Mourning the Dog I Wanted

Throughout my childhood, I constantly pleaded with my mother for a pet dog, but it wasn't until my twenties that I finally had the chance to welcome one into my life. When my former partner and I lost Lewie, their family's beloved Labrador, we found ourselves in a position to adopt or purchase a dog- and that's when Mulder entered our lives.

When I first saw Mulder, in the layby of a country road and went to meet his mother nearby (we didn't know any better, I realise now that this was a backyard breeder), I had a clear picture in my head of the life I wanted with him. He was going to be my absolute best friend, we would go everywhere together and we would go on fantastic adventures and he would be the childhood dog I had always dreamed of. Boy, was I wrong.

It became clear almost immediately that Mulder wasn’t a typical puppy. While he was wonderfully behaved when we were around and an absolute delight to train , the moment we left him alone he would howl and scream and scratch to get out of wherever we left him (his crate, a room, a car- anywhere) and no matter what we did we couldn’t soothe him. I would regularly come home from work to Mulder covered in his own faeces and urine from where he couldn’t control his bladder, saliva from his constant stress panting and sometimes even blood from when he’d scratch so much he’d rip his claws out. Every day I questioned whether or not we would be able to keep him, every day I questioned whether we were the right home or whether he needed someone who was home for all of the day. This went on for 6 months, and eventually we stopped leaving him altogether and left him with family or at a daycare (another mistake we made), before we found help in the form of a qualified behaviourist. From there things progressed and he seemingly got better for a while- but then my relationship broke down and he reverted back.

I’d be lying if I said Mulder didn’t play a part in the breakdown of my relationship, having a dog that you can’t leave really puts a strain on your life. Simple things like going to the supermarket or even fun things like going to the cinema becomes impossible- and the rare times he was left with family I couldn’t help but worry whether or not he was ok. He was also an escape artist, so I often worried whether or not his sitter actually still had him. I know when I was a child I dreamt of a dog I could take everywhere with me- and in a messed up roundabout way I got that dog. My dream dog had become my nightmare.

After we moved out, I got him a friend in the form of Scully. Mulder grew up surrounded by dogs , and Scully did help Mulder adjust to the new house, new garden and new routine. I found a retired couple to have him while I worked and everything fell into place, but then the reactivity started. It started small, the odd grumble and groan but when Scully hit adolescence it spiralled out of control and after a few negative encounters and a few dog attacks Mulder reached his peak reactivity. Suddenly, the dog that I couldn’t leave at home but could take places with me, became a dog that I couldn’t leave at home but also couldn’t take out with me. My entire world had become ten times smaller, and not only did it affect me- but it meant that Scully couldn’t be walked nearly as much as I used to.

I cannot count the number of times Mulder has made me break down and cry because there are too many. He’s made me regret ever wanting a dog, and the guilt that I feel for even considering rehoming him is unfathomable. Recently I’ve realised that I am not alone in these feelings, and that mourning for the dog I expected to have is a common occurrence. I didn't go looking for a separation anxious, reactive dog. I always thought "it's all in how you raise them", and because I would raise Mulder right, it would be fine.

By mourning the Mulder I thought I was getting, in comparison to the Mulder sitting in front of me as I type this, I can get past his behavioural issues and move forward, accepting him for who he is and not who I want him to be. I can forgive myself for the parts where I went wrong, and change the way I manage and train him going forward. Mulder is doing his best, I am doing my best. I can forgive him for lunging and growling and barking on our walks, I can accept he will never have a huge list of dog friends and I can implement strategies to minimise reactions and modify his behaviours.

I want to love the dog in front of me, this doesn't at all mean I wont get sad, frustrated or angry with him. It doesn't mean I don't wish I had a dog I could take anywhere with me, or a dog I could leave at home so I can go out and do things by myself. But that dog isn't Mulder, and by not focusing on what I wish he could do, I open my eyes up to what they CAN do. Mourn the dog you though you were getting yes, but also love the dog who is sitting in front of you and trying their best.