I Don't Like Puppies...Especially My Own

So, last Friday, I got a new puppy. You say, “That’s impossible. I didn’t get a text. There was no Facebook status. I haven’t seen one Instagram photo--and your cats even have their own account.” None the less, I got a puppy…and I do not like him one bit.

I realize saying this will get me more backlash than insulting a veteran or making a dead baby joke, but I'm saying it anyway. I don’t really like my new puppy. So, maybe, that's a little strong. I just don't have any deep, warm, fuzzy feelings for him. There's no connection. 

Of course, this is not his fault. He is being as good as a puppy can be…which is why I initially chose him. While the other puppies were nipping, whining, and being rowdy, he was calm and attentive, almost polite. But, on the car ride home from the Humane Society, a feeling of emptiness washed over me, and I thought, “Why on earth did I just do that? Why did I think we needed a dog? Why this dog?”
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I wanted to turn around and take him back—only guilt and the fear of ridicule kept me from it. So, I brought him home, instead. And, I have regretted it every minute since, even though he is still calm, getting along fine with the cats, and on the way to being housebroken.

Apparently, this is not uncommon and is called the “Puppy Blues.” Articles, blogs, and forums are all over the internet. I read through dozens last night at 3AM, while he howled in his crate. Puppy Blues is the depression that follows bringing home a new puppy that you don’t immediately bond with. It involves feeling overwhelmed, disappointed, panicked, and ashamed, because what kind of monster doesn’t feel any warmth for their own puppy. For me, it has involved much, much crying. I never imagined I could or would feel this way.

All the experts gave the same advice—just wait. That one day, the puppy will be a dog and he will be your best friend and you won’t be able to imagine life without him. In the interim, I guess you just feel sad, confused, hopeless, and filled with remorse. Of course, I am trying to be a “good” dog owner. I am being patient and kind—no punishment, all praise. He has a spacious crate in my bedroom with a comfy bed and chew safe toys. He has a second bed in the TV room with plush pals and interactive toys. He has food that is more nutritionally sound that what I eat. The one thing he doesn’t have is a name. I’ll get to that later.

But first, self-psychoanalysis on what the hell is happening.With the only exceptions being kittens and kids (as in baby goats), I don’t have a particular affinity for anything in baby form. This includes humans, giraffes, lambkins, llamas, hatchlings, hippos…and puppies. I like creatures fully-formed with distinctive physical characteristics, personalities, and some level of independence. I like dogs. So, why did I opt for a puppy instead of an adult or senior in need of a home? Because I have two cats that I adore and was afraid to bring a full-grown dog into their domain. I thought a puppy would be less intimidating and become part of their pride. Also, I wanted to make certain to raise a fully socialized dog, who could adapt to lots of visitors, both human and canine, traveling, and lake life.                                                                                                           Also, apparently, when it comes to dogs, I have a type. When it comes to men, I never had a type. I’ve been seriously involved with artists, athletes, computer geeks, manly men, metrosexuals, punk rockers, an accountant, actors—all of different ages, races, religious-affiliations, socioeconomic backgrounds…and, now, I have a Frank. But, with dogs, I like large, dark, fluffy, interesting dogs. Instead, I got a medium breed, short-haired, pale hound. I can’t explain it, but he doesn’t even look like a dog to me, which is why I can’t come up with a name. I wanted an Ernest Hemmingway and adopted an F. Scott Fitzgerald. I have two explanations for this. First, I have been visiting websites and shelters for weeks and hadn't found any dog that remotely fit those specifications, so I took that as a sign. Two, I thought that if I got a dog who was the opposite of Doc Grizzly (my soulmate in fur form), I wouldn’t be as tempted to compare them. This leads to the real source of my current dilemma.                                                                                                  After losing Doc Grizzly, I haven’t finished mourning. I am just not ready for another dog. And, I may not ever be. Doc came into my life when I desperately needed exactly what he had to offer—protection, a sense of safety, companionship, and unconditional love. The bond was immediate and the deepest I have ever felt with another living creature. I loved everything about him—his demeanor, his mountain man appearance, his smile, his steady gait and steady disposition, his intelligence, and his devotion. We had 13 wonderful years together. That cannot be replaced and it is unfair to expect this puppy to do so. My biggest fear is that I am not a dog person: I was just a Doc person.  
So, what am I going to do? I have no fucking clue. I love animals and never thought I would be someone who would consider returning a perfectly good dog to a shelter. But, I know if I am going to do so, I need to do it now, so he can get the home he deserves. And, I need to vow NEVER to bring home another dog that could meet the same fate.

Or, I could trust in the power of the human/canine connection and continue giving him the best care I can. I can hope that I can muster enough love until he is a fully-formed dog. I can try to accept that there will never be another Doc. That he was the perfect dog for me then…and perhaps this is the perfect dog for me now.

Maybe I can become the transformed Mean Gandfather to his Heidi...the Scrooge to Tiny Tim...as long as I don't become the Cruella Deville to his Dalmation. 

So, if I keep him, I suppose I’ll need a name. I’m open to suggestions. ​ [image error]