Adrian Barich: Somehow, walking my dog has become less about caring for them, and more about my own self-care

I have a confession to make, and I honestly never thought I’d be one of these people. OK . . . Are you ready? Drum roll please – one of my favorite things to do these days is walk my dog.

I know it’s a bit unexpected, but I’ve changed. I used to think walking boxers (normally three at a time) was a bit of a chore.

Bean, the black boxer, had no interest in anything but himself, and if he took off his leash it was almost impossible to find the black man at night.

And the two fawn pugs, Lilly and Hattie, were also wandering around mostly on their own. They were all cute, but Subi was definitely the clown of the dog world.

But I’m older now and hopefully wiser, I know better. I guess I evolved and suddenly walking a dog wasn’t like the dog. For the boofhead holding the leash.

Behavioral psychologists call this the low-resistance routine. An almost meaningless but quietly transformative repetition.

Stress drops. The mood rises. Discipline strengthens. What begins as a concern for another life quietly turns into a concern for your own life.

Now I know this sounds kind of fancy, but sometimes growth just doesn’t roar. Sometimes it shows up like a leash in your hand, fresh air on your face, a stubborn decision to show up even on the days you really don’t want to.

But some research shows that owning a dog can reduce loneliness and provide emotional support. Dog owners may also have increased serotonin and lowered cortisol. No pills. No side effects. Just fur and drool and insistence and joy that we were outside.

Now I don’t even know what cortisol is, but apparently in my job it’s 90 percent coffee, 10 percent cortisol.

My body’s stress response is very effective. When I start overthinking things, my cortisol levels go from zero to fight or flight in less than three seconds.

Then bring on Frankie, the chivalrous French bulldog mix. This week I learned that it is often called Frenchel or Frugalier (who creates these names?).

Yes, Frank, Subi’s most handsome redhead is a living antidepressant.

People with depression can sometimes be prone to isolation. Dogs won’t let you. They drag you out. Keep you moving. Make sure you interact. Apparently fifteen minutes of play is worth an hour of dopamine-releasing exercise.

But it gets better.

Dogs “scan” your mood like an emotional radar. Like a little cyborg. Is he sad? They lie next to you. Happy? They jump, swing and want to play. Anxious? They shadow you quietly and steadily. This is therapy without the couch, without waiting periods.

There is also the unconditional love effect, which is my favorite. A dog doesn’t care if you’re a little combative, having a bad day, looking rude, or feeling like a failure. They love you for who you are. This simple, unwavering presence is one of the most powerful antidepressants in existence.

In my house, we almost fight over our little furry stress reliever, often getting him out of his own bed at 2 in the morning. . . and we squeeze it in with us.

The dog is literally a happiness pill with a tail and you can hug it.

I know not everyone can have a dog for a variety of reasons, but it’s good to know the emotional regulation they bring.

It is a growth that does not roar but barks. And it wags its tail and teaches you, step by step, how to live better.