One of the best things we can do for our dogs is let go of the societal norms and generalizations we hold about what owning a dog “should” look like.
It’s not easy — and it’s okay to sometimes grieve the dogs we wish we had — but in order to enjoy our companions for who they are, we have to also accept who they are not.
I grew up with all these ideas in my head
I used to think that dogs “should” want to greet everyone on the street.
They “should” want to play with other dogs all the time.
If at any point a dog wasn’t completely social, I saw two options:
- It was entirely the fault of a bad owner, or
- There was something wrong with them.
I thought that you took your dog on neighborhood walks, played fetch at the dog park, and they protected you no matter what (yet were friendly to every stranger).
That was “just the way it was” — that’s how I thought dog ownership was supposed to be.
Looking back at my starry-eyed kid phase now, I’ve learned so much.
I thought all dogs could fit into a single box
To my little-girl brain, it seemed that every canine would enjoy the same activities. You should treat them all the same way. “Raising your dog right” could ensure they matched your lifestyle perfectly regardless of their breed and genetic predispositions.
And to be fair, some dogs do fit my childhood “suburban America” idea of dog ownership. There’s a reason retrievers are one of the most popular dog breeds: They’re often exactly what so many owners want!
But not every dog is a well-bred, stable pet lab. Not every dog can be raised to act like one. And that’s okay.
In fact, it’s more than okay — it’s awesome. The diversity in this amazing species is so cool, and tapping into Scout’s undeniably “heeler” characteristics is beyond fun.
But sometimes I grieve the dog Scout isn’t
Sometimes I get sad when other people talk about introducing their dog to strange dogs without second thought.
When kind folks ask if Scout wants to have a “puppy playdate” and I convince myself that I hear a note of disappointment in their voice after I say no.
When people round blind corners with their dogs at the end of the leash in front of them because they’ve never had to worry about making space.
When someone tells me I’m too uptight for thinking it’s rude for owners to let their dogs approach strangers in public without asking.
When an off-leash puppy bounds over to me and my friends in the park, and I’m the only one who sees it as dangerous and problematic instead of just cute.
Sometimes, no matter how hard I try to have a healthy thought process and be productive and stay positive… I grieve.
But while I show myself grace to feel that sadness and accept that there might be a few things I feel we can’t do… I also remember that there are so many more things we can.
In order to enjoy Scout for who she is, I have to accept who she is not
Scout isn’t a dog park dog (honestly, I don’t think most dogs are anymore). She likes strangers, but she doesn’t love them — she thrives on deep relationships with people she knows. She’d rather play a riveting game of tug than go on a walk.
In many ways, she isn’t my childhood idea of dog ownership.
While the movies and books about “perfect” family dogs are cute, our life isn’t a TV show… and she isn’t Lassie. And you know what? She doesn’t have to be.
She is Scout — my Scout.
And letting go of what I thought all dogs should enjoy in favor of what she actually enjoys has been the best thing I’ve ever done.
