I depend on my indoor plumbing system. He depends on me. As I sit in the bathroom, a furry black nose pushes through the doorway. “I need to go potty, too.”

I depend on bully sticks to keep dinnertime peaceful. We bond over the common topic of chewing. He depends on bully sticks to help keep his teeth clean, but only on one side of his mouth. The other side has no molars.

I depend on the goodwill of my neighbors. When walking down the street, I find both friendly greetings and watchful residents, defensive against small brown presents left on their lawns. He depends on those neighbors’ yards to encounter fascinating scents—a smorgasbord of fresh and familiar encounters with the unseen. Canine story time.

I depend on other canine lovers I meet through common trips down streets and to parks, for companionship and commiseration. “How are the pooches?” “We’re down to three now.” “I’m so sorry to hear the sad news.” He depends on their dogs for playtime—running, barking, sniffing about the park, commiserating about their people.

I depend on my husband to pick up my slack. The midday walk, or morning chores if I don’t get up on time, and company during vet and park visits alike. He depends on his “dad” to take care of his “mom.”

I depend on his enthusiastic greeting when I come home from work. A play bow and helicopter tailspin dismiss ongoing projects; his gap-tooth smile banishes all thought of unfinished paperwork.