room suddenly decides there is really no reason for several inches of unnecessary space between you.
So they move closer.
Sometimes much closer.
November evenings are quieter.
A walk in the dark.
Dinner.
A warm house.
A dog sleeping beside you while the weather does whatever it wants outside.
There are worse ways to spend an evening.
December — The Dog Knows Something Is Happening
The boxes come upstairs.
Lights appear.
People start moving furniture around.
Then a tree enters the house.
The dog has questions.
Soon there are presents underneath it.
Interesting smells come from the kitchen.
People visit.
Coats pile near the door.
Someone keeps saying the dog’s name while wrapping something suspiciously shaped like a bone.
Christmas morning arrives.
Paper covers the floor.
The dog receives a new toy.
Then ignores it and steals the wrapping paper.
Someone takes photographs.
Someone gives the dog something from Christmas dinner they were specifically told not to give them.
Eventually the house becomes quiet again.
The lights on the tree glow in the evening.
And somewhere nearby, the dog falls asleep.
Another Christmas together.
And Then We Do It All Again
Eventually the tree comes down.
The decorations disappear.
The house returns to normal.
January arrives.
And one morning you reach for the leash again.
Another year begins.
The dog doesn’t know that, of course.
To them, there was no Valentine’s Day.
No first day of spring.
No summer vacation.
No Back to School.
No Halloween.
No Christmas.
There were walks.
Car rides.
Doors opening.
People coming home.
Meals.
Treats.
Mud.
Snow.
Warm evenings.
Cold mornings.
A favourite place on the sofa.
And thousands of ordinary moments spent following the same people through another year.
We tend to remember the big things.
The vacations.
The birthdays.
The holidays.
The milestones.
But years with dogs are often remembered differently.
The sound of paws following you into the kitchen.
A nose appearing beside the bed in the morning.
A leash hanging beside the door.
A ridiculous photograph from Christmas.
The muddy footprints you complained about at the time.
The familiar weight of a dog sleeping against your leg.
Another walk around the same neighbourhood you’ve walked hundreds of times before.
Another year together.
And if we’re lucky, when January comes around again, they’ll be waiting beside the door for the next walk.
