I Wasn’t a ‘Dog Person’ — Until I Met Milo

I used to roll my eyes at dog owners.

You know the type — the ones who post ten pictures a day of their dog sleeping, who cancel plans because of “dog commitments,” who call their dogs their “babies” like it’s perfectly normal. I didn’t get it. Sure, the dogs were cute. But messy. Loud and needy. Not for me.

I grew up without pets, so I never had the same connection with animals that some people do. My idea of ​​companionship was a good book, a hot coffee, and a little solitude. I liked my routine, my clean apartment, my quiet weekends.

Then along came Milo.

It wasn’t planned. A friend of a friend had a litter of golden retrievers and needed homes for them quickly. “Just meet them,” someone said. “You don’t have to get one.”

So I did. Out of politeness. Out of boredom, probably.

That’s when I saw him — a little golden puffball with big paws and the clumsiest walk I’d ever seen. While the other dogs were jumping around, Milo came and sat right at my feet. He looked at me with those big curious eyes like he’d already chosen me.

I didn’t want a dog. I really didn’t. But somehow, I left that house with a collar, a leash, and a new name on my apartment lease.

The first few weeks were chaotic.

Milo cried at night. He chewed on my phone charger. He peed on the carpet. I Googled things at 2 a.m. like “how to stop a puppy from biting” and “can you get a puppy back?”

I was overwhelmed. My quiet life had exploded into barking, fur, muddy paw prints, and a schedule that revolved around someone else’s bathroom breaks.

I lost my peace. I lost my control.

But then, one morning, I woke up and realized… I didn’t feel alone.

Milo had been lying in bed at some point during the night. He was snoring, sprawled out like he owned the mattress, one paw wrapped around my arm. And for the first time in a long time, I felt warm. Not just physically — emotionally. I felt needed. Connected.

This was the beginning of a shift.

Things got easier over time. Milo learned to sit, stay, come when called (well, most of the time). He stopped chewing on everything he saw. He learned to wait patiently at the door, to wag his tail instead of barking when I came home.

And so did I.

I learned to be patient. To slow down. To find joy in the simplest things — morning walks, games of tug-of-war, the way Milo would tilt his head when I spoke to him as if he were trying to understand every word.

Milo pulled me out of my head and into the present. He didn’t care about my to-do list or my bad mood. He cared that I sat with him. That I played. That I loved him.

And he gave me everything in return.

I began to understand dog owners.

I became one of them.

Suddenly, I was the person talking about my dog ​​at dinner parties. I was planning road trips around pet-friendly hotels. I had treats in every bag, fur on every piece of clothing, and more pictures of Milo on my phone than any other person in my life.

Milo became my family. My constant. My reason to get up, go out, smile.

He was there for me in ways I hadn’t expected — during a rough breakup, during a job loss, during quiet days when nothing seemed right. His love was steady, unchanging, unconditional. He didn’t need me to be successful or charming or put together. He just needed me to be there.

And perhaps the biggest surprise of all?

Milo made me a better person.

I became more compassionate, more resilient, more aware of the world outside of myself. I learned to see life through her eyes — with wonder, curiosity, and joy in the little things.

She taught me that love isn’t about perfection. It’s about presence. It’s about showing up — muddy paws, chewed slippers, and all.

So yeah, I was never a “dog person.”

But now, I can’t imagine my life without one.

If you’re someone who’s unsure about bringing a dog into your life — if you’re sure you’re not a “dog person” — then I get it. I was you. I had doubts, fears, excuses.

But sometimes, the best things in life come when we least expect them. Sometimes, love walks into our lives on four legs and teaches us that maybe we were wrong about ourselves.

Because the truth is, I wasn’t a “dog person.”

I hadn’t met Milo yet.