The reason people get a dog is they want something to love them. They might also want to love something but those are two sides of the same biscuit. Dogs satisfy a human need and sometimes they do it better than other humans do. Or, at least, more reliably.

In fact, you don’t even have to do much for a dog to love you. You just have to be that dog’s person.
How much a person needs love can be reflected in their dog situation. Some people who need a lot of love get a lot of dogs, but it isn’t necessary. They could just get one Golden Retriever. Because some dogs, like Golden Retrievers, need our love more than other dogs. Our old dog, for instance, was perfectly suited to us. Our dog loved us and enjoyed our company and also enjoyed the company of anyone willing to share their breakfast, so she wasn’t an exclusive sort of dog. And we didn’t want to be looking after our dog’s emotional needs every second of the day. 
We spent a lot of time training her when she was a pup. She trotted at heel without a lead, sat when we stopped, stayed when we told her to stay, and came when we called every single time, even if she didn’t really want to. What we didn’t think to teach her was “Don’t climb the fence paw-over-paw” because we didn’t think she could do that. But a five-foot fence was no impediment whatsoever to a twelve-inch dog if she was on one side of it and the neighbor’s plate of sausage and biscuits was on the other side.
She took care of her own needs.

And–this is probably telling–we didn’t necessarily notice when she was missing. Once, during fireworks season, which used to last three months around here, Dave’s mom called from a mile down the hill. “Is Boomer with you?” she said, and we said Yeah, we think so, although we couldn’t actually lay eyes on her right that second. “Because I think she’s at my back door,” she said. And she was.

It was a little embarrassing the number of times people returned our dog to us when we didn’t know she needed returning.
Anyway we were emotionally a good fit. A Golden Retriever would have been too much dog, needing too much affection. On the other side of the scale, there was my friend Fred, who lived with a perfectly wretched bunwad of a Pekingese, a flat-fronted wheezer with an asthmatic growl, a dog that would sneak up on you just to staple you with its face. Sometimes it bit Fred. “Why do you like that dog?” we asked, because he did, and he said “Well, if this dog likes you, you know you’re really special.” And after its own fashion, that dog did like Fred. Fred was chewy.
People have different emotional needs. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing to get a dog so something loves you. In fact, it’s the best reason. You shouldn’t get a dog to threaten other people. Or to guard the yard on a long chain. Or to match your purse.
But if you really want affection, if you really need affirmation from across the globe, if you want to be an object of desire, if you want to get fan mail all day long and be pursued by millions, without feeling any obligation to reciprocate? Skip the dog.
Become a literary agent.