When my brother, sister and I were growing up, we weren’t allowed to have pets. God forbid it would mess up my mother’s house.
We once found a sick bird in our yard and tried to nurse it back to health by feeding it spaghetti – thinking the bird would think it was worms. I don’t have to tell you what happened to our one, elusive pet. After that, I always joked, my brother Jim was our pet.
During the pandemic, my partner and I decided to adopt a stray dog from Puerto Rico. He clicked a picture of Freddy, who looked exhausted, sad and unkempt. To be honest, I wasn’t so sure I wanted a dog. I didn’t want all that responsibility. I didn’t care about Freddy, but we went through with it anyway and picked him up at LaGuardia Airport after his long flight from San Juan.
It was one of the best days of my life.
Freddy was a godsend. While my partner was away doing his residency in New England, Freddy and I spent the last three years alone together. I don’t know what I would do without him. He is a perfectly well behaved dog and such a happy one. But his happiness pales in comparison to the happiness he has brought me. He is my constant companion. My constant shadow. My constant source of optimism.
And from everything I hear and see on social media, I know I’m not the only one who loves their dog unconditionally.
For many gay men, dogs are not just pets; they are companions who embody unconditional love, loyalty and a sense of belonging. There is something magical about how a dog can mirror our emotions. Freddy knows exactly when I am happy, sad and sometimes angry.
In a world full of anger and often unpredictable calm, dogs provide a constant presence, a kind of emotional anchor that keeps us grounded. Freddy was like that for me. After my suicide attempt in December 2021, Freddy kept an eye on me and helped me find my way back to happiness.
The bond between queer people and their dogs (or other pets), like Freddy and mine, is often rooted in shared experiences of seeking acceptance and connection. Much like their human counterparts, dogs have an innate ability to sense when they are truly loved and appreciated, and they respond with boundless affection and trust. Freddy always lets us know how grateful he is to no longer be roaming the streets.
In many ways, Freddy is a lot like me. He loves sun and warmth, hates snow, rain, cold, and strangers’ small talk, and can’t get enough of cheese and blueberries. When Freddy looks into my eyes, I feel the love, and I know he sees it in mine too. In fact, I know he feels the love because he keeps licking my face.
Freddy has become my best friend. I stopped drinking nearly three years ago and initially avoided all social contact – both to not drink and to get my mental health back on track. So I relied on Freddy to keep me company. Wild Friday nights ended with me playing fetch for hours with Freddy’s stuffed giraffe and cuddling with him on the sofa watching TV. Now I love my Friday nights.
I used to look at people who adored their dogs with suspicion. That’s over now. Now when I see someone walking their dog, there’s an unspoken look that says, “Yeah, I love my dog too.” Today is National Dog Day and I’m going to make sure Freddy gets extra treats, goes for a longer walk, and spends some time with his giraffe.
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If you or someone you know needs mental health resources and support, please call, text or chat with the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline or visit988lifeline.org for access to free and confidential services 24/7. Trans Lifeline, designed for transgender or gender nonconforming individuals, can be reached at (877) 565-8860. The lifeline also offers resources for other crises, such as domestic violence situations. The Trevor Project Lifeline for LGBTQ+ youth (ages 24 and under) can be reached at (866) 488-7386. Users can also access chat services at TheTrevorProject.org/Help or send an SMS with the text START to 678678.
