Confession: I’m not the best dog mom—at least during the winter months. Cold weather is a powerful demotivator, especially when it comes to dog walks. Cold toes give me the shivers; three layers, the quivers! I feel badly about it, but Luke has been remarkably understanding.

“Mummy’s cold, Luke.” I tug a blanket around my shoulders, which slips to the floor like a queen’s robe that inadvertently collects dog hair. “I’m sorry. How about a peanut butter bone?”

The tactic—winning Luke over with food—is far from noble. Peanut butter? On my bone? Seriously? His heart seems to grow three sizes. I prepare the bone with shameless diligence. Meanwhile, he sits with a Grinchy grin, nose lifted as the scent of peanut butter fills his space. I raise the bone to carry it to his spot, and he stalks me from behind. “Put it down. How about right here? Where’s the best spot, Mom?” He hovers, invading my personal space, until I finally surrender and drop the bone.

YOU ARE THE BEST DOG MOM.

Luke stands over his prize, laps it clean, then lies down to wedge it firmly between his front paws. He gnaws with his back molars, his big head shifting to find the perfect chewing angle. He chomps hard, as though breaking down chunks of ice. The strength of Luke’s jaw is magnificent—one of his many impressive traits. I once cracked a molar on an almond, yet here lies my dog—shredding the shin bone of a cow with finesse. 

My heart swells with gratitude. My dog is understanding—and strong.

I lower myself to the floor and crowd him with a bear hug. He keeps chewing while his tail thumps happily. I kiss his head and pretend to take big bites of his bone. “Chomp, chomp. Gobble, gobble, gobble.” I make ridiculous noises while Luke chews faster, making it clear he’s not interested in sharing.

Just when I think he’s perfectly satisfied, I tiptoe into the kitchen—only to be reminded otherwise.

“Mom? Where are you going? I kind of liked chewing with you beside me.” He looks up from his bone as though we’ve just shared a dance. Why has the music stopped so suddenly?  

I answer the cries in his eyes. “I’ll be right back, Luke.”

Luke reminds me of something important: our physical, social, and emotional connection matters. Dog walks matter, yes—but so does time together.

That wisdom shows up outside, too. Luke has plenty of opportunities to run around the front or back yard on his own, yet he often chooses not to. The reason is simple: it’s more fun when we’re together.

His signature zoomie gallop has become my favorite sport to watch, and he loves to show it off the moment he realizes I’m planted outside.

“Ohhhh, wow. Look at Luke. No one can catch Luke.” I feed his ego as he gallops the perimeter of our property, exercising both athleticism and an impressive knowledge of our boundaries. He grazes the shrubs at our lawn’s back edge, swivels through elegant pear trees and, more profoundly, dares me to try to catch him. If I stomp in pursuit, he runs and zigzags even faster.

Luke’s joy coats the air like a hazy sunlit vapor. His companionship warms me even more.

Write to Amy at [email protected]

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