Don't Feel Guilty For Grieving The Dog You Wanted

 It’s ok to grieve for the dog you wanted.

When thinking about adding a dog into our homes and families, most of us picture how it will be. The fun things we’ll do. The long walks we’ll go on to enjoy the world around us. The family trips out to places, long relaxed days of enjoying ourselves with our canine companions by our sides.

That’s the ideal, the thing that most of us want for us and our dogs.

The difficulty is that’s often not how it turns out.

I have had one of those dogs who could go anywhere, with anyone, and who was happy around people, dogs, vehicles, livestock and so on. He was so laid back that, when we used to show pedigree sheep, he could sleep in a pen next to our sheep without making a sound or bothering anyone. Those dogs are, however, very rare – looking back I now call him my unicorn dog.

Red. Beautiful and fond of the sound of his own voice!

My next dog, who came along when the old man was still with us, looks quite like him. In terms of personality and ability to cope with the world around us, the two dogs are poles apart. I was hoping for another unicorn, but that’s not how things worked out.

This dog is sensitive and complex. He struggles in social situations, can’t cope with other dogs (with the exception of his little sister, a puppy who has joined us with very careful introductions and management) and is scared of people outside of a very small group.

Finn. Complex but oh so handsome.

The dog I wanted: easy-going, affectionate, straightforward, and able to go with me anywhere.

The dog I have: anxious, needy, affectionate to the point of clingy, requires a lot of reassurance and for us to fit around his needs regarding other people, walk times and location etc.

I really miss the dog that I was hoping for, and that’s ok.

I love my boy. He’s a great big cuddle monster who gives the best snuggles. He rewards our work to keep him happy with absolutely boundless love and affection – honestly, he gives the absolute best sofa cuddles. He tries so hard when we work on going to new places and his world is slowly, slowly opening up as he’s able to cope with more.

For a while I felt a little (probably more than a little) resentful that this dog was so different from what I’d imagined. That his needs meant turning our world around to fit his better. Of course, now I’m grateful to him. 

If it wasn’t for this sensitive, special dog, I wouldn’t be in my current role.

I wouldn’t be helping other people to understand their dogs and helping them to help their dogs feel more comfortable in the world.

I wouldn’t have written a book, let alone several.

I wouldn’t be working as a tutor for a couple of amazing canine education providers.

None of this means that I don’t regret not having the dog I pictured before my beautiful boy joined the family. But that’s fine – there is nothing wrong with grieving the lack of that dog alongside loving the dog I have.