The Pandemic Pup

There we were - my partner and I. Freshly independent and recently moved into our own home. Two strong, separate incomes, and enough years ahead before the desire for a child arrives.

It was the perfect time to fulfill a long-standing mutual dream: to adopt, raise, and care for, a puppy.

Except, maybe it wasn't all that perfect of a time. We were renting, and the rented space was run-down and tiny. We were earning good money, this was true - but ultimately living out perhaps more 'lavish' lifestyles than was necessary. Oh - and the pandemic. That also threw a wrench into things.

Adopting a puppy, or even a dog in general, is difficult during the best, most plague-free of times. It was next to impossible during the pandemic. Yet, as any good dog owner knows, when you feel as if you're truly ready, nothing will stop you.

Our solution?

Adopt the first puppy we found on the local buy-swap-sell site.

Enter: Oadie.

After an hours drive and well after the sun had set, we arrived at the cramped house of a perfectly lovely older lady who was selling her recently adopted pup. On the ad she had cited that the dog was too high energy for her lifestyle. When she opened the door, and Oadie came bounding out, we began to understand the situation a little more.

Oadie was big. Much bigger than we were expecting the puppy to be. In fact, her size, as a puppy, would have been our ideal size for a fully matured dog.

She was a working breed, you see. Some mutt combination clearly descending from an Australian Staghound, but with parts of a Wolfhound and other, more ambiguous, lurcher breeds.

Not the dog we ever imagined adopting. Nor was she the dog the kindly old lady imagined, either. Truth be told, she knew very about the pup herself, other than it desperately needed a home.

And what else were we to do? We were pup-struck, completely in awe of this young animal, bounding over itself for our attention, throwing its full body weight up and dropping just as quick for a rub on the belly.

It had been months of searching, and with wordless communication, my partner and I made the mutual agreement to jump into whatever it was we were about to jump into.

We adopted Oadie, and drove the nervous baby back home.

When we entered our three-room living arrangement, Oadie ran in, sniffed the wall, and urinated all over the ground. You know, puppy stuff.

She slept with us that night, and the night after, and, well - I'm sure you get it.

That night would go on to be a turning point in our lives. We had taken on a massive responsibility, one that we weren't prepared for. Neither of us knew exactly how raising this puppy was going to go, but we both knew whichever path we went down - we weren't ever giving up our first baby.

We would later hear of a phase that stuck with us. 'You chose the breed, now do the deed.'

It made us wish that we had, perhaps, put a little more thought into our decision. Some more research. Some more preparation. Well, it was certainly too late at that point. Oadie was here.

Anyone who has trained a puppy from a young age will relate to the next few weeks of our lives. Fluttering happiness and flirting with what is known as the 'puppy blues.'

Oadie is, more than anything, a sighthound. She loves to explore her surroundings, get a lock on something, and zoom until she is ready to collapse. Her body is bred to work.

As an adult she would be able to sustain herself for upwards of 6 hours without a proper break. She was intelligent, and prone to all the training tricks and schemes trainers might employ to trick or overcome annoying habits.

She was a nightmare, but we could not stop loving her.

The usual snowball of first-time puppy owners commenced. Swooning over the animal too often, breaking training habits. Overfeeding of luxury foods. Being allowed to walk all over the furniture.

She grew larger and louder, so meeting her exercise needs became more effort and keeping her quiet for the neighbors bordered on impossible.

For a time, we were at a loss. The advice from friends, family, even the internet, all echoed similar notions.

Consider professional training. Socialize the dog more. More walks. More exercise. If it gets too bad, consider invasive, unnecessary surgery, like voice box removal. A shock collar can't hurt. Have you tried hitting the dog? No, I mean, really hitting the dog? Well, if all that fails, you could always just give her away.

Sure, we were first time puppy owners, and sure, it was a pandemic, but, we chose the breed. We had to do the deed, right?

There are hundreds of moments from here that would define our relationship to our dog. She would get out a few times. She would - inadvertently - harm some of our guests with her weight and excitement. Her loud barking, triggered by a failure to walk her enough, would eventually result in a neighbor maliciously calling animal control on my partner and I.

Are those all innately negative experiences? Yeah. They weren't great. At this point, many would make the responsible decision and find a more accommodating home for the animal. One with a family that could support their active lifestyle, one with other animals for socialization, one with a larger property.

That was in the best interest of the dog, for sure, but - not to harp on this point too much - it was a pandemic. Finding a loving home for a family-orientated working dog would have been hard enough, but you could hardly meet people for a chat outside, let alone prepare the transfer of a living, breathing being.

This rock-and-a-hard-place situation made us realize something fairly crucial. This social responsibility, this emotional attachment that prevented us from just giving her up?

That was being a parent. That was love for a child.

Giving her up was never an option.

So, we became that accommodating home.

We moved, so that she would have a larger backyard. We organized private and socially-distanced meet-ups with other dogs for socialization purposes. We stopped feeling embarrassed over her wild behavior and walked her absolutely everywhere we could.

We got her into professional training, and when the pandemic took that away from us, we researched every aspect about her breed and behavior we could.

Off the lead training. Daily play sessions of hours. Home-cooked rice, vegetable and meat meals to bring out a healthy coat.

As she grew more, and as the energy and will continued to be sapped from us, we noticed the changes. Like how a human child shows the subtle signs of understanding as they grow, so did Oadie.

She barked less. She tugged less on walks. She began to listen to us more, and with that came more affection. Not just sleeping on our bed - wanting constant body contact. More head-tilts as she listened to, and tried to understand, our instructions.

Oadie is now nearly two years old. Still young enough that we can get away with calling her a puppy, but old - and large - enough to no longer be an endless reserve of energy.

Nearly two years ago, my partner and I were inactive. We loved each other and not much else. We earned our money for ourselves and chose to live in awful conditions because it didn't personally bother us.

Now, we are active daily. We share our love with a growing family and save and spend money on what's important. Our home is larger, nicer. Our lives are more full.

We chose the breed, did the deed, and it may have been the best thing to have ever happened to us.

Oh, and don't think Oadie's alone anymore. She has a big brother now, an adorable fatty who she needs to help lose weight. And, well...

Don't think for a second we're done growing this family just yet. This family may now be much more than just a couple and their dog - but it's a family that owes everything to the dog that started it all.

So, next time you get struck with puppy blues, don't even consider giving in. Choose your breed. Do your deed. Your life will always be better for it.