The ROI of a Bad Investment

My dog sleeps on my pillow. At 145 lbs, he technically sleeps wherever he wants, but mostly he chooses to be the stretched-out little spoon, head right on the linen. He’s a Great Dane by breed but an absolute baby by choice.

He is turning seven soon. So far, his resume includes: sitting and shaking. That’s it.

By all accounts, he is a wonderful dog, but compared to what my wife and I contribute to the household economy, I’m not sure why he gets to stay. All dogs are bad investments. It is essentially an agreement to be devastated on a random Tuesday eight years from now. However, I contend a bad investment can still be rewarding.

Some dogs have jobs: the seeing-eye dog, the bomb detection pup, even the emotional support beagle. But for the most part, dogs are a burden of love.

That is an important distinction: the burden is love, not the dog. Dogs just dog. The only weight we feel is the one we accept by loving something—picking up the mess, the daily feeding, even trying to identify that smell. We do it, grumbling under our breath, because we want the burden. We want the gentle reminder that this isn't an obligation we have to carry; it is a life we chose to keep.

The inverse is also true: there are burdens we carry solely out of obligation. We wait for permission to let them go, pursuing the life we want while dragging along collateral we don't deserve.

We need to accept the airport policy on baggage: You get one large burden to check, a medium one for the overhead, and a personal item to keep on your lap. Everything else is going to cost you.

Burdens need weight limits because you are just a passenger in this life, and we all need space to travel. Besides, if my Dane can convince me shared pillows are natural, you can certainly convince yourself to repack.

Word Count: ~315 words

Approximate Read Time: 1 minute, 30 seconds