The kitchen renovation began with a sense of optimism. A new floor, new cabinets, and granite countertops promised our home the refresh it desperately needed. Boxes appeared. Furniture shifted. The familiar became unfamiliar.

Luke was not impressed.

He sniffed the dusty boxes, surveyed the commotion, and then looked at me as if to say, Are you going to box me up, too?

My dog readers know this about me: I don’t like to leave my dog home alone. If there’s a way to take Luke along, I’ll gladly do it—even if it means bending a rule or two.

But this was Indian summer, the kind of warm September day when leaving a dog in a car, even with the windows cracked, is simply not an option. I looked at the boxes, then down at Luke, and could practically hear the question in his head.

You’re leaving?

I knew I had to soften the blow.

“Hold on, Luke. Mummy has a surprise for you. You’ve been such a good boy.”

I grabbed his shin bone and raced back into the kitchen, with Luke trotting close behind. Among the handful of things that had escaped the packing boxes was a jar of peanut butter.

Suddenly, my departure was ancient history.

Luke’s eyes locked onto the glorious picture of my hand frosting his shin bone with a generous smear of peanut butter. His focus was laser sharp. He tracked every move, trotting beside me as I hurried to place the gooey treasure on a towel.

His excitement over something as simple as peanut butter felt contagious. I happily shut the door behind me and left for work. Mission accomplished. I was about to (later) learn that food isn’t the only motivator to keep my dog happy.

I’m soooooo happy you came to see me!!!!! Wonderful people, minted with fresh new smells — and who rang the doorbell all day long — poured into our home. 

Ding Dong. Ding Dong. Luke never tired of a sound that meant one thing. Guests were coming over! He grabbed a sneaker, wiggled, did a tap dance, and greeted each contractor with a dog in need of training. Made ya’ look. He put down the sneaker to steal the oily rag that spilled from the plumber’s back pocket. I’m Luke! You can read about me in the paper, too! He made his presence obvious.

“What’s her name?” the plumber asked.

“It’s Luke,” I stated. But the background sound of my neighbor’s tree cutter muffled the sound of my voice.

“Hi Lou!” The plumber rubbed the ears of what he thought was a female dog and accepted a forgiving paw. Neither of us had the heart to correct a man who was about to clean up our mess.

Want to see my upside-down kitchen? Lou led the plumber to a room that had become a tale of two kitchens, old and new. 

* * *

Weeks passed, and Luke came to realize there are worse things than a torn-apart kitchen. For one thing, given all the helping hands coming through our door, he was rarely alone.

Not only had my dog learned to make lemonade from lemons, but he had also discovered that renovations came with their own special perks.

Mom, have you seen that new piece of plywood? It smells just like a tree!

He was learning, too, to accept the differences in the world around him. The familiar sounds of our home had been replaced by drills, hammers, saws, and industrial fans. The kitchen he knew had disappeared, only to be replaced by a strange new landscape filled with ladders, lumber, tools – and an endless parade of people to greet.

For Luke, it turned out, home renovation wasn’t about losing his familiar world.

It was about discovering a new one.

And if you ask Luke, every good renovation should come with peanut butter, a few new friends, and plenty of opportunities to say:

“Ding Dong! Another guest to greet!” W

Write to Amy

[email protected] 

Visit Luke on IG @livingwithlukevalentino