perspective
A big dog was a huge commitment but has made life richer
I grew up with a small dog but longed for a larger breed that could match my desire for snuggles and connection. (Supplied: Phoebe Thorburn)
I've always been drawn to dogs.
Whether it's the co-regulation, the sensory pleasure of giving pats and scritches, non-verbal communication or non-judgemental presence — they've always felt easy and therapeutic to be around.
So much so, that my life hasn't felt complete without one.
Growing up, we had a gentle 14-kilogram spoodle named Harvey, that I begged my parents for like it was my life's mission.
As a teenager, I also picked up dog-sitting work looking after big docile retrievers, and concluded, from these experiences (along with every other encounter with large dogs), the more dog the better!
Why bigger dogs felt different to me
As much as I adored our family spoodle, the connection never felt as deep as what I shared with these larger dogs.
While I know it's often breed, not size that equates to disposition, the large dogs I cared for showed me human-dog relationships at a different level to what I had experienced.
They were relationships with a rich unspoken language, deeper presence, more satisfying snuggling and stronger bonds (something I filed away as a deep want for down the line).
I was still living at home when I got Merlin, which meant the path to getting him. and subsequent training and of him, involved sometimes difficult conversations. (Supplied: Phoebe Thorburn)
When Harvey passed, the desire for dog companionship with a larger breed was still there. However, this time, the circumstances had changed.
I was an adult living at home and after talking with family it became clear that my yearning for another dog — let alone my enthusiasm for a bigger breed — wasn't matched by theirs.
They didn't see why it felt like a north-star priority for me and thought it a massive, unnecessary commitment to take on.
I knew they had a point, but I always thought it would be worth it for how much this type of relationship could enrich my life.
While others focused on how it would limit my world outwardly (the time commitment, initial sleep deprivation, costs and logistical constraints), I thought about how it would expand my world inwardly (providing a grounding base, source of unconditional love, companionship, co-regulation and consistent routine).
With a recent run of favourable retriever dog-sits eventually swaying my family's vote, my stubbornness won out and at the end of 2020 a rambunctious eight-week-old labrador — called Merlin — bulldozed into our lives.
Difficult conversations and endless lifestyle adjustments
For all the envisioning of nervous system regulation, the first few years were a wild ride.
As a puppy, he destroyed couch cushions, pulled out plants, chewed walls, jumped over barriers, ate things he shouldn't and had a destructive night-time witching hour, which, no matter what we tried, persisted for years.
In his puppy years, Merlin caused chaos and damage. This continued into an extended adolescence and at times made me question whether I had done the right thing in getting him. (Supplied: Phoebe Thorburn)
Because it wasn't just Merlin and me in an environment of our own, I couldn't train him completely under my influence.
Being a switched-on dog, I needed others to confidently emulate what I was doing to set him up for success, and that was difficult to achieve. This made training a frequent source of frustration.
His occasional chaos caused a huge strain on relationships, magnifying tensions that were already there, forcing difficult conversations and endless lifestyle adjustments for me and my family.
Whenever his behaviour created stress, mess or damage they didn't ask for, I couldn't help but wonder if their suspicions were correct: that this was too big a responsibility to take on.
But for every doubting moment, there would be three that reassured me it would work out (better than) OK. As Merlin and I settled into a routine, I became even more proactive and our bond deepened, his eventual affectionate and calm disposition began to bloom.
Others' perceptions of him began to change and he opened my family's and friends' eyes to their biases around bigger dogs.
He taught us that while big dogs are (rightly so) held to higher behavioural standards than their smaller counterparts — they deserve the same grace and patience afforded all creatures growing up.
He has helped me trust myself
Now on the other side of his extended adolescence (a labrador thing), our relationship fills me with overwhelming gratitude and love every day.
Merlin is now a motivating responsibility that shows me what I am capable of. He matches my energy and helps me regulate my emotions. (Supplied: Phoebe Thorburn)
He's my gentle shadow, matching my energy when excited or happy and using his body weight to help me regulate when I'm sad or distressed.
I look forward to his special greeting every morning and I relish our morning walks so much — they've kept me moving through a recent bout of post-viral fatigue.
Stepping into the responsibility of looking after Merlin in my 20s has made me realise that I do know myself (at least in this way) and am capable of making big life decisions.
I've proven that I'm a responsible, reliable, dedicated person to those around me and am capable of looking after another living creature … well.
Of course, it's still not always easy, convenient or stress-free. He has anxious quirks, expensive allergies and, due to prevailing attitudes towards big dogs, isn't everyone's cup of tea.
But he's still everything and more I knew a big dog could be, for me.
Phoebe Thorburn (they/them) is an autistic writer, cook and developer of inclusive recipes from Naarm/Melbourne.