Why I fulfill my dog differently than I used to

It wasn't a purposeful shift—but we've become much less pragmatic. Here's a look back on Scout's fulfillment changes and their causes.

Drafted after a particularly nostalgic night in south Florida.

I have been reminiscing a lot lately: about my summer internship at an elephant sanctuary after I graduated college, about falling in love with Sean when I arrived back home, and—most of all—about my early days with Scout. We’ve lived together, me and this creature who does not speak my language yet understands me scarily well, for more than six years. That’s two thirds of her life. It’s nearly 22 percent of mine (which seems like too-small a fraction until I realize it’s basically my entire adulthood).

Many many many things have changed since I first brought Scout home. The most obvious are our living situation (apartment with roommate, apartment on our own, apartment with Sean, house, now converted van) and her physical ability (she is older than she used to be).

But I think the biggest might be how Sean and I make decisions about fulfilling her. We’ve traded detailed activity checklists for unstructured time outside. We’ve swapped an overflowing dog-supply bin for a few worn-out toys. We’ve stopped trying every new enrichment idea we come across and started letting habit take the reins.

Please don’t misunderstand the point of this article: I don’t believe either of these approaches is inherently better than the other. (Anyway, they’re more of a blurred spectrum than direct opposites.) Sometimes I miss our jam-packed days of herding balls and flirt pole and carefully orchestrated food searches—other times I can’t imagine tracking all the details I used to log so intently. What matters most is that we are happy now and we were happy then.

I just never tire of trying to trace the path between the two.