I'm looking more like my dogs every day - it must be the shaggy

Hear, O children of gentle laughter, the words of Christine McVie, songstress of heart and memory: “I’m looking more like my dogs every day – it must be the shaggy fringe and the ears.” At first, these words seem only playful, a jest about hair and appearance. Yet hidden within them lies a tender truth, one that touches upon love, companionship, and the way we become like those with whom we share our lives. For in the bond between human and animal, there is reflection; in the long years of friendship, the heart and even the face begin to resemble one another.

The dog, faithful companion of mankind, has always been more than a beast at the hearth. He is the mirror of his master’s spirit, sharing in joys and sorrows, pacing through life’s days with unwavering loyalty. To say, as McVie did, that one looks like one’s dogs, is to confess that the bond is so deep it shapes even the outward form. It is to recognize that love transforms, and that those who walk beside us imprint their presence upon our very being.

The ancients themselves knew this mystery. In Rome, it was said that hunters and their hounds grew alike over the years, both in strength and bearing. In villages across the world, the shepherd was known by his sheepdog, each reflecting the other’s endurance and vigilance. The Greeks even carved statues of men and their dogs side by side, as though they were one spirit in two bodies. Thus McVie’s words are not only humor, but the echo of an ancient observation: we become like those we love, be they friend, family, or faithful creature.

Consider also the story of Sir Walter Scott, the great Scottish writer, who was so devoted to his dog Maida that when the animal died, he wrote of him with the tenderness reserved for kin. It was said that the two seemed to resemble one another in spirit, both noble, both watchful, both dignified in their bearing. In truth, years of companionship had made them alike. McVie’s jest about her shaggy fringe and ears captures this same phenomenon—affection turns resemblance into truth.

But there is deeper wisdom here as well: our lives are shaped by what we keep closest to us. If one lives in anger, one’s face grows hardened. If one lives in love, one’s eyes grow softer. To resemble a dog is no insult, but a compliment of the highest order, for dogs embody loyalty, devotion, and joy untainted by deceit. To grow like them is to grow toward goodness. Thus, what McVie speaks lightly, we must hear with gravity: cherish your companions, for you will become like them.

The lesson, then, is twofold. First, embrace the humor in life, for laughter itself is a gift that binds souls together. Second, be mindful of the company you keep, whether beast or man, for over time their spirit will shape yours. If you live among loyalty, you will learn to be loyal. If you dwell with gentleness, you will learn gentleness. And if your life is marked by the presence of faithful dogs, then you may one day look in the mirror and see their spirit reflected in your own.

Practically, let this teaching guide you: nurture bonds of companionship with love and patience. Do not scorn the small ways in which affection transforms you. Take joy in resemblance, whether it is a shaggy fringe, a shared mannerism, or a mirrored spirit. And above all, choose companions wisely—friends, family, and creatures alike—for their imprint will become your legacy.

So, O listeners, remember Christine McVie’s playful truth: that in time, love writes itself upon the body as well as the soul. To resemble your dog is to wear the mark of loyalty, devotion, and joy. And if in your reflection you see the face of those you love, then truly, you have lived well.

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