Our baby was just nine months old when my husband and I’s lives fell apart. The month before, one of our two dogs died unexpectedly and the other puppy, Rex, was devastated. A week after her death, we learned that Rex had heart failure and only had months to live.
So, we did what you’re not supposed to do: We made a big life decision while having very big feelings. We have always wanted a Rhodesian Ridgeback puppy and we decided now was the time to get one. We wanted Rex to have a playmate again and truly enjoy his last few months, and we (illogically) hoped that some part of him would be passed on to his younger siblings before he left us.
I have had many great experiences raising Ridgebacks, so we researched reputable breeders in our state and found that one of them had a 6 month old puppy that was her last litter and was ready adoption. We paid the full fee without meeting her, picked a name (Salda) and they drove her there the next day.
We’ve all heard of the baby blues, but I didn’t know that puppy blues were a big deal, too. instead of a 9 month old baby Teething, needing to be fed, played, diapered, and I now have a 6 month old puppy Teething – with 28 needle-like puppy teeth – requires feeding, stimulation, training and house cleaning.
The breeder told me puppies need a certain amount of sleep to grow, so suddenly I had two nap schedules to worry about. I grew up around dogs, cats, livestock, and animals of all kinds. But I had no idea that raising a puppy was a lot like having a velociraptor in your house for almost a year before it could be considered a civilized companion. I’m constantly on edge, cleaning up poop, taking dangerous things out of someone’s mouth, and making sure the puppy doesn’t treat my real child like a squeaky toy.
When Zalda was old enough to put her front paws on the kitchen counter, she went through a series of counter surfings and would steal anything she could from the kitchen. She demonstrated this new talent when it was just the two of us at home, playfully bursting into the living room brandishing a six-inch paring knife. She snatched the wooden-handled blade from the kitchen dishmat. She loves to turn any piece of wood into pieces, which she did with all of our baby’s alphabet blocks and the legs of our living room ottoman, and then she obviously set her sights on this knife handle. But in her playful, butt-in-the-air position, I knew if I tried to take the blade, she would fly away. So I raised my hand to persuade her, my voice like an angry policeman: “Salda, sit down. Put the knife down.”
A worst-case scenario flashed through my mind, my baby have After returning home, the dog somehow scratched him as she ran wildly through the house brandishing a knife. I could see the authorities handcuffing me and dragging me away from my son’s hospital bed as I screamed, “I swear it wasn’t me, it was the dog!” This news would diagnose me with postpartum Mental health issues, and really, it was the dog that made me lose my mind. It’s funny in hindsight, but after everything she’s been through, her antics are exhausting.
If I could do it over again, we wouldn’t have gotten a puppy. I will wait until our son is older so we can enjoy Zelda more. I will do more research to find out what raising a puppy is really like. We also took it for granted that the breeder’s puppy would be a clean slate – no past abuse, like many of our previous rescues she had been to, and the breeder cleared of all major physical health issues.
But Salda had severe anxiety. It took months of daily training before she could walk and get in and out of the car. She is afraid of strangers and sudden noises, often getting frightened and running onto things around the house to escape. I’d dealt with anxiety-ridden rescues since I was a kid – dogs and horses – but the sheer effort it took to help her through her worst moments, while also raising children and working a full-time job, came at a cost to my sanity.
Of course, we’ve always loved Salda. I thought she and our son Cooper would be inseparable, and they were. Zelda treats him like a litter mate and queues up for treats when he gets them too, and he’s extremely jealous of any good spot she gets on the couch. When I got out the vacuum cleaner, he rushed to her crate and told me, “Mom, Zelda isn’t like that,” like a good brother.
And, to her credit, “Zelda” has been a gem in the most important way: She loves Cooper, despite his loud noises, antics and chaos. For her part, growing up with him had accustomed her to the sights and sounds of living with a toddler, and even though she was anxious about almost everything else in her life, everything he did seemed Didn’t bother her. She was always by his side, sniffing his hair, supervising and waiting for his attention. When my son talks about his family, he says “Mom, Dad, and Zeldie.” I’m happy to have her in our home, but my husband and I have a new rule: We will never adopt a puppy again.
Katie McPherson is the associate lifestyle editor for Romper and Scary Mommy. She enjoys reading, boxing, horseback riding, and lounging on the couch after a long day. She married her college sweetheart and now they have a son, a very large dog, and aching joints.
