It Takes a Village to Raise a Dog

Teddy Dondanville

Jun 16

By Teddy Dondanville

Growing up, I always had pets. First, it was Sharkey, the beta fish. Then Hannah, the stray cat we found hanging around our trashcans, Then Kona, the furball we adopted from my aunt, and Luna, the tiny wiener dog with long, black hair.

In co-raising these animals with my family, I learned that one day I would want a dog of my own. So, about three years ago I began monitoring the web pages of nearby animal shelters. In particular, I was looking for an Australian Cattle Dog (ACD).

*The author’s Australian Cattle Dog, Dottie.*

I wanted an ACD because of how intelligent and highly trainable they are, not to mention extremely athletic. I found these traits desirable for a dog that would one day be my companion on adventures in the mountains and around town—cool to accompany me anywhere I wanted to go, with anything I wanted to do.

Eventually, I found Dottie.

She was three hours away, living with a foster family. In her picture on the website, she was beautiful, and the short bio blurb about her seemed to match my criteria. I scheduled a meet and greet.

After meeting her, playing fetch, and taking her for a walk, I told the foster family I’d think about it and get back to them. Over the course of the work week, I contemplated if I was ready for such an undertaking. I felt I was.

A week later, I was driving back to the house with a new leash and collar in hand. Fresh food, new toys, and a crate was waiting for Dot at home. I felt like a proud father-to-be.

Looking back, I compare my naivete to starry-eyed young parents who fall deeply in love and decide to start a family, because when you are that young and in love, nothing can go wrong, right?

Like many young couples, I quickly found I was utterly incapable of handling Dottie alone. Sure, there was a honeymoon phase where nothing she did upset me. She was a precious angel. But, that quickly wore off, and I realized I did not have the parenting skills or patience to deal with some of her behaviors.

For example, Dot was a nightmare unless thoroughly exercised. To take the edge off, she required a minimum of three walks a day. And by walks, I mean two to three-mile romps where she could properly work out. When I couldn’t accomplish that, I’d come home to torn-up trashcans and piles of vomit from her consumption of inedible items.

To help her exercise, I trained her to play fetch. She quickly took to the game and always brought the ball back, dropping it at my feet. Her maniacal eyes, begging for more, reminded me of an addict who needed their fix.

Early on, I trained her to run alongside me while I rode my bicycle. Cycling seemed a good way to up the exercise ante. It worked. That is, until she became more interested in barking and trying to consume the front tire anytime we stopped at a stop sign or waited at a crosswalk.

Dot was uncannily bold around food. Before I rescued her, she likely lived through many periods of food insecurity. So when I first got her, she jumped up on countertops, sifted through trashcans, scarfed down food she found on the street, and stole from the plates of unsuspecting house guests.

To make matters worse, on our first camping trip, my girlfriend and I found she enjoyed consuming any human excrement she found in the woods that wasn’t properly buried. When she returned from her “meal,” the literal shit-eating grin on her face was oddly endearing.

Dottie also had trouble traveling in cars. On our first road trip with her, she barked incessantly until we reached our destination, which was fourteen hours away in upstate New York. When we arrived, my blood pressure and anxiety levels had catapulted to unsafe levels. Not to mention the ringing in my ears.

So, over the first year of having her, I realized she couldn’t be trusted around food, would struggle to go on adventures with me in the car, and was a bully with other dogs. In general, she was incapable of smoothly integrating herself into my life and my way of living.

Coming to terms with this, I remember feeling deeply heartbroken that Dot could not join me while I tried to enjoy some of my favorite activities. At one point, probably almost two years into owning Dot, after a particularly rough day filled with egregious misbehavior, I remember admitting to my girlfriend that I needed to surrender her back to the rescue.

*The author’s dog, Dottie, on a family camping trip.*

With Dottie on time out in the backyard, screaming her face off through the glass door, I sat on the couch crying. I had hit rock bottom. I was utterly exhausted and out of ideas for moving forward.

I expressed to my girlfriend why I was particularly hateful toward Dottie. I spewed my frustrations about Dot’s uncontrollable energy, insatiable appetite for food that wasn’t hers, anti-social behavior, lack of respect, and ability to make most things in life, even my favorite things, more difficult and less enjoyable.

Somehow, after that conversation, I didn’t end up surrendering Dottie.

Instead, with the support of my girlfriend, I kept her. And in the process of committing to keep Dot for the long haul, I partook in an incredibly emotional journey to reassess my relationship with her and reflect on what I could do differently to drag us up from the rocky depths.

Since the moment on the couch and over the past year, I’ve worked hard to refocus the perspective I’ve carried in the past. During that process, I’ve learned some very insightful things.

The first is that raising Dottie has exposed many of my own shortcomings. At first, I was obsessed with highlighting what was wrong with Dot. But now I see there are things wrong with me instead. For example, her high-energy personality revealed a problem with my lack of patience, not her energy level.

Raising Dottie has also forced me to reassess my expectations. In the years before owning her, I subconsciously packed my brain with imagery and expectations of what raising a dog would be like: the things we would do, the places we would go, and how the dog would behave.

Doing that drastically set me up for failure. Because when Dot failed to meet one of my expectations, I offloaded the fault onto her. Now I see I unfairly set standards based on preconceived notions, not the experiential knowledge I gained from actually interacting with Dot.

Most profoundly, reflecting on my relationship with Dottie has also brought to light my insecurities about being able to raise another life form. For example, I’ve learned that I can lack patience, raise my voice angrily, and even act out physically when I lose control.

Considering that one day I plan to have a child with my girlfriend (now-fiancée), learning this about myself has been particularly frightening. Fortunately, through my own introspective process and professional guidance from a licensed therapist, I’ve come to understand that how I act as a father to Dottie is not necessarily a reflection of how I will act as a father to a human being.

On the contrary, it can be the opposite. My behavior from the past doesn't necessarily have to be things I am ashamed or insecure about. Instead, these can be valuable teaching moments, highlighting what went well and what didn’t. I’m free to leave behind whatever doesn’t suit the type of father I want to become, and I can be proud of the moments where I showed patience and maturity.

I realize that reflecting on my fatherhood in this way makes Dottie out to be a specimen in an experiment investigating my abilities to father something. And for that, I’ve apologized to her profusely. (Despite not speaking English, her unconditional love for me and wagging tail help me think she understands and accepts.)

Ultimately, isn’t that what parenthood is? Reflection and forward momentum simultaneously? Learning and growing as you help another lifeform to learn and grow? Isn’t it safe to assume that parents of multiple humans stumble through the trial-and-error process of parenting with their first child, as I did with Dot?

I would argue yes.

Understanding that, and coming to terms with some profound reflections about to my relationship with Dot, I feel more confident about the future.

Currently, my relationship with my dog Dottie is better than ever before. I’ve adjusted many unrealistic expectations and chosen to meet her where she is.

In addition, I’ve worked hard to change some of my bad behaviors. Today, I’m more patient and can control my temper more effectively. As a result, I’ve learned that letting go of my preconceived notions affects our relationship positively, enabling Dot to be herself (and me to have more fun with her).

Is she still a bad girl from time to time, getting into trashcans, stealing food, and eating poop? Yes.

Am I still a fumbling father at times? Absolutely.

But not like I was in the past.

Teddy Dondanville is a freelance writer focused on the outdoor industry and adventure sports. When not enjoying the cerebral and caffeine-fueled pursuits of writing, he works as a rock climbing guide in upstate New York. You can learn more about Teddy on his website.