We've begun to long for the pitter-patter of little feet - so we

Rita Rudner, with humor as her instrument of truth, once said: “We’ve begun to long for the pitter-patter of little feet – so we bought a dog. Well, it’s cheaper, and you get more feet.” At first, her words seem to be only jest, a playful twist on the yearning for children. Yet beneath the laughter lies a deep reflection on longing, companionship, and the ways humans fill the spaces of their hearts. In this statement, the dog emerges not merely as a substitute for children, but as a reminder that love and joy may come in many unexpected forms.

The origin of this saying is found in the ancient art of comedy, where truth is softened by laughter so that it may be received without pain. Rudner, a master of wit, turned the tender ache of those who long for family into a lighthearted confession. Her words suggest that while life may not always give us what we expect, it still gives us love in abundance—sometimes in the shape of children, sometimes in the shape of loyal animals whose pitter-patter fills the silence of our homes.

To speak of the pitter-patter of little feet is to call forth one of the oldest yearnings of humanity: the continuation of life, the joy of new generations, the laughter of children filling halls that would otherwise echo with emptiness. Yet Rudner reminds us that while such longing is sacred, it is not the only path to joy. The dog, with its many feet and endless affection, becomes another form of fulfillment. What we truly long for is not feet alone, but presence, warmth, the sound of life moving about us.

History gives us glimpses of this truth. Consider the widows and hermits who, though childless, found in animals a companionship that sustained their spirits. Monks in monasteries, deprived of families, often kept cats and dogs as quiet companions, their footsteps soft prayers echoing through silent cloisters. For them, as for Rudner, the animal became not a mere creature, but family—an answer to longing, a comfort in solitude, a bearer of joy.

Rudner’s humor also reminds us of perspective. The dog may indeed be “cheaper” than raising a child, but it is not lesser. Both child and animal demand care, patience, and love. Both offer joy, companionship, and growth to the human soul. The difference lies not in value, but in path. Some are called to raise children, others to nurture animals, and some to both. Each way is valid, each way can fill the home with footsteps and the heart with love.

The lesson here is profound: do not measure love by form, but by presence. Whether it comes through children, pets, friends, or community, what matters is that the silence of life is filled with footsteps of companionship. The human soul was not made for emptiness, but for connection. The pitter-patter we seek is the sound of love in motion, however it may appear.

Practically, this means embracing joy in whatever form it comes. If you are blessed with children, cherish their laughter. If you are blessed with animals, honor their loyalty. If you find yourself in longing, do not despair, but look for the unexpected places where love appears. Life may not always give you what you first desired, but it will always offer something worthy of love if your eyes and heart remain open.

So let Rudner’s playful words echo with deeper meaning: “We bought a dog… you get more feet.” In them is a truth wrapped in jest—that love, in whatever shape it comes, is enough. Cherish the sound of footsteps in your life, whether of child or creature, for they are the rhythm of companionship, the heartbeat of joy, and the proof that you are not alone.