The Calm at Our Feet
I think my favourite animal is the one that helps me identify what I’m longing for. That’s why it’s dogs. And why, if I’m honest, it’s Nia.
She’s a black seal border collie who turned two recently, and she is equal parts joy and steadiness. Give her a basketball and she becomes pure instinct—herding it like it’s a sheep that’s broken from the flock. She circles, nudges, redirects, utterly delighted, as if the world makes sense again when something is gathered and guided and kept close.
But the thing I need most isn’t her energy. It’s her presence.
Her breeder called her “my shadow”, always at her feet, always nearby. That was why we chose her. And it’s still who she is: beautiful, yes, but more than that—always wherever you are. A living answer to the question, Who will stay?
She goes everywhere with us. On Saturdays she comes to the same coffee shop by the beaches and the staff all know her; locals stop to say hello as if she belongs to them too. At church on Sunday she lies at our feet so calmly that people don’t even realise she’s there. At the university she has built a network of friends from our walks, like she’s quietly stitching community together with her quiet joy and character.
And she is gentle—genuinely gentle. On New Year’s Eve we went to a BBQ where someone had brought their rabbit. Nia approached softly, respectfully, and the rabbit wasn’t afraid. That moment has stayed with me: strength under control, joy without harm.
Even when we travelled six months ago—nine hours driving with her in the back seat—she didn’t stir. No drama, no restlessness. Just companionship.
So when I say dogs are my favourite animals, I’m not really talking about animals. I’m talking about the kind of life I want to live: clear in loyalty, uncomplicated in joy, steady in presence, gentle with what is vulnerable. In a world that moves too fast and talks too much, Nia reminds me that love doesn’t have to be clever to be real.
The Afterword 
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