A good reader posted this question on my Facebook page the other day: “Has having a dog like Fate changed you?,” she asked.

I responded quickly, perhaps too quickly, in the way of the male ego, and said no, I’ve had energetic dogs before, and I didn’t think Fate had changed me. I suppose I wanted to be tougher and more resilient than that, as if those were good things.

But I am passionate about thoughtfulness, that increasingly rare thing in politics and on social media, and so I thought about this very good question.

And the answer, I think, is yes, Fate has changed me.

Every dog I have ever had – Orson, Lenore, Red, Izzy, Frieda – has changed me, why wouldn’t an explosive, determined and astonishingly bright dog like Fate? I believe every dog we have changes every one of us, some much more than others.

Fate forced me to look at myself in a number of ways, as wonderful dogs do.

She has a great and sweet heart, but so much instinct and drive she can barely hear commands, let alone obey them.  She often seems to be rebellious, when she is just too excited. For dog lovers, especially men, this can trigger ego rather than thought. But training is not about dominance for me, it’s about communicating.

Fate is a working dog from a great working line, but she has no interest in driving or pushing or commanding sheep. I have never had a border collie with so much instinct and so little interest in pushing sheep around.

But she loves to work with them, at least she loves her idea of what working with them is. She especially loves to run to them, and around them. For their part, the sheep pay absolutely no attention to her.

Initially, Fate challenged me. She ran out of doors, refused to lie down, ran off to each chicken droppings, jumped all over people, grabbed food off the counter, pounced on poor Red.

She still does some of those things, but less and less. Training Fate is a lifetime experience, we make progress all the time. She has a great heart and wants to please, even when she can’t.

When I grasped that she wasn’t going to be a working sheepdog, it altered me and my view of myself. I suppose it was a question of pride.

Many people in the border collie world do not like me and my ideas, as is true of many people in the wider world.

People tell you they love you for making them think, but when you really do make them think, many will hate you for it. In America, thinking differently is often considered a hateful act.

When I get a border collie puppy, a lot of people are looking to see if I screw it up, people seem to need to do that, social media is a gift to them.

Lots of my ego has been battered into size by life, but I have a good and healthy one still, writers need them, and subconsciously I think,  I revel in doing well with my dogs.

I am no better than anybody else but have a knack, I think, for helping good dogs to live good lives. I am good at communicating with them. I love them very much.

For all of my life, dogs have marked the passages of my life, been magical helpers for me. I want to do as well for them.

I love the way my dogs behave,  how trustworthy they are, how loving, how responsive.

But with Fate, I had to let go of some of that, of any concern about what others think or might say, about my own ego and expectations.  It wasn’t about her defying me, it was about her being her. Dogs can teach us much about relationships, if we pay attention and listen.

When Fate told me so clearly that morning “I am not Red, let me be me,” I heard it, and the fact that I could hear it and acknowledge it was not only about the dog. It was also an admission about me, and my evolving expectations for myself and for life.

I am well aware that some of this dynamic is also involved in my relationship with Maria and other people. We accept and understand one another, that is at the heart, I think, of our love.

Accepting Fate was not just a training thing, it was about my own limits, my own acceptance, my own sense of self.

And my own ability to love.  Active listening and empathy, once more.

It would have been so easy to break the spirit of this fiercely independent and instinctive animal, it was important to put my own ego aside and listen and empathize.

She is a great dog, I love her more every day, so does Maria, whose dog she truly is. Let her be herself. I see men breaking down their sisters and wives and girlfriends all the time, insisting they be who they want them to be, not who they want to be and are.

So here, what I have learned as a human and what I have learned about dogs, mesh and interact. It’s hard to separate one from the other.

So in that sense – showing true patience, learning how to listen, being comfortable with who I am (and who she is) – yes, Fate had a true impact on me. I’m not sure if she changed me, or simply helped me to reveal who I am and have become and want to be.

My path has been learning about my limits as well as my strengths. I am always learning what I can do and what I cannot do, and I am so often wrong about both. Fate has helped me to see myself more clearly, as has my wife.

Life is a process, we are not one thing, we are many things, I don’t live in a black-and-white world, there are many shades. I hope I am always changing and growing.  I believe that dogs mirror us, and who we are, if we think about it and pay attention, rather than dominate and emotionalize them, we can learn so much about ourselves.

That, I think, is their work, and our work if we love them.

So I thank you for the question, good reader, and apologize for my lack of thoughtfulness. I hope I’ve answered the question.