You can usually tell within about four seconds. Someone walks into a room, spots the dog before they spot the people, and drops straight to the floor without breaking the conversation. No introduction, no hesitation. Certified.
It is a strange thing, the way they blur together over a lifetime. You end up carrying all of them at once, the one from childhood and the one asleep in the next room, and they take up exactly the same amount of room in you.
Being a dog person is a small, permanent rearrangement of your priorities. The good spot on the couch is not yours. Your camera roll has a clear favorite. You have changed weekend plans, rerouted a road trip, and lowered your voice mid sentence because somebody was sleeping. None of it registers as sacrifice, because you are not actually in the running.
Most things in life are quietly competing for the top spot, angling for your attention and your time. The dog skips all of that. The dog simply arrived and took the position, and somehow it feels exactly right.
