The Smell of Home

People say that dogs pick up the traits of the people they live with. Mine, unfortunately, has picked all the worst ones from all of us.

He inherited my need for attention and my sister’s avoidant personality. He sits in the same room, looks at me, and groans as though he is calling my name, asking me to come and sit beside him. But three minutes into cuddling and suddenly, physical affection is beneath him.

He has also inherited my paranoia. It takes just one unfamiliar sound to convince him that civilization is ending. The more I think about it, the more I realize how many unnecessary traits he has borrowed from me. My mood swings. My complete lack of emotional regulation. He hears his friend barking from the window of another building, gets instantly triggered, and charges towards the balcony as though he has been summoned to battle. His bark carries the confidence of a warrior and the logic of someone who has completely lost the plot.

Sometimes I wonder if he is our dog, or simply a mirror with four legs.

Life feels wonderfully absurd when I think about the fact that we have a furry little creature living in our house. My mother and I once used to be terrified of dogs, but today conversations about his poop have become a regular part of our dinner table. His three in the morning barks, his unconditional love for anything that contains chicken, the treats hidden around the house, his dramatic sneezes, all of it has quietly stitched itself into the fabric of our everyday lives.

There was a time when I would die of embarrassment because of his habit of humping every unsuspecting guest. Today, it barely fazes me. In fact, I laugh before anyone else does.

What amazes me most is how this tiny creature has managed to rearrange the emotional architecture of our home. I see my father stealing a few moments between work calls just to play with him. I see my mother planning her day around his meals, his walks, and his naps, now that my sister and I are mostly away from home. It almost feels as though he was always meant to find us. Who would have believed that the woman who once refused to be anywhere near a dog would one day struggle to imagine a life without one?

There was also a time when I could not stand that unmistakable dog smell that greeted me every time I entered the house. Today, if my home does not smell like Rambo, something feels missing. Somewhere along the way, that smell stopped belonging to a dog. It started belonging to home.

We often joke that Rambo has inherited all our worst qualities. But the truth is that we have inherited some of his best ones too. Because of him, we laugh a little louder. We worry together. We find reasons to gather in the same room.

They say dogs become like their owners. I think the opposite happens too.

The house has changed. Our hearts have changed. Our routines now revolve around his. Somewhere between muddy paws, midnight barks, endless conversations about poop, and a smell that now feels like home, we became a little more like him.

And I think we are better off this way.