Do Dogs Have Friends? (Chewie & Quill Say Yes.)

We had an extra dog at our house last week. His name is Chewie. He’s a six‑year‑old yellow Labrador, and he spent ten days living with us while his humans vacationed at Disney World. In that time, he and Quill went from “polite acquaintances” to “inseparable chaos boys,” which I believe is the canine definition of best friends.

 

Watching the two of them together made me think a lot about whether dogs actually have friends in the way we understand friendship. And it turns out, science says yes — or at least, dogs form selective, stable social bonds that function an awful lot like human friendships. Researchers call these “affiliative relationships,” but if you’d seen these two crashed out together after a day of bitey‑face, you’d call it friendship, too.

 

Introducing Chewie

Even though Chewie isn’t my dog, I’ve known him all his life. Before his humans brought him home, they posted in our local mom group seeking someone to spend time with their new puppy, as they wanted the best start for him. Both worked full-time and they did not want him to be home alone for long work days at such a young age. I remember thinking, “These people are literally hiring a nanny for their puppy. They are my kind of people.”

 

I started my adventures in puppy‑sitting in April 2019. And of course, you cannot spend that much time with an eight‑week‑old puppy without becoming part of his training team. We worked on house‑training, bite inhibition, and the basics like sit, stay, and down. Our days fell into a rhythm: play for an hour, sleep for an hour, repeat. Because it was spring, we spent many rainy days together, including some huge thunderstorms. I remember sitting next to him during one particularly loud storm, thinking, I am here for some truly pivotal moments in this dog’s life.

 

What I didn’t know then — but science now backs up — is that dogs remember the people who shape their early world for years. Their memory isn’t calendar‑based like ours; it’s scent‑based and emotional. Early caregivers become part of a dog’s internal “social map,” which explains why Chewie still greets me as if no time has passed at all.

Once he was old enough, Chewie started going to doggie daycare twice a week. As he and his bladder control matured, my visits were reduced to a few hours rather than the whole day. His humans took him to obedience training; they would share what he learned, and we would practice during my visits. After they began leash training, we added walks around his neighborhood to our daily visits. That winter, he experienced his first snowfall, and I introduced him to snowball fetch — a favorite winter game in my house.

 

Early on, his humans lost someone in the family and had to travel. Chewie was too young and too under-vaccinated for boarding, so he stayed with us. He had a blast playing with Jackson and Tinkerbell, and he stayed again later that year for a week. Each time he walked through our front door, he seemed to instantly understand the rules of the house.

 

What I’ve since learned is that Chewie didn’t just fit in because he knows me — he fit in because dogs rely heavily on routine, predictability, and familiar structure to feel secure. His early months with me as his pet sitter created a foundation of trust, and his home life mirrors ours so closely that stepping into our house probably feels like stepping into a slightly different version of his own.

 

Dogs thrive when their environment makes sense to them — when the routines, rules, and overall vibe line up with what they already know. Trainers emphasize that consistent routines and clear expectations are huge contributors to a dog’s mental well‑being, which makes it no surprise that Chewie walked in, took a sniff around, and basically said, “Yep, I know how life works here.”

Then came March 2020, and the world shut down. His human brother was home from school, his parents were working from home, and my dog‑walking services were no longer needed. By then, though, Chewie’s parents and I had gone from dog‑owner/dog‑sitter to just regular friends. It wasn’t a big pivot; we have a lot in common, including a love of Disney, Star Wars, and Marvel (thus, dogs named Quill, Tinkerbell, and Chewie), and I had spent countless hours in their house with their dog.

 

Chewie stayed with us again after Jackson passed away, when Tink was struggling as the only dog, but that was his last sleepover since 2022. He had met Quill once or twice, but I don’t recall him staying here after Quill was born. 

 

When Chewie’s mom offered to let him stay for ten days this winter, I quickly agreed. They had boarding reserved, but she knew Quill missed canine company — and I love Chewie like one of my own. Plus, I correctly assumed that by the end of January/start of February, we would be stir crazy with winter weather and ready for a fun change of pace. 

The First Night: Negotiating a Friendship

We had a play session beforehand to make sure the boys were still compatible. Quill may be reactive on leash, but he is thrilled to have dogs come over. I think he wants to meet dogs on walks. His initial reaction just looks dramatic. Still, I wanted to be sure before they canceled their boarding reservation.

 

That first night, I wondered what I’d gotten into. There was humping, whale eyes, tense body language, and lots of water gulping. Both of them sneezed so many times I lost count, which I recently learned is something dogs do for multiple reasons, including to calm themselves and to signal during play that they are friendly.  

 

Outside, they both engaged in a lot of marking behavior, with Quill always getting the “last word” by marking the spot last. All in all, it took them a few hours to calm down, but I was pleased that nobody showed signs of being too distressed or aggressive. 

 

Eventually, they settled, ate dinner, and slept like dogs who had grown up together. When it was time for bed, I worried that Quill might object to Chewie sleeping with us, but they ran upstairs together like we had been doing this every night of their lives. 

Ten Days of Friendship

For the ten days he stayed with us, Chewie settled into our routine as if he lived here. After breakfast, the boys would chill for two hours (my anti‑bloat rule), and then we’d play outside as long as the weather allowed. The first few days were below zero, so we kept it short, but once it warmed into the 20s, they had glorious half‑hour play sessions. Inside, they wrestled, played tug, chewed antlers, and engaged in all their favorite dog games.

 

I found myself intervening more than I would have if they were both my dogs. Every so often, I’d have them sit and wait, then do simple training cues with me to shift their focus and break up the energy.  I also crated them when I had to leave the house or take a shower, so they were never together unattended. 

 

I fed Chewie behind baby gates that block off our dining room — the same gates Tink used to eat behind, and the same ones we used during Quill’s puppyhood to limit his access to part of the house. Ironically, the gates are ones I borrowed from Chewie’s family years ago and still haven’t returned. No matter how well they got along, I didn’t want food to be an issue, so both boys got plenty of time and space to eat at their own pace without the other one sniffing around. 

 

Quill hadn’t touched his moose antlers since Tink passed away. The first thing he did with Chewie was grab an antler and thrust it into Chewie’s face. His renewed interest confirmed something I’d suspected for years: my dogs view antlers as a group activity. Behaviorists call this “social facilitation” — dogs often mirror or revive behaviors when another dog is present.

 

What struck me most during those ten days was how naturally Chewie and Quill figured each other out.  I marveled at how quickly they settled into their own rhythm of play, breaks, and quiet time. Sometimes one of them would get too rough, the other would give a little yelp, and the overly intense dog would immediately back off, like they were saying, “I got you, sorry, bro.”  

 

More than once, I caught myself wondering if Chewie remembered the dogs who came before Quill. Dogs carry long‑term scent and emotional memories, but obviously we can never truly know what they are thinking. It was one of thousands of times I wish the dogs could explain to me what’s on their mind at any given moment.. 

The Joy of Watching Dogs Be Dogs

I laughed every time Chewie reacted to Quill being naughty — stealing shoes, counter surfing, climbing onto the kitchen chair to see what he could grab off the table. Chewie would give him this look, like, Uh oh, dude, you’re not allowed to do that.

 

He also claimed the “dog bed for humans” my husband gave me last Christmas. I had envisioned cozy movie nights with Tink and Quill when I received it, but Quill preferred to flip and drag the bed around when he got bored. Maybe I needed Chewie back for movie night.

 

Chewie also loved sharing Quill’s peanut‑butter spoon. Quill gets his myasthenia gravis medication three times a day, and Chewie quickly learned that peanut butter follows breakfast. The last few days of his visit, I would let him out of his private dining room, and he would immediately stand next to my kitchen island, like, “Ok, peanut butter lady, let’s go!” 

 

Quill loves to eat ice and snow, and one of the few benefits of winter is that it’s the one time I let him indulge his love of eating stuff in the yard. If you have Labradors, you understand what I mean. Unfortunately, Chewie vomits anytime he eats something frozen. I think Chewie understands this from experience, yet I watched him watch Quill eat snow and ice, then take a tentative little nibble himself. I would tell him to leave it; he would give me a look, as if he knew he shouldn’t eat the ice, but he just couldn’t help himself. Fortunately, he only vomited twice during his ten-day stay. He would probably tell us it was fully worth it.  

What Friendship Meant — For Them and For Me

By the time his visit ended, I was sad to see him go. I realized I’m happiest with two dogs—not because Quill isn’t enough, but because I could see how much he loved having another dog for company. Dogs are social animals, and research shows they thrive with stable companionship, whether canine or human.

 

On Chewie’s last morning, the sun was shining, and I sat on the deck while the boys played tug with a toy duck. For the first time since Tink passed — and honestly, since she started to decline — I felt content. Being present with my dogs while they played was one of the happiest experiences of my life. It made me feel like part of their pack in a way non‑dog‑people might not understand. Let’s be honest: I probably lost all my non‑dog‑loving readers about 8,971 dog photos ago.

 

I definitely want another dog soon. My husband wants to wait until Quill is five. In the spirit of Pawn Stars, I feel like saying, “The most I can give you is until he’s four.” An older rescue is also on the table if we find the right dog, but we’d prefer a two‑to‑three‑year age gap, whether we adopt an adult or purchase a puppy from a responsible breeder.

 

The truth is, Tink will send us a dog, just like Jax sent Quill. In the meantime, I may have to borrow Chewie more often — if only to keep their bromance alive and flourishing. And if dogs really do have friends — and the science says they do — then keeping this little friendship going feels like the most natural thing in the world.