I rehomed my dog and am glad I did it

Getting a pet is meant to be for life. But what happens when your pet is making your life miserable, and your life is doing the same for your pet?

Morty. Source: Supplied

You know what’s not normal? Looking at other people walking their dogs and being overwhelmed by jealousy. The first time I felt it, it was the beginning of the end. A downward spiral that led to rehoming my dog, and I don’t regret it for a second.

In early 2021, arguably the world’s cutest dog became mine. A small chocolate dapple sausage dog named Mortadella, or Morty for short. In the days leading up to his arrival I was so excited I could barely sleep. My partner and I are busy and extroverted people and knew having a puppy would be hard. But we are diligent and committed – how hard could it really be?

Morty with his puppy dog eyes. Source: Supplied

At first, he barked a lot – at passers-by, when left alone and on walks. But after all, he was a puppy! So cute, right?

We chose a puppy because we didn’t want the burden of a rescue dog’s behavioural issues. It would be great, we thought. We could train and shape him. I specifically wanted a dachshund for their loyal nature.

Morty has always been a barker, typical for a dachshund. An intense, loud bark made to signal a successful mole hunt, signature to his breed. As he aged, the barking evolved into more complex behaviours. Before too long he was stressed out by everything. Other dogs, strangers, guests, trolleys, bikes, skateboards, the doorbell, a noise down the hall, being alone, when I walk out of the shower in a towel – you get the picture.

With most of these things being too close to him would cause an explosion of barking that couldn’t be muted by even the tastiest treat. I even nicknamed him Tiny Dictator as he would bark suddenly at dinner guests when they got up to use the toilet.

I was overwhelmed by how hard it was to manage him. But he was just a puppy, and having a pet is supposed to be hard work. I told myself that all he probably needed was more training.

Cuteness. Source: Supplied

But somewhere between the barking, rounds of doggy medication, private training sessions, fights about his management and 24/7 companionship that Morty demanded from us, it became clear to us that he wasn’t ‘just a puppy’. My partner and I took on a shift work-style roster, ensuring one was always home with the dog, and if not, that he was with a dog sitter in our apartment building. One of few that could be trusted.

Walks became an intense exercise in military precision, calculating and maintaining at least 20 metres’ distance between Morty and any other person or dog. Always looking around us for an unsuspecting trigger. Dog parks were out. Walking tracks were out. God forbid I ran into someone in the elevator on the way downstairs.

Our neighbours were not happy, and they weren’t polite about it either. Banging on the fence, hurling angry words over it and lodging a slew of formal complaints were just some ways they made us feel unwelcome in our newly purchased home.

Morty is a reactive dog, and after a trip to the behavioural vet it became apparent how significant and permanent his anxiety and reactivity was. Having Morty felt like having a baby, only one that barks, and that I didn’t sign up for. I mourned my old life and freedoms but was crippled by the fear of judgement for even suggesting we ‘get rid’ of our beloved pet.

All cosy. Source: Supplied

I fed off the cute moments cuddling him on the sofa and pushed aside the feelings of isolation and sadness. I was depressed and burnt out, but I couldn’t bear the thought of not having him around.

The outlook felt bleak, and despite a great deal of progress made through training and medication, I realised that it wasn’t fair on anyone to make Morty live the busy life that I do, especially not him. He needed a quiet neighbourhood to walk in, a sunny spot to lay down his speckled head – maybe a cosy doggy companion.

The journey to making this decision felt like being handcuffed to a rollercoaster in the middle of a thunderstorm. Between tense conversations and plenty of tears, my partner and I agonised and went back on the decision twice before finally reaching out to Dachshund Rescue Australia. We heavily vetted any potential applicants before finally settling on the right one.

I’m happy to say Morty now spends most of his days next to a sunny window with another dachshund friend and an incredibly loving new owner. I miss him a great deal but what I don’t miss anymore is feeling like myself. When we handed him over, I almost felt guilty for not feeling bad about it, but now I realise that if I had, it wouldn’t have been the right thing to do.