While this site is primarily focused on grief following pet loss, it also addresses grief related to not having the relationship you anticipated with your pet and helping you to embrace life with the one you have. This is a real struggle for many pet owners, as we tend to see perfectly behaved pets portrayed on television. I liken it to the media’s equivalent of body shaming for people. When we encounter issues that put a strain on a pet-human relationship, we can often feel alone because discussing them can feel taboo.

I never expected not to bond with the dog I adopted after my soul dog died. I would have never even thought this could be a thing. Because I had never heard anyone openly talk about a complicated relationship with a pet before, my secret made me feel like a terrible human. When I scoured the internet for resources, I realized this was a thing, and there was support. You’re not a terrible person if you aren’t madly in love with your pet. The truth is, relationships are complicated, no matter what the species, and they can take time to build! If you think about it, it's like entering an arranged marriage knowing nothing about your soon-to-be life partner. Sometimes we get lucky, and that chemistry sparks right away, and we find ourselves madly in love. Other times, it's a slow build getting to know and accept each other's "stuff." Like any relationship, we work on it, check our expectations, and grow together. And sometimes, in extreme cases, no matter how hard you try to make it work, there are irreconcilable differences, and parting ways is kindest for all.

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Know that relationships take time to develop and grow, and when this process is not immediate, we feel a sense of disappointment - maybe even heartbreak, as we mourn the loss of the pet-human relationship we expected. Recognizing that - surrendering to it - is the first step. Time does wonders, so if you can, give it time, and some more time, and the even some more. 

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For five years, I tried to mold Millie into a doppelganger of the dog I dreamed of sharing my life with. I tried to transform my fearful dog (often showing up as aggression, which mortified me) into a carbon copy of my soul dog. She was never meant to be That Dog, and the more I fought it, the more I resented her. Don't get me wrong - training, behaviorists, psychotropic medication, AND therapy (for me) all helped, but baseline, she was who she was, and there was no magic formula to change that. I had to accept that she would never be the type of dog that I could bring around children or sit underneath an outdoor table while sharing a meal with friends.

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One of the greatest regrets of my life is not loving Millie for who she was sooner. Don't get me wrong - despite our strained bond, she lived her best life with me. She had all of the toys and beds and bully sticks. We tirelessly worked through behavior challenges with trainers. She was an agility rockstar because it was one thing that made her really, really happy and increased her confidence. She was an overall pampered pet, we all have them, you get it. But it wasn't until after she died that I realized I wasn't this perfect partner I made myself out to be. 

For a long time, I shamed myself for not loving her with the same intensity with which I had loved my prior dog. One day, it occurred to me that every time we fall in love, it's a different experience, and we can't replicate past loves.  I think of how different our relationship might have been had I made peace with not having what I thought was my dream dog and settled into the relationship I was in sooner.

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This section is dedicated to Millie. I wish we could have a do-over.

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