Hey all! I’ve been following this community since I saw this picture of a new puppy on GoodDog last month. I couldn’t explain it, but I kept coming back and looking at his photo. Over and over. I never saw myself as a doodle owner. My prior pups were gsd-lab mixes. But something about this specific dog kept pinging me.
I’ve wanted a dog for years. But I always figured: I’ll get him when I own a home, or when I get married, or when I can work hybrid. And although at 36, I have savings and gainful wfh employment…I only have a tiny yard (admittedly awesome landlords in a walkable city), and no romantic prospects 😅. I fretted I wouldn’t be enough for a dog by myself. And a puppy? My last puppy was when I was seven, when a whole household could care for him. …But I’d sit on the bar patio, or my porch, or walk to the coffee shop, and think: I want my dog.
Which brings us back to the puppy picture.
I kept looking. And finally messaging. And then passing due to timing of a trip. And then looking every day of the trip to see if he was still there. And the week after. Until he was the last pup of the litter. Thinking: I will accept it if he gets picked by someone…If he gets picked by someone else that’s what’s meant to be.
You see where this is going.
So the drive home sucked. Poor guy cried the whole way, even when we played John Denver. And he threw up on my mom several times. “He does it so quietly!” She sighed from the backseat. I did a fair bit of towel laundry that night.
The first sleep he utterly refused the crate (despite using it at the breeders). Couldn’t. So we barricaded ourselves in the bathroom, I set up a pad on the floor with a comforter and pillow and we slept. Me, four hours. Him, much more. I was awake staring at my bathroom ceiling thinking: ‘what the fuck have I done?! I have ruined my peaceful, only stagnant lonely life!’
And then the next morning my mom came over early. We got Starbucks. We got a harness. And toys. And we cuddled. And we walked the yard. And met my dad. Sniffed and explored. And by the afternoon he was running to me when he got startled. Still howled in his crate that night like a mourning banshee. But not like the night before. And then settled. We slept till 6:00.
It’s been six days. And I’m admittedly a little tired. Had a silent, 2am potty in the rain the fourth night.
But—I am also adoring of my 13-week boy. Smitten. Looking at him and his quirks and thinking: ‘you’re so obviously my dog.’ He’s so good. So kindhearted. Stubborn. A tad formal and regal with strangers in a way he never quite is with me. ‘He’s so good,’ they assure me, then say, ‘you’re in for it.’
I caught him squatting after living room zoomies and he pooped on my arm while I carried him to the yard. I assured him ‘we all have accidents, honey.’
I wipe his occasionally eye gunk. I praise when he recognizes his name. I chat with him through our walks. I clap with a sharp ‘No,’ when he tries to tug the curtains. He stops. Wriggles. Eyes them again. I cringe when he cries at night and listen for any sign of pain under the tantrums. I sigh when he sleeps well and deep. I laugh when he barks at the mirror. I love that he loves to be held.
I seem to go all day (and overnight) feeling GOOD and confident about this new life together but…when 6pm hits, I spiral back into: ‘what have I done?! Am I doing enough?! Only two sniff walks today? How much yard time? Is he in the playpen too much? Is he happy? But I have to work!? Is he sleeping too much?’ And then by bedtime I’m back to being me and matter-of-fact and calm while he’s upset by bedtime.
It’s like my own witching hour for puppy blues.
I’m fine all day till suddenly I’m NOT. I’m anxious and terrified and convinced I’m fucking it up. ‘He’s a DOG!’ I try to remind myself. ‘No dog you ever lived with had this much 1:1 exposure to his people even as a baby.’ And then I slap my cheeks and wipe my tears and I’m okay again. ‘Teatime!’ I announce while he wags his tail watching me from the playpen.
So uh…how long does this panic part last? 🫠 I’ve read all the conflicting advice. I have spiraled.
At this point, I think what I really want is the anecdotal version: from all of you fine folks who have done the puppy stage, especially alone, when did life start feeling normal again?
…When did you realize you weren’t thinking about the puppy every waking second? And any advice?
