I was told that getting a dog was crazy, that I was too young, too immature, and too unsure of my future. I was assured that I would lose any semblance of a social life, that clubbing would be out of the question, and that late nights would be followed by early morning walks rather than a drunken bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich at noon. It was, I was counseled, downright stupid to get a dog.

Those people obviously didn’t know me very well. I might be young, but I am far from immature. I might be unsure of my future, but I know that I don’t want to spend it alone. I do not go clubbing, hate staying up late, and my idea of a social life is making my friends come over for dinner and then kicking them out when I get sleepy, something I did at my own birthday party back in August. They didn’t know that I love early morning walks, am not a big fan of getting drunk, and definitely don’t need a hangover as an excuse for a bacon, egg, and cheese.

And yet, when I arrived home with a shelter-supplied can of dog food, carrying case, and dog in tow, with nothing prepared and no idea what I was doing, I thought that they might be right. As I ran down to the local Petco to get kibble, bowls for food and water, toys, and more, I questioned what the hell I had gotten into. Why would they give me a dog? Didn’t they know that I was 21, working on a startup, a college dropout, and barely capable of remembering to shower more than twice a week?

I imagine Griffin, the name I gave my 9 lb ball of terror, felt much the same way. “What were they thinking?!?” he said to himself as I picked him up from the shelter. “Who is this crazy woman?” he bemoaned after I tried to get him into his harness for the third, and yet still unsuccessful time. “WHY MEEEE???” he cried the first time I took him outside after a snowstorm, not knowing that the rock salt used to melt ice would burn his paws, quickly running him to the kitchen sink after he sat down in the snow crying and later buying the goofy looking booties that now protect his feet when cold weather hits.

Friday, October 3, 2014, was our one-year anniversary as dog and dog-parent and we’ve had our fair share of ups-and-downs. While Griffin came housebroken (YAY!) he also came with a severe distrust of, well, basically everyone. While I am a fan of early morning walks, I’ve had to learn that taking him out before bed is not an optional activity unless I consider peeing on my bedspread to be an acceptable means of relieving oneself.

What I saw at first as Griffin needing to learn how to fit into my life, has become much more of a give and take. He has gotten better with people, and I’ve gotten better about nighttime bathroom breaks. He understands when I manhandle him into his harness, and I have resigned myself to the fact that keeping my recycling bin on the ground is an invitation for exploration and what I call “redecoration.”

According to the ASPCA, almost four million dogs will enter shelters in the USA this year. Of these, over one million will be euthanized. Not everyone is meant to have a pet, and I’d add that most 22 year olds are definitely not ready to have a dog, but if you are thinking of adding to your fold, please consider adoption. Animal Haven, the shelter that Griffin came from, is a wonderful NYC institution that makes a life-long commitment to the animals it takes in. If you are not ready to adopt, please donate so that Animal Haven can continue to find loving animals forever homes.

As I write this, Griffin emerges from his crate to bark at a noise that I don’t hear, ignores me when I ask him to stop, and retreats back to his crate. Moments later he emerges as if nothing has happened to join me on the couch, places his paws deliberately on my keyboard, and begs for cuddles. In a few minutes we will go on a walk. They said that I shouldn’t adopt a dog. We may have been together for a year, but it only took a moment for me to know that they were wrong.

A bit over one year ago: Meet Griffin!