ABOUT ME

Live Like a Dog Today started as a simple idea I couldn’t shake — that dogs somehow know how to live in ways most of us forget. Presence. Joy. Loyalty. Courage. The kind of authenticity that doesn’t need to be announced. I didn’t set out to build a philosophy; I was just trying to understand why my dogs seemed to be doing life better than I was.

Hi, I’m Roy.

I didn’t start this because I had answers. Honestly, I started it because I didn’t. My dogs were the ones who seemed to have it figured out, and I was just trying to keep up.

I live in Upstate New York with Mozzie — a Boxer/Pitbull rescue who follows me around like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he blinks. And then there’s Marlow, my Frenchie/Pitbull mix who passed away. I still feel her everywhere. It’s strange how a dog can be gone and still shape your days. Sometimes I wonder if that’s what love is supposed to do.

I grew up in a tiny country town in NY called Jefferson. Single‑parent home, five kids, not a lot of money. But my mom showed up every day, even when I’m sure she didn’t have much left to give. That kind of consistency sticks with you. It taught me to pay attention to the people who keep showing up, even when life is messy.

I’ve lived a few different chapters — married, divorced, remarried — and each one taught me something I didn’t know I needed to learn. Mostly about communication, presence, and how easy it is to drift away from yourself without noticing.

For years, I built a career in the corporate world. It felt like the responsible thing to do — especially coming from a childhood where stability wasn’t guaranteed. And honestly, I learned a lot there: how to lead, how to communicate, how to support people. But somewhere along the way, I realized I wasn’t checking in with myself. I was doing the things I was “supposed” to do, but not always the things that made me feel alive. It took my dogs — of all things — to make me slow down long enough to notice.

Mozzie and Marlow were opposites. Mozzie wants connection every second of the day. Marlow was independent, almost aloof, until nighttime when she’d suddenly decide she needed affection. Watching them together made me think about how different ways of being can still be equally whole. I didn’t realize how much they were teaching me until after Marlow passed. Grief has a way of sharpening the lessons you didn’t know you were learning.

Live Like a Dog grew out of that — not as a brand, but as a reminder I needed for myself. A way to keep the lessons close. A way to stop rushing through my own life.

I started noticing how often I was moving fast but not really here. How I could be grateful but not grounded. How I could be doing “well” but still feel like something was missing. It wasn’t dramatic — just this quiet sense that I wasn’t fully in my own life.

Dogs don’t struggle with that. They’re not optimizing or comparing or performing. They’re not replaying yesterday or worrying about tomorrow. They’re just… living. Fully. Honestly. With their whole chest.

The more I watched them, the more I wondered when I stopped living like that — and why.

So this became a philosophy, a practice, a movement, whatever you want to call it. Not about becoming someone new, but about returning to the parts of ourselves we’ve ignored.

Outside of all this, I’m someone who loves fitness, being outdoors, and — I’ll admit it — reality TV. I’m in a season of learning new skills, trying things without overthinking, and figuring out what a fully alive life looks like for me. Some days I get it right. Some days I don’t. But I’m trying.

I’m not an expert. I’m just someone paying attention — to my habits, my stories, my dogs, and the small choices that make a life feel like it’s actually mine.

If you’re here, maybe you’re trying to do the same. So let’s live like a dog, one day at a time.