Almost as soon as we adopted Troy, an adorable-looking brindle puppy, I felt I’d made a terrible mistake. My husband Louis – a chef – was always working during that bleak January in 2020. Troy, meanwhile, was turning out to be very different from the little beagle-shar pei cross the Manhattan shelter had led us to expect. Not only was he shaping up to be far bigger than the promised 30-40lb, he was murderously energetic. Early on, puppies aren’t allowed outside and there was nowhere for that energy to go. I found myself entertaining Troy all day long, in an apartment you could walk the length of in less than 10 seconds. I frequently hid from him in the bathroom, if my husband hadn’t got there first.
Troy constantly tested my will. Once, he stole my last slice of pizza from the fridge. After chasing him round the flat with a slipper and locking him in his crate, I realised how woefully unprepared I was for dog parenting, how I let my temper get the better of me.
I remember Googling “Is threatening a puppy abusive?” in a cab on the way to a friend’s house shortly afterwards. And “If you accidentally abuse your puppy, will he remember it for the rest of his life?” Friends, don’t ever ask Google these questions.
Things went from bad to worse. One day, after slipping in the thick snow on our roof terrace, after spending hours trying to tire him out, I lay on my back in the cold and fantasised about Troy falling off the edge.
That brought huge shame. I didn’t understand how I could love something so much, and simultaneously think of something so awful. With time, I realised it was an escape fantasy – one where I could return to the days before I had this huge responsibility.
But then, as the snow stopped crunching under our feet and the ice cleared from the sidewalk, things started to get better. Troy went to the park for the first time. He made puppy friends. He learned his name.
I changed, too. I stopped resisting the new pattern of my life, which now meant springing out of bed first thing to walk him, and making time to do so repeatedly in the day. I learned that I have a tendency to react with anger, something that I hated in my own childhood. I became calmer.
In time, I learned that nothing lasts for ever. The dog stops stealing your food. He learns to pee outside. You become a better person.
I am about to have a baby and these lessons comfort me now, as I grapple with my insecurities about whether I’ll be a good parent. Yes, I know having a dog is not the same as having a baby. But I have discovered that I have capabilities I didn’t know about. A huge, sprawling capacity for love, reflection and change. My dog taught me just how much love I have to give, and that’s a pretty spectacular thing.
