for most of my life, i was not a dog person. at all.

it wasn’t that i disliked dogs exactly. i wasn’t comfortable around them – which makes sense, because we didn’t have a dog in our house – and i didn’t think there was anything particularly special about them.

whenever i thought about owning a dog (not that i thought about this often, you understand), i would decide that the only way i would ever have a dog would be if it were a siberian husky. any dog of mine would certainly not be coming inside my house. and it would definitely not be coming near my furniture. and since huskies clearly want to be outside all the time, i wouldn’t have to feel guilty about this. (i cannot help but laugh at this, since atlas is curled up underneath my quilt on my bed as i type this story.)

a couple of years after i started at intel, i worked with a guy who had a weimaraner named anton. i thought anton was a decent dog, for a dog, though he didn’t make me revise my opinion of dogs very much.

one january, the guy mentioned that he drove to new mexico for the new year because he didn’t really know anyone in sacramento who could dog-sit for him. i felt sorry for him, and also suffered from a horrible tendency to feel responsible for people, so i volunteered to take care of his dog if he ever needed someone. it is possible that i even said i liked dogs and would be happy to do it.

a few weekends later, he needed a dog-sitter, and i agreed to do it. my only caveat was that even though i knew anton was used to sleeping on the bed, he was most definitely not allowed to sleep on my bed. i was not having a dog on my bed. no way. no how.

anton was dropped off at my house after work that friday. a few minutes later, i said good-bye to my roommates and anton and left to meet a friend for dinner and a movie. i figured anton would be fine while i was gone.

toward the end of dinner, i saw that i had a voicemail. when i listened to it, i heard the sad voice of my roommate alan, “elizabeth .. this dog is so sad .. he keeps trying to come into my office .. we barricaded the stairs with chairs .. he keeps barking and whining .. can you pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeese come home? we don’t know what to do!”

oh my goodness. i felt horrible. i finished dinner quickly and left. the whole way home, i kept thinking about poor anton being dropped off in a strange place and being abandoned by the only person he (kind of) knew. oh, did i feel guilty.

when i got home, anton was lying at the top of the stairs while my other roommate sat next to him and scratched his belly. i sat next to him and cried for him and petted him over and over and over.

then, it was bedtime. i made him a nice comfy bed on the floor, settled him in it, and got into bed. as soon as the lights were out, anton jumped onto the bed. i got up, settled him back in his bed on the floor, and got into bed. anton jumped onto the bed again.

repeat. repeat. repeat.

still feeling guilty about leaving, i decided that he had had such a rough start to his weekend that he deserved to sleep on the bed. to save face, i pretended that i had fallen asleep and didn’t know he was there.

the next morning, when i woke up, he was snuggled next to me. i didn’t mind.

all weekend, anton was there. he went running with me, and followed me everywhere, and i loved it. by the end of the weekend, i adored him to pieces.

i wound up dog-sitting him a lot and grew more and more fond of him. it grew harder and harder to give him back, and i eventually knew that i wanted a dog of my own. of course, by that point, only a weimaraner would do.

the guy did tell me that anton was not a good representative of a weimaraner because he was too mellow, but i didn’t listen. i kept taking the “are you ready to be a weimaraner owner” quiz and deciding that none of the hard stuff mattered. i was ready to live with all the quirks and challenges of weimaraners.

and then i got my own dear weimaraner who, as it turned out, was mellow too.

i still think about anton fondly – he has since passed away – and i often tell atlas that he owes a doggy debt of gratitude to the dear sweet dog who helped me realize that i was meant to have a dog of my very own.