As Los Angeles prepared for the impending stay-at-home order in mid-March, I switched off the news and suggested to my husband that we should consider adopting another dog. This was a topic he had broached multiple times over the years, only for me to dismiss it. With our existing dog, two cats, two adults, and two energetic kids all crammed into a modest home, we were already stretched to our limits.
“I’d consider another dog when we have more time,” I had often said. And then, quite suddenly, time seemed to be the one thing we had in abundance.
Rescue organizations showcase their animals with alluring photographs and detailed personality descriptions. “Great on a leash, enjoys salmon (hold the pepper), a fan of Tiger King, and has a slight aversion to women with canes.” In contrast, animal shelters offer little more than a couple of photos, the dog’s sex, and sometimes its weight. A typical listing might read: “Here’s a dog. It’s a dog. Interested?”
When I finally decided to adopt, the shelters had closed for in-person visits but were still allowing adoptions. You could browse photos online, pay upfront, and receive a dog through the back door. It provided a much-needed distraction amidst the chaos of the pandemic, and before long, we came across a supposedly female, 28-pound, 1-year-old mixed breed (possibly a Beagle mix? It didn’t specify) whose beaming grin suggested she was overjoyed, though the image appeared a bit distorted. The thought of bringing her home filled me with exhilaration.
Well, excitement sometimes has a reckless side.
We brought our new dog home and named her Luna. You might wonder why, but that’s not the story we’re here to tell. We introduced Luna to our neighbors from a safe distance and tried to convince our kids that this was the joyful moment we had envisioned for the arrival of our second dog—ignoring the nagging fear that this might turn out to be a colossal mistake.
From day one, it became evident that Luna wasn’t the sweet companion we had envisioned. She wasn’t a Beagle; more likely, she was a mix of Husky and German Shepherd, a whirlwind of energy and chaos. There was no way she weighed a mere 28 pounds.
As we adjusted to remote work and full-time childcare, Luna launched herself into our lives with reckless abandon. Did she relentlessly pounce on our laid-back dog and nibble at its neck? Absolutely. Were our cats now living in constant fear of a dog that seemed immune to their clawed defenses? Yes, indeed. Had my three-year-old son become Luna’s favorite chew toy? Well, yes. To his delight, of course.
I walked Luna daily, fed her meals and treats, and endured nearly constant play biting. While her bites didn’t always break the skin, let’s call it “playful biting” to avoid any misconceptions about our new dog’s behavior. She would bite when she wanted to engage in play, when she was hungry, frustrated, corrected in any way, or simply when a moving human or animal caught her eye.
As the days passed, my husband and I debated our impulsive decision, often muttering, “What were we thinking?” but with two extra words added for emphasis.
Honestly, what were we thinking? Here’s where you can either call me a martyr or a fool:
We Knew.
When I first reached out to the shelter, I discovered that Luna had been returned previously—after only eleven days—for biting. The last owner reported that she lunged at faces and was, in short, “uncontrollable.”
In our eagerness for a pandemic companion, we had overlooked every warning sign, convincing ourselves that she was simply a spirited puppy; the shelter staff assured us she was friendly; the previous owner was elderly and couldn’t manage her; and how bad could a 28-pound dog really be?
It was bad. Our lives were already taut with work, children, and concerns for our aging parents miles away. To our overwhelming situation, we had added an uncontrollable dog.
A month later, Luna remains part of our family. We’ve redirected our childcare budget to virtual dog training sessions and invested in the recommended training tools. We’ve installed more baby gates than we ever did for our human babies and are now juggling the whereabouts of our other pets and kids to ensure everyone’s safety.
Luna is biting about 40% less, which, honestly, is still quite a bit of biting. Yet she’s also affectionate, playful, clever, and seems to be gradually unlearning her more troublesome behaviors. I understand that many wouldn’t have kept a dog like her. I can barely handle the “fun project!” emails from my kids’ schools, but here I am, knee-deep in my own pandemic project—unearthing the wonderful dog I know is hidden within Luna. (And yes, she’s a digger too.)
Through Luna, I’m realizing how wildly off-base our expectations can be. Back in March, I chuckled at the thought of packing my office for a month of remote work—did I really need that extra monitor? Now, I wish I had brought home my printer and the entire candy stash instead of just a few pieces. We all thought March would bring just a few weeks of inconvenience.
Recently, my therapist suggested that perhaps Luna wasn’t the right fit for our lives at this moment, and that there was a choice I wasn’t confronting. She was right; I made my choice. I stopped going to that therapist.
I wish I could hear a voice from three years ahead, reassuring me this tale has a happy ending. That one day, our home will resemble a Peaceable Kingdom, and we’ll look back, shaking our heads and laughing about how chaotic and challenging Luna was in those early months. Each of us is straining to catch a glimpse of that future voice—one that tells us everything will be alright. Remind us that the forces that enter our lives can be uncontrollable, yet we find our way—bruised but not defeated—through the dark times.
Summary
In this reflective piece, Sarah Thompson shares her journey of adopting a challenging dog named Luna during the pandemic. Initially excited about adding a new pet to their family, Sarah soon realizes that Luna is far from the ideal dog they had envisioned. Despite the chaos and challenges Luna brings, including biting and overwhelming energy, the family is committed to helping her adjust and grow. Sarah’s experience serves as a reminder of the unpredictability of life and the importance of resilience in the face of challenges.
Keyphrase: adopting a challenging dog during pandemic
Tags: home insemination kit, home insemination syringe, self insemination