The Dog I Wished I'd Picked
When loving a pet and accepting a pet aren't always the same thing
In my day-to-day work, I interact with a lot of stressed-out caregivers. And that’s not all that surprising really — most people don’t actually WANT to see a veterinary behaviorist. They’re meeting with us because they’ve tried almost everything else they can think of, and a visit to the vet behaviorist is often their last resort, and last hope, to help their beloved pet. Understandably, a lot of these caregivers are visibly stressed (much like their pets) when I first meet them in the office. They sit across from me with shoulders tense, jaw clenched, arms crossed around their torsos as they share their concerns.
But at some point during our work together, which might be weeks, months, or even years down the road, I’ll pick up on a noticeable shift in their demeanor. Their posture is relaxed, they smile and laugh more easily, and it appears that a veritable weight has been lifted off their shoulders. You might assume this shift happens when their pet’s behavioral issues have significantly improved — and sometimes it does. But more often, I see it when the caregiver reaches a point of acceptance. When they are finally able to accept their pet for who they are and embrace life with that pet as it is, rather than resisting reality, everything gets a whole lot better.
Reaching acceptance is so powerful, and its impact on life with that pet so profound, that I wish there were a magic recipe to help everyone get there as quickly and directly as possible. Unfortunately, there is no magic recipe for reaching acceptance. Getting to that point, and working through the grief of the pet you wished you’d had, is a deeply personal process. There’s no straight path, and no one-size-fits-all approach. I know this not just professionally, but personally, through my own experience with my dog Tonks.
We got Tonks in 2011 as a puppy. At that time, I was in the middle of my behavior medicine residency and working as a clinical instructor at a veterinary school’s satellite clinic. My husband and I decided it was the right time to add another dog to our household (we already had a 4-year-old Rhodesian Ridgeback named Bludger), and I knew about a breeder who did an amazing job with puppy care and socialization before the dogs were adopted out. She had only 1-2 litters per year so I got on their waiting list as soon as we decided we were ready for another dog, and was absolutely thrilled when their next litter came along.
I was soooo excited to welcome this new puppy into our home! I envisioned walking with her to the farmer’s market on the weekend, taking her to play with my young nephews, and bringing her to work with me so she could hang out with all my coworkers and the vet students at the clinic. We received pictures every week from the time the puppies were born, and got to see all of the socialization experiences they were having, from visiting with young kids at a preschool, exploring a remote beach, and playing with the family’s other dogs. We even got to meet the puppies in person when the entire litter was brought on a road trip to meet their prospective families. I still fondly remember welcoming all those 8-week-old Ridgeback puppies to our yard. It seemed like there were puppies everywhere, and each one was just as adorable as the next. And every single one of them seemed to be very healthy and well-adjusted. They explored the yard, approached me, my husband and brother-in-law without hesitation, played with Bludger, and even gently interacted with my cat, Aengus.
That was the day we picked our puppy. There were two females available in this litter, the one with the green collar, and the one with the purple. Both were as sweet as could be, so we decided on the one with the purple collar. By the time she left our place, we’d christened her with the name Tonks.
The weekly updates continued, and we picked her up from her birth home about a month later. There, Tonks seemed just as happy as she’d been in our yard the month before.
I started to worry about her on the car ride home, however. She was distressed — yelping persistently and inconsolably while in the car — and then she trembled and wouldn’t take treats during potty breaks at rest stops. Once we finally got her home, she cowered in the yard she’d previously and confidently explored.
Initially I assumed she was just having a tough time adjusting to life away from her littermates and hoped she’d bounce back, but she never really did. She continued to be fearful outside, was wary of anyone beyond our immediate family who didn’t visit regularly, and was seriously distressed when left alone. And those were issues that continued throughout her life in some form or fashion, and changed our lives in the process. While I could spend a lot of time discussing behavioral development and why some dogs develop more profound fear and anxiety than others, even when so well set up for success, I’ll save that for another post. What I will say here is I don’t think Tonks’ fear and anxiety was anyone’s fault. The breeders did an amazing job setting the pups up for success, and we did the best we could to support Tonks as she grew up.
I had so many hopes when I got on the puppy waitlist, hopes that deepened with every weekly photo update and grew even further the day we played with the litter in my backyard. And while I realized rather quickly that my hopes did not match the reality of who Tonks was and I quickly adjusted what I did with her to meet her needs, it honestly took me about three years to adjust my mindset and accept her for the dog she was. Even though I loved Tonks dearly, from the time she came home until she was about 3 years old, I kept thinking back to that day we met all the puppies, and wishing “if only we’d picked the puppy with the green collar…”
During my early days with Tonks, a lot of friends, family, and colleagues tried to console me with “you’re the best home for her.” Rather than making me feel better, as I’m sure was their intent, those words frustrated and angered me. Looking back, I think those words rankled so much because I was still grieving for the dog I’d hoped for and the life I'd hoped we’d share together. I wasn’t anywhere close to acceptance.
Now I can look back and I am glad Tonks ended up with us. The puppy with the green collar went to a home with young children, and I suspect Tonks would have struggled there even more. And in the end, despite all of her challenges, Tonks had many great qualities and remains one of my best . I loved her dearly. When she died 5 years ago, I grieved for her harder than I’ve grieved for any other pet, and thinking about her now still brings tears to my eyes. But I only came to appreciate her fully when I was finally able to get to that point of acceptance.
What finally got me to acceptance wasn’t a single moment or a single intervention, nor was it something clever or kind that anyone else said. It was time, and a gradual loosening of my grip on the dog I’d dreamed of. I share this not because my experience is a template, but because I think it matters that even someone who does this work for a living — who understood exactly what was happening with Tonks from a very early stage and who had every professional tool at her disposal — still took three years to reach acceptance. So if you haven’t found acceptance yet, please know that doesn’t mean you’re doing something wrong.
That’s exactly what I’d love to explore together during our live Zoom session next week. Have you reached a point of acceptance with your pet? What did that journey look like for you? Or are you still in the thick of it, grieving the dog you thought you were getting (or who they were before their behavior changed), rather than fully embracing the one you have? There’s no judgment regarding whatever stage of the journey you’re at. You can join us to share your experiences, and I hope this can be a space where people feel safe enough to admit that loving a pet and accepting a pet aren’t always the same thing.
Well also open a conversation with Valerie Bogie’s help about what can help when acceptance feels out of reach. Caregiver burden is real, and it affects those caring for pets as it affects those caring for other humans. One therapeutic approach with a growing evidence base for reducing caregiver burden is Acceptance and Commitment Therapy, or ACT (said as one word, like “act”).
ACT is a form of psychotherapy that doesn’t focus on eliminating difficult thoughts and feelings, but rather on changing your relationship to them. Rather than fighting against painful emotions — like grief over the dog you hoped for, or frustration with your current reality — ACT helps you hold those feelings with more flexibility, clarify what truly matters to you, and commit to living in alignment with your values even in the presence of ongoing difficulty. It’s particularly well-suited to situations where the hard thing isn’t going away, which is often the reality when living with a pet with a chronic behavioral condition.
If this resonates, there are several ways to explore ACT on your own. Books like The Happiness Trap by Russ Harris offer an accessible, self-guided introduction. Online courses and workbooks are also widely available. And if you feel you’d benefit from working with someone directly, therapists trained specifically in ACT can be found through the Association for Contextual Behavioral Science (ACBS) therapist directory at contextualscience.org.
You don’t have to white-knuckle your way to acceptance alone. And you don’t have to get there by a particular route or on a particular timeline. But I do hope you get there eventually, and that when you do, everything genuinely does get easier.
Thank you so much for reading. Please consider sharing your own experiences with acceptance in the comments below or join us live next Tuesday via Zoom. The registration link will go out to paid subscribers tomorrow. I hope to see you there!
💜,
Kelly
Insightful Animals is operated by me, Kelly C. Ballantyne, DVM, DACVB. I’m a vet behaviorist, nature fanatic, bird artist, wife, and mom to two hilarious Ragdoll cats, Pipit and Towhee. In my day-to-day, I consult directly with pet parents and veterinarians on a range of behavior problems in dogs and cats.
Additional reading:
If you are struggling while caring for a pet with behavioral challenges, you are not alone
As a veterinary behaviorist, I work with so many devoted pet parents who reshape their lives for the animals they love. Depending on the behavior of concern, this may include measures such as: limiting visitors to the home; waking up at the crack of dawn to have a lower-stress walk; hiring a pet sitter just to go out on a date (or foregoing social engagements entirely); even moving house to a quieter neighborhood with fewer stressors. The list of efforts made to improve their pets’ lives is lengthy.