Before vs. After Getting a Dog — The Gap Is Absolutely Unhinged
I used to be a rational person. Then I adopted a dog. Now I occupy 18% of my own bed and I have no regrets.
I want to issue a formal warning to anyone thinking about getting a dog. Not a "don't do it" warning. More of a "you will not recognize yourself in six months and somehow be completely fine with that" warning.
Let me show you what I mean.
The bed situation
The bed is mine. Queen-sized. All of it. I sleep in the middle like a starfish. It's glorious.
I occupy 18% of the bed. My dog is spread across the rest in what I can only describe as a power pose. I sleep on the edge like I'm about to fall off a cliff. I do not move him.
He weighs thirty pounds. I weigh six times that. And yet.
Leaving the house
Grab keys. Walk out. Done. Forty seconds, tops.
Step 1: put on shoes. He sits by the door, staring. Step 2: explain where I'm going. Step 3: he whines. Step 4: I crouch down and explain again, in more detail. Step 5: I leave. Step 6: I stand outside the door for five seconds feeling guilty. Total time: eleven minutes.
I narrated my grocery run to a dog. "I'll be back in forty minutes, I just need oat milk and maybe some chips." He didn't care. I still said it.
The camera roll
Sunsets. Food. Friends. The occasional decent selfie. A curated life, photographed with intention.
Photo 1: him sleeping. Photo 2: him sleeping differently. Photo 3: blurry — he was eating, I panicked, still kept it. Photo 4: him in a patch of light that made him look like a Renaissance painting. Photo 5: his paw print in the mud. Photo 6–47: more sleeping. I have not appeared in my own camera roll in four months. I am at peace with this.
Encountering other dogs in public
"Oh, cute dog." Polite smile. Keep walking.
My body enters a full crouch before my brain registers what's happening. I make direct eye contact with the dog. I use a voice that is approximately one octave higher than my normal voice and ask: "What's your name? How old are you? What do you eat? Do you like it?" The owner watches me do all of this. We are strangers. I don't care.
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Making weekend plans
"Sure, let's go. I'll meet you there." Zero friction. Totally spontaneous.
Friend: "Brunch Sunday?" Me, internally: when did he last eat, does he need his walk before or after, is it too hot, who's checking on him if we're out too long, has he had his monthly flea treatment — Me, out loud: "Let me check my schedule." I do not have a schedule. He is the schedule.
When he sneezes
N/A. I did not have opinions about sneezing.
He sneezes once. I google "dog sneezing causes." I read six articles. I join two online pet health forums. I take a video and send it to my vet friend with the message "does this look normal to you?" He sneezes again. My heart rate hits 112. He sneezes a third time, shakes his head, trots away completely fine. He had inhaled a piece of fluff. I sit on the floor for a moment to recover.
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People will tell you that getting a dog makes you "soft." And honestly? They're right, and I think that's the entire point.
Before him, I thought I was patient. Turns out I was just never tested. Before him, I thought I knew what it meant to be responsible for something. Turns out a houseplant is not the same.
And before him, I thought coming home was just... arriving at a place.
Now I know it means something is waiting for you. Something that has been counting the minutes. Something that treats your return like the greatest plot twist in the history of the universe.
You get 18% of the bed, 40% of the closet (dog stuff takes up the rest), and 100% of a love that expects absolutely nothing from you except to show up.
Honestly? Fair trade.
Are you in the 18%-of-the-bed club? Drop a comment with the most unhinged thing your dog has done — or that you've done because of your dog. I need to know I'm not alone in this.