There is a small, red dachshund named Harry who has completely dismantled my life, and I have never been happier about it.
I’m not talking about the ordinary ways that dogs disrupt a household, like fur on the couch, the early mornings, the shoes that don’t survive puppyhood. I’m talking about the full, joyful, slightly unhinged reorganisation of priorities that happens when you love a dog with your whole heart.
This is the story of all the ways Harry has made me completely ridiculous, and why I wouldn’t change a single one of them.
1. the songs that exist for no one else
I wouldn’t describe myself as a particularly musical person, despite getting straight As in music in high school. Somewhere between then and now, my musical ambitions narrowed considerably. These days my entire output is dedicated to one subject: a small red dachshund who has no critical faculties whatsoever and therefore cannot judge me.
I sing to Harry. Original compositions, performed daily, usually in the kitchen.
I don’t remember deciding to start. One day I just noticed I was doing it, and by that point it felt stranger to stop than to continue. So I didn’t stop. I have not stopped.
The songs are not good. They have no consistent melody. The lyrics change depending on what Harry is doing at the time of performance. They are typically one or two verses at most, and they are sung with complete sincerity and zero irony. My greatest hits include “Little Pumpkin Boy”, “Littlest Harry I Know”, and “Harry is a Baby and He is a Puppy”, titles that are also accurate summaries of the entire lyrical content.
There is also a Hamilton number. That one makes him close his eyes.
I would be mortified if another human being heard any of them. Harry gets a front row seat every single day. As far as I’m concerned, that’s exactly as it should be.
2. spending money for his “happiness” (or for my guilt)
I’ve spent surprising amounts of money in the name of Harry’s happiness. Or, if I’m honest, my peace of mind. VIP days at his daycare, the best food and treats, toys that are loved intensely for short periods of time.
The toy expenses are reasonable. He destroys them with great enthusiasm but they’re not breaking the bank. Food is non-negotiable. He gets the good stuff, because he deserves it, and I will not be taking questions on this. His insurance costs roughly what mine does each month, which I have made my peace with. We are equals in this household.
As you would expect, the vet bills can be considerable. Recently I handed over $1300 for his dental hygiene. His teeth are now cleaner than mine. His breath is still bad, but I still love it (should I add that to my unhinged list?)
The real expense, the one that makes my budget twitch slightly before my heart overrules it, is daycare. Harry goes to daycare regularly, and I pay for it gladly, because I know he is safe and happy and thoroughly entertained while I am at work. At work. Making money. So that Harry can go to daycare. I have thought about this circular logic. I have decided I am fine with it.
The line between indulgence and guilt is blurry, but I don’t spend much time questioning it. He exists, and I love him. That seems reason enough.
3. celebrating bathroom wins
This is one of those moments that makes non‑dog people blink.
Dachshunds are notoriously hard to toilet train, and Harry was no exception. Adding the complication of living in an apartment, there were times when I was afraid he might never get it. So getting him to consistently use outside as his bathroom has been a hard-fought battle, one that I am immensely proud of. Encouraging, celebratory, proud. I have offered verbal praise for bodily functions I usually prefer not to think about.
Like humans, a dog’s excreted materials can tell you a lot about their health. So keeping an eye on what comes out is another way I make sure Harry is living his best life. I won’t go too deep into the specifics (you’re welcome), but let’s just say I am a proud dog-mum when everything comes out well.
This feels completely normal to me now.
4. dog friendly eateries only
I’m not even joking when I say if it’s not dog friendly, I’m not coming.
I can tell you exactly when my social calendar underwent a firm restructuring. The criteria for any gathering I attend is straightforward: is Harry welcome? If yes, I’ll be there. If not, I won’t. This is no longer a negotiation. It’s simply known.
My family have accepted Harry as a full member of the family, which means he is included accordingly. He attends. He is catered for. He has opinions about the venue. Friends have similarly adjusted their expectations, both of Harry’s attendance and of mine.
There is also the matter of timing. Harry is, technically speaking, under 18, and as such has an early bedtime and non-negotiable morning obligations. This means you will rarely see me as the last one standing at evening social occasions. I have somewhere to be. Someone is waiting for me. He will need to go outside first thing, and he will make his feelings known if I am not there to facilitate this.
My social life is more considered, and overwhelmingly dog friendly. I spend time with people who are like minded. I find I don’t miss what I’ve given up. Harry, for his part, takes his plus-one status completely for granted.
As he should.
5. privacy is a shared concept now
It’s documented all too often on social media the lack of privacy you live with when becoming a pet parent.
This was established on day one. I brought Harry home, went to have a shower, and closed the bathroom door behind me in the innocent belief that this was still my home and I was still a person with privacy. Harry corrected this misunderstanding immediately and at volume.
What followed was an incident I think about often. Emboldened by his new open-door policy, Harry did not merely observe from a safe distance. He ran directly into the shower. Water on, full pressure, a very small puppy making a very confident decision that he almost immediately regretted. It turned out Harry hates water. This information would have been useful approximately four seconds earlier.
He then ran. Wet and entirely without remorse, he ran through the entire apartment. Wet puppy paw prints on every surface. A tiny chaos agent, leaving his mark on his new home in the most literal sense possible.
The door stayed open after that. Both the bathroom door and the shower door, because Harry has standards and partial access is not access. He follows me in, settles on the pile of clothes, and waits.
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