On a hot, sunny day in Savannah, Ga., in 2013, I did the unimaginable. I, surpassing the attempts of my older siblings, convinced my mother to get a dog. Not only did I persuade her to forsake her convictions against adopting a furry friend, but I convinced her to do so immediately. By that afternoon, I had selected the oddest, ugliest two-year-old mutt from the Humane Society.
Eleven years later, my desire for canine companionship had not been sated. In late September, while scrolling on Instagram at 9 a.m., I came across a post from the LifeLine Animal Project at Fulton County Animal Services calling for foster families as the storm clouds of Hurricane Helene threatened staff shortages and limited supplies. Within minutes, I was in the car. Within an hour, I was back at my apartment — this time with a 5-year-old German Shepherd in tow. This week marks a year since I told my roommates that the dog, Apollo, would only stay a few days.
After a year as a certified dog mom, I am probably still not qualified to give advice to prospective owners. However, as the author of Cat’s Collection, I am qualified to present four tracks that illustrate the beautiful bond between humans and their four-legged friends. Apollo, if you’re listening, happy “gotcha day.”
‘Maggie’s Song’ by Chris Stapleton (2020)
“Let me tell you a story / About an old friend of mine,” the Kentucky-born singer-songwriter declares at the onset of “Maggie’s Song.” Accompanied only by crisp acoustic guitar and light percussion, Stapleton narrates the life and legacy of his “fuzzy black pup,” Maggie. After Stapleton finds her in a parking lot, Maggie witnesses the various chapters of his life. “A few kids later / We moved out on the farm / And she followed those kids around / Yeah, she kept them safe from harm,” Stapleton sings. He captures Maggie’s spirit in his chorus, encouraging her to “be just as free as you are wild.”
Without interrupting the instrumental tone, Stapleton sings, “It was rainin’ on a Monday / The day that Maggie died.” The continuation of the airy, acoustic backing offers an evocative counter to the sorrowful lyrical shift, reflecting a mature recognition of the role Maggie played in his life. While acknowledging that his pup was destined to pass before him, Stapleton arrives at a crucial conclusion: “I can tell you right now / That a dog has a soul.”
In this narrative ballad, Stapleton confronts a difficult truth: to love is to lose. But with his candid crooning, Stapleton suggests that to not know the unconditional companionship, the soft weight of a fuzzy chin atop your hand or the adoring gaze of two black eyes meeting yours is a much greater loss.
‘Martha, My Dear’ by the Beatles (1968)
Many women in the 1960s might have dreamt of being the muse to any member of The Beatles, but particularly to Paul McCartney, the last single man standing. But what captured the affection of McCartney while he wrote “Martha, My Dear” was not a mini skirt or go-go boots, but instead a coat of spotted shaggy hair. Martha was, after all, an old English sheepdog.
While McCartney admits that Martha was not an illustrious love interest but “a dear pet of mine,” the lyrics are intentionally ambiguous. As a perky piano dances in the background, The Beatles muse, “Martha, my dear / Though I spend my days in conversation / Please, remember me.” Paired with the band’s essential mix of classical motifs, soft-rock rhythms and seamless harmonies, this affectionate plea walks the line between puppy love and total infatuation.
It is in this delicate balance that “Martha, My Dear” transcends its place as mere tribute to McCartney’s canine companion and becomes a beautiful ballad. The lyrics stray from cliche renderings of pet ownership as McCartney and Lennon intentionally avoid easily identifiable imagery such as chewed shoes or dangling drool. Instead, Martha serves as a universal object of affection, reminding us that love can take many forms — and beg for many more treats.
‘Joanie’ by Clairo (2021)
In “Joanie,” a soft instrumental track named after Clairo’s dog, the singer-songwriter confronts the fundamental challenge facing all pet owners — communication. In my year as Apollo’s mom, I have discovered that we do not speak the same language. When I say “No,” he hears “Yes, please”; when I say “Let’s go outside,” he hears “Hey buddy, let’s bark so loud the entire apartment complex wakes up” and when I say “Time for bed,” he hears “Burrow into the middle of the comforter so that Mommy must lay starfish style.”
Instead of letting frustration linger between these miscommunications, Clairo finds connection, comfort and beauty. The track begins with soulful piano playing accompanied by a light synth, which soon transforms into an energetic sequence that suggests a transition between uncertainty and confidence — not unlike the transition I felt in the months immediately after adopting Apollo. Throughout the track, Clairo folds in layered harmonies, bright drums and even the sound of her dog’s tail tapping the chimes. The track oscillates between playful and contemplative, exuberant and anxious, peaceful and tempestuous — marking a tumultuous, though unquestionably rewarding experience of dog adoption.
‘I Love My Dog’ by Yusuf/Cat Stevens (1967)
For many artists, their debut songs define them. Olivia Rodrigo will never escape her record-shattering emotive debut single, “Driver’s License” (2021); Lorde’s “Tennis Court” (2013) persists as a quintessential anthemic electro-pop track over a decade into her career and Radiohead is consistently petitioned to play their premiere single, “Creep” (1992), in concert. But for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductee Cat Stevens, also known as Yusuf, his first song, “I Love My Dog,” is a lesser-appreciated gem.
On this soft-rock track sung in the first-person perspective, Stevens admits with candor the harsh realities of romance — but with a twist. Instead of anticipating heartbreak with a sour sight, Stevens turns away from crisis and toward companionship. “I love my dog / As much as I love you / You may fade / My dog will always come through,” he sings. As Stevens describes the pleasurable predictability of his dog’s affection with the lyric “all the pay I need comes / Shining through his eyes,” orchestral strings mingle with acoustic guitar, reflecting the juxtaposition between the complexity of human connection with the simplicity of puppy love. Stevens concludes with a natural, honest admission, arriving at the point much faster than I have: “I love my dog, baby.”
Catherine Goodman (26C) is the Managing Editor of Arts & Life and Editorial Board. She is a double major in English and Art History. She plans to pursue arts and culture journalism, with a special interest in criticism and feature writing. When she isn't listening to music or writing her column, you can find her baking specialty cakes or playing with her dog, Apollo.
