At the end of April, we had to put down my long-time dog, Sadie.
Two days after that, I got onto an airplane to head to Chicago for two days, then home again for two days, then California and DC for four days — a stretch that involved many flights and accordingly, a lot of time to sit in my feelings and scroll the internet.
Almost immediately, I started looking at dogs.
I downloaded Petfinder, set up an account at adoptapet.com and shelterluv, and spent a lot of time going down Reddit and research rabbit-holes about what kind of dog we might want.
Did we want a pure bred, and if so, what kind? Did we want a puppy or a senior dog? What kind of dog would be best for an urban home with two toddlers?
One might suggest the only correct answer is “don’t get a dog, you crazy person.”
Here’s the thing though: I don’t know how to live without a dog. I grew up with dogs from birth until I left for college and I got Sadie barely a year after I graduated from Northwestern — save for those few years, I have never not had a dog.
The apartment felt too empty. I missed the click-clacks of her nails on the wood floors. The muscle memory of yelling “Sadie, crate!” when we were getting ready to leave was hard to shake.
I knew there was simply no way I was going to go without a dog forever. And looking ahead to the next 18 months or so, given my travel schedule and a bunch of other stuff going on, this summer was basically the only good time to welcome a new dog into our home for the foreseeable future.1
So as a way of coping with my sadness (and filling the time on airplanes), I filled out applications for as many rescue groups as I could find, submitted inquiries to various breeders, and sent my husband dozens of dog listings, seeing if there were any that piqued his interest.
When I saw a 12 pound 3 month old black lab/beagle mix2 named Wrangler — who was being fostered in a house with kids and other dogs and had already proven to be extremely social and friendly — on Ziva Dog Rescue’s website, I pounced.
Alas, I was too slow. Erin, the lovely president of Ziva, wrote back to me quickly:
”Thank you for your application for Wrangler. I know it's been super quick but he already has a pending adoption. However, both of his siblings are still available. We haven't posted them yet and likely won't have to, given the interest in Wrangler. Let me know if you might be interested in one of his siblings - Hank or Bonnie. They are both SUPER cute, almost spitting images, and their temperaments are the same - great with everyone.”
An off-market dog?? I hadn’t even considered that as an option. And all things being equal, when I asked my 3 year old if she wanted a girl dog or a boy dog, she repeatedly said girl.
Then the rescue group sent me this:
Those eyes! Those ears! I was sold.
So as my Mother’s Day gift, we rented a car, piled the kids (and my mom) in, and drove out to New Jersey where the three puppies were being fostered in a gorgeous house with two other older dogs, two kids (who’d been putting the dogs in American Girl Doll clothes, among other things), and a very kind couple.
The minute we got to the property, the puppies were playing outside — when the girl dog ran up to me and crawled into my lap to give me kisses, I nearly cried.
“This is my dog” I said to my husband. “Sorry, honey. We need her.”
Two weeks later, after the dog had gotten one last round of shots (and completed her obligations to the rescue group — she had been promised for a puppy yoga fundraising event, I love a girl who raises money!), a friend and I got back in the car on the Friday of Memorial Day weekend to bring this dog home.
After much debate and brainstorming (and consulting with our big girl, who had very strong opinions about what was and was not a good dog name3), we decided to name her Chili Dog — first name Chili, middle name Dog, and my husband’s last name.
In the two months since we brought her home, we seem to have gotten very very lucky.
Chili is 5 months old now and so far, she has proven to be possibly the gentlest dog in America. Our toddlers handle her like a stuffed animal (under supervision) and she doesn’t bat an eye.
My big girl gives her hugs and asks me near-daily when Chili can sleep in their room. (“When she no longer pees in the house” is the answer.) The baby — who was terrified of dogs at first — got over her fears and now treats her like a lion tamer treats a lion, basically daring Chili to get mad.
But Chili has already figured out that the girls are reliable sources for snacks (because they don’t understand the concept of “treats are for obedience…”), so they are her gods; she worships at their feet.
Within a few days of coming home, we immediately started working with a dog trainer (A Wild K9, if you’re local and looking for someone —Anastasia is phenomenal!) and after an intense month of thrice weekly sessions, Chili has a pretty good foundation for walking on the leash, sit, stay, leave it, and come.
We’ve taken her on a weekend trip to Rhode Island, to the dog beach and off-leash hours at Prospect Park, to the playground many many times over, and in a real saving grace for our time management, to pick up and drop off with us every morning and night.
She doesn’t really bark, mostly doesn’t whine, doesn’t counter surf, has quickly figured out how to leave the kids’ toys alone, and will happily hang out in her crate. Within a week or so she was sleeping through the night.
My algorithm has been serving me a ton of dog training content and in particular, a lot about teaching your dog to settle, to be ignored, to not be showered with attention 100% of the time.
We do not have that problem. I love Chili, but when stack-ranking the tiny creatures under our care, she comes third — she has quickly gotten used to just hanging out in the girls’ toddler-sized chair, taking in the chaos and occasionally chewing on a bone. (The downside of this ranking: I definitely don’t take as many pictures of her as I would if we didn’t have the kids.)
Don’t get me wrong. It’s not all sunshine and roses.
Housebreaking is extremely slow-going — after one poorly timed just-before-we-crated-her-for-the-night pee in the middle of our bed, I was grateful we had put waterproof sheets on during our newborn days.
But like all parts of caregiving, that will change. And tbh, we also slowly potty trained a toddler over the last year, so we’re used to cleaning up accidents pretty regularly (and as any parent knows, your relationship to bodily fluids post-kids is completely transformed.)
At least the dog doesn’t have a meltdown or scream at me after she pees on the floor — she just does her business and moves on.
And she’s not cheap — there’s pet insurance, food, vet bills (she gets spayed next month!), lots of treats, the trainer plus bonus obedience classes, and obviously I can’t help but buy her toys.
This week in particular, my husband has been solo at home with the kids and dog while I travel for work (my only trip of the summer) and he has said to me multiple times: The dog makes this a lot harder.4
But we can only be who we are — and I am a person who enjoys doing things on hard-mode.
And phew, when I watch my kids play with her — my big girl shouting “come here Chills!” and petting her tummy; the baby screaming “CHEE-EE, SIT!” and waving food directly into the dog’s face, equal parts delighted and mad when Chili takes a bite (as she should); all three of them chasing each other up and down the hallway outside our apartment — my nervous system settles down.
It’s something akin to healing for the post-partum anxiety I had about Sadie eating the baby.
There are few better ways to start a day than my current routine:
My husband gets up at 5:30 and takes Chili out of her crate and outside to pee. When they come back in, Chili leaps into bed with me and turns into a cinnamon-bun snuggled up, warm and safe next to my head. An hour later, the girls “surprise” me by coming into bed, too. They drink their milk, tell me their good/bad/silly things from the day before, nudging Chili out from her spot so we can all “be cozy” together.
So yes, bringing home a puppy to a home with two toddlers barely a month after my last dog died is objectively a crazy thing to do.
But subjectively? 10/10. (And will be 11/10 when she stops shitting in our closet.)
Consider this my strongest recommendation: When in doubt, get the dog.
When We’re in Charge is my leadership book for millennials and gen Z trying to do things differently. Pick up a copy in any format you’d like — hardcover, e-book, or audio book (narrated by yours truly) anywhere you get books, including Amazon or Bookshop.org or literally anywhere else. If you have Spotify Premium, you can listen to for free right this very minute. It’ll be out in paperback in September.
This argument on timing is what convinced my husband, who missed having a dog but was admittedly very skeptical that we needed to do this right away.
Out of curiosity, I got her DNA tested — as it turns out, while the rescue group was very right on her temperament, they got her breed wrong. Chili is mostly redbone coonhound with a heavy serving of lab and a dash of a few other breeds tossed in there for fun.
She was initially set on Bruna, a variation of Bruno like Cinderella’s dog — we talked her back from that.
I joked to friends when we got the dog: This is how you know he really loves me.
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