Mr. Joey Muddy Wrinkles: Big Brother in Training.

Mr. Joey Muddy Wrinkles: Big Brother in Training.

My parents finally agreed to add our first dog to the family a few days before my 13th birthday. He was a mutt of the highest order and was the result of a late night rendezvous between the local alley dog (a springer spaniel) and the local bitch (the neighbor's fox terrier). He really was better looking than it sounds - almost entirely black with curly, thick fur with patches of white on his feet, belly, and the tip of his tail. My sister and I promptly named him Oreo Cookie Haberstroh.

Oreo was a good enough dog, but for whatever reason, he hated my friends and would bark and growl ferociously every time they would come by the house, which had become rare because they all hated Oreo because of this. It's entirely possible that my parents trained him to treat them that way.

Nevertheless, Oreo helped me through adolescence. He saw me off to college and was there when I'd make the two and a half hour drive home - to do laundry usually. By the time I'd graduated and moved into my own place, he was more my sister's dog than mine, but the bond had been forged and I got what I'd needed from him when I needed it.

Becky was really struggling after the second miscarriage. She was borderline depressed. We wanted to be parents so damn bad. What did we do to deserve this? After two tries, it seemed as though it wasn't our destiny, which was as torturous as watching everyone around you eat steak and bacon and ice cream while you're dying from starvation. We'd done all the proper tests, but nobody could tell us what the problem was, and we certainly didn't have the money for intensive fertility treatments - something I'm not too fond of to begin with.

It took me a while to get up the courage to ask our landlord if he'd allow us to have a dog, but knowing the impact that owning a pet could have on Beck's mood made it an easy decision. If the universe wouldn't allow us to parent a child, then we were gonna be the best damn dog parents on Earth. As fate would have it, the landlord's daughter had been through a couple of miscarriages herself and he understood our situation perfectly.

Enter Mr. Joey Muddy Wrinkles.

August 11, 2009. Joey's first day at home.

This little guy saved us. No doubt about it. Having someone (or something, I guess) to care for and nurture as "parents" was exactly what we needed. Becky's mood did an almost immediate one-eighty. She was laughing and smiling again and I couldn't have been happier to see it. Somebody needed us, and our lives had purpose again.

It didn't take long to see the effect Joey had on Becky's mood.

Obviously our third attempt has been successful to this point, and I think we owe it all to Joey for completely erasing the tension in those dark days and allowing us to enjoy being in love again and go at this pregnancy thing one more time - without fear.

Horsing around.

In the past few weeks Joey has become incredibly clingy and protective of Becky. When he used to jump onto the arm of the couch to lay while we watch a movie, he'll now sprawl straight across her lap, as if to be closer to or guard the baby. He'll sometimes obsessively lick her bump - something I'm sure he learned from his momma. When Beck gets home from work, instead of jumping on her like a maniac like he used to do, he'll stretch out in front of her on the floor, looking for his evening rubbin's. I've read that dogs will do this with their pregnant masters, and it's been fascinating to watch Joey follow suit. The transformation I've seen in him leaves no doubt that he will be a fantastic big brother.

Joey says hello to his baby brother.

Oreo passed a few years ago, but the old cliché lessons he taught me about a boy and his dog will live on forever. I think it's important to provide a child the benefits of companionship very early on - separate from the paternal one - as well as to teach them the responsibility that comes with caring for a living thing. These are just two of many of the ideas that I believe make up Fatherhood.