Our aging Boxer, cherished by my children, was nearing the end of her battle with cancer. We had many discussions about the final goodbye, but my kids were still heartbroken. In an effort to give them some agency in the situation, I posed a question: Would they prefer to get a puppy now, while our Boxer was still around, to make the eventual transition smoother; right after she passed; or wait some time? They overwhelmingly opted for a puppy now. My partner had tentatively agreed to the idea, in a vague sort of way, saying, “Yeah, that sounds good.”
I started browsing puppy listings online.
There was an SPCA about sixty miles away with some appealing options. On a rainy February day, just before the pandemic hit, we embarked on a drive down winding state roads to a bright, welcoming facility where we met the puppy we liked. She immediately bounded over to my kids, eager to play. “That’s the one,” I declared. “No need to see anyone else.”
We brought home a petite, all-black German Shepherd mix. The kids named her Zelda, inspired by the video game, while I drew my inspiration from the librarian in The Magicians. It was a perfect fit.
My Partner Came Home to a Surprise
We hadn’t really primed him for this, and I hadn’t called ahead, so my partner walked in from work to find our children gleefully engaged in tug-of-war with the new pup, our Boxer indifferent to the commotion, and our other German Shepherds looking downright miserable at the sudden addition. (Note: Reflecting back, I wouldn’t recommend this approach—adopting a dog is a significant commitment that should involve everyone’s agreement. But I digress.)
“What on earth did you do?” he asked in disbelief.
I led him to another room. “We agreed to let the kids navigate their grief, and this is their decision. I can’t take that away from them.” I folded my arms, trying to sound authoritative.
He sighed. “Fine. So we have a puppy now.”
He wasn’t thrilled about the additional responsibilities—shots, spaying, toys, and all the necessities that come with a young dog. However, he did acknowledge that she was adorable and seemed to bond well with the kids, which was what mattered most.
I’d Never Had a Dominant Dog Before
My big German Shepherd, who weighs as much as I do, is a gentle giant. Our raccoon-German Shepherd mix, who joined us after an uncertain past, is the sweet, cuddly type (though my kids refuse to snuggle with him for reasons unknown). Our Boxer was eternally cheerful.
Then there was Zelda: 100% dominant.
She strutted around the house as if it were hers. She barked for attention, barked for food, and barked at the drop of a hat. We knew she wasn’t a full-blooded Shepherd, but we hadn’t anticipated her incessant barking. My head throbbed, yet my kids adored her.
My partner remained doubtful. Naturally, he grew fond of the dog, appreciating her sweetness and how she interacted with the kids. Still, he questioned whether bringing her into our lives had been wise. She did help ease the kids’ sadness when our Boxer passed, but he wasn’t fully convinced.
Then Zelda Became Our Pandemic Companion
Just two weeks after bringing Zelda home, the pandemic struck. Suddenly, we were confined at home, and the dog had our undivided attention. My partner was the one feeding her, so she particularly sought him out. Even when we kept her out of his room during his virtual teaching, she would bounce with joy every time he emerged.
Zelda craved our company, wanting to sleep next to us. Not wanting to crate her, she snuggled up on our bed, cozily nestled behind my partner’s bent knees.
Our only outside time turned into walks around the neighborhood. My partner began taking Zelda along, and she thrived on it. The word “walk” became forbidden in our house. He even jokingly suggested changing it to “Walkies!” I threatened to leave him if he did.
As the pandemic unfolded, not only did Zelda keep our kids entertained, but she also became a source of comfort for my partner, who was struggling without in-person teaching. Her antics, including barking, digging holes, and her amusing habit of climbing to high places for attention—a behavior we dubbed “mountain goating”—provided much-needed levity. Sure, she could be a handful, but she was undeniably entertaining.
Zelda gave my partner a reason to step out, often saying, “The dog needs a walk,” before disappearing for a while. Soon, she required more than just walks; her excitement skyrocketed at the sight of him in any athletic gear. Sneakers, workout shorts, and headphones sent her into a tailspin of barking joy. During their walks, he found himself chatting away to her about everything he saw—squirrels, cats, trees, and more. “I feel like that crazy old man talking to himself,” he said. “But it’s worth it.”
Zelda Belongs to My Partner
While Zelda is technically the kids’ dog, when she misbehaves, my partner never fails to tease me: “She’s legally yours. You signed the adoption papers.” But in reality, the dog is his, with all her noisy, mountain-goating charm. I even nicknamed her Miss Piggy because her behavior mirrors that of the spoiled Muppet so closely that when the kids found out, my ten-year-old nearly laughed himself into a coughing fit.
Now that my partner teaches in-person classes again, Zelda has learned to associate work clothes with him leaving. She lays pitifully at his feet as he dresses, nabs his shoes, and even tries to yank his socks off as he puts them on.
She whines when he leaves and rushes to greet him when he returns. They cuddle on the couch, she sleeps with us at night, and she brings him joy in these challenging times. “This dog is the best gift you never intended to give me,” he confessed once.
He’ll deny ever saying that.
I thought I was adopting Zelda for my kids, and indeed, she plays with them, sleeps in my youngest son’s bed half the time, and rambunctiously interacts with them. However, unbeknownst to me, I really brought the dog into our lives for my partner. “You’ve filled my need for a small, useless dog,” he jokes as they head out for their “walkies.”