“Why do you want a dog? Don’t you have enough to do?”

To be fair, my parents had reacted similarly to my decision to have a third child and acquire another degree, so I huffed in a fit of bravura, “Well, you don’t have to look after it.”

I had reached the point of no return courtesy of my 10-year-old who openly yearned for the day he could leave home and buy a dog. Given the state of housing affordability in Australia, I should have called his bluff; instead, I blinked. He named the puppy, Odie, after Garfield’s frenemy.

When Odie was 10 weeks old, I took him in a shoebox to meet my parents. That year, my scientist dad reserved judgment, partly because Odie liked to nibble at his shoe, or failing that, his foot. My mum couldn’t believe how we nuzzled his little head, scooped him off the ground and fed him with our hands. When her turn came, she would warily hold out some roti, causing an impatient Odie to lunge at it and send her scooting back.

As a pandemic puppy, Odie was smothered by human company. He was quickly trained and became a firm favourite inside and out of home. Then came the return to normality and with it, some days in the back yard. I can’t say that the quiet time disagreed with him but his palpable delight at our return proved a bit guilt-inducing. When I mentioned this to my intern, she exclaimed, “We got another dog for just that reason, best thing ever!” That evening, impossibly, my daughter asked, “You........

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