Almost immediately after welcoming Troy into our lives, a brindle puppy with an irresistible appearance, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret. Throughout the dreary January of 2020, my husband Louis, a chef, was constantly occupied with work. Unfortunately, Troy turned out to be drastically different from the beagle-shar pei mix that the Manhattan shelter had described to us. Not only was he growing much larger than the promised 30-40lb, but he also possessed boundless energy. Since puppies aren’t allowed outside at first, there was nowhere for Troy’s energy to dissipate. I found myself constantly entertaining him in our cramped apartment, which could be traversed in mere seconds. If my husband hadn’t beaten me to it, I often sought refuge in the bathroom, hiding from Troy’s relentless antics.
Troy incessantly put my patience to the test. On one occasion, he pilfered the last slice of pizza from the refrigerator. After a frantic chase around the apartment, wielding a slipper, I resorted to locking him in his crate. It was at that moment I realized just how ill-prepared I was for the responsibilities of dog parenting and how easily my temper took control of me.
Poppy and a younger Troy, recovering from emergency treatment after eating a bottle of ibuprofen, including the bottle.
During a journey to a friend’s place, I vividly recall sitting in a cab, Googling whether threatening a puppy can be considered abusive. I even searched for answers to the unsettling query of whether a puppy will remember accidental abuse for its entire life. Let’s just say,
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