To the woman who will rehome her dog after a baby,

When I took home a 13 pound, 6 week old bundle of fluff, razor sharp teeth, and fierce independence in January 2016 I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Neither of us slept that first night; she cried herself to sleep in what surely felt like a cold, lonely kennel while I laid awake on the floor next to her, desperate to comfort a baby that was missing her pack. Over the next two years, what I had been told was a “German Shepherd lab mix who would max out at 60 pounds” grew into a beautiful, confident, and exceptionally intelligent 100 pound mutt. She frustrated me daily because I didn’t understand her and her needs. I scoured the Internet, researching training techniques, breed mixes, and asked countless questions trying to understand what I had living in my home. It’s not that she was bad; she was different. She didn’t like to cuddle, play fetch, or go for walks. Toys bored her and puzzles lasted mere seconds. She knew how to do endless tricks, but would refuse if she didn’t want to. Trainers assured me she was a great, well behaved, and exceptionally well trained dog who just needed constitency, which I strove to provide. Eventually, she found her pack leader in my now husband and things settled into a somewhat uneasy, but loving rhythm. I felt constantly overwhelmed by her size, baffled by her strong willed nature and like I was living with an alien creature in my home. She wanted to protect me as much as she wanted to ignore my attempts to lead her. Something didn’t quite fit but I wasn’t sure what it was. I thought it was me and that I was a bad dog owner, but I was determined to muddle through. And then I got pregnant. It took her some time to realize there was another being living in my body but when she did, my aloof dog suddenly became a cuddle monster. Everywhere I went I had a shadow, who watched my every move, followed me into the bathroom, and laid beside me in bed when I was too sick to move. This gave me hope that she would be ok when my son arrived. We did everything right; we consulted the vet, we asked trainers, and brought home items with his scent to help her acclimate. I confidently stated I would never give up my dog, no matter what. I even joked how if the baby was allergic we’d have to find him a new home. I secretly judged other people who gave up their dogs when kids came along and steadfastly planted myself in the self-righteous camp of “a dog is for life.” I knew my dog would be just fine when my son came home. Only, she wasn’t. As we tried to adjust to life as a family of four, her anxiety increased. She struggled to understand why I was no longer hers, but had to share my attention with a crying creature I wouldn’t allow her close access to. I tried, but all my instincts kept warning me it wasn’t ok for the dog to be so close to the baby. She ignored my commands to give him space and I became increasingly anxious, which I am certain she picked up on. I was afraid this very large, very powerful dog didn’t understand how close she came several times to hurting my tiny, fragile newborn. As much as I loved my dog, every fiber in my being was commanding I protect my son. I realize now she also had a strong desire to protect us as well. On an evening walk, she unexpectedly attacked and killed another dog. It was horrific and over within moments. As I ran into the fray and threw myself on her, ripping her away from the smaller dog who had no chance, my first thought was “What if this had been my baby?” In the aftermath of the horrific accident, we were faced with the hellacious decision of what to do with our beloved pet. We knew we couldn’t keep her, despite the many people telling us we should, lecturing us on how we could’ve done better, or insisting I just “get over it” and keep her. They tried to scare us with how horrific rehoming her would be, or told me she would never recover from being separated from me. They warned me she would bounce from home to home, become a bait dog or worse, bite a human. The worse conversations were with the veterinarian who tried to use our emotionally distraught state to coerce us into euthanizing her and the rescues who agreed.Once again my instincts were screaming at me, demanding I make sure everyone, including my dog, was safe. I felt strongly that she was a good dog who had reacted poorly in a situation we didn’t quite understand, and that she didn’t deserve to be punished for us having failed her owners.

After hours of phone calls, emails, and Facebook messages begging rescues to take her in, we found her a home with a woman who raises, trains. and breeds Livestock Guardian Dogs, which we learned is what our girl actually was. All of the pieces of her personality that baffled and terrified me fell into place. Our girl was trying to manage her instincts as part of a 15,000 year old breed and we just didn’t know. Everything we had done with training had been counterintuitive to what she needed. What she needed we couldn’t provide and whenever I closed my eyes I could see the smaller dog in her jaws, which can bite down with the strength of a lion. It was not a far leap for me to picture my baby at the end of her strong bite. I couldn’t live with that shadow of doubt, always waiting for something to happen. If you’re judging me for rehoming my dog, that’s fine. There is no harsher judge or more severe critic than myself. What I want to normalize, however, is that as mothers we must trust our instincts. It doesn’t matter what other people think of you, or how they perceive your decisions, not when the safety of the human who trusts you to keep them safe above all else is on the line. I knew I needed to get my family to a point where we could all be safe, happy, and successful. I am thrilled to report that my dog was not traumatized by being rehomed. We raised a dog who was happy, confident, and well adjusted, which has served her well. She is living on a farm, working closely with a fabulous trainer, with livestock to guard and other dogs like her to teach her “how to dog”. She is learning and growing in ways I couldn’t have dreamt she needed, much less have provided for her at this stage in my life. While my heart breaks that I no longer have my fluffy buddy to come home to, snuggle on the couch, and share snacks with, the internal sirens screaming in warning have since quieted. It will take a long time to move on and recover from this incident, but at the end of the day I am confident I trusted my gut and did what was best for my son and my dog. No matter where she is, she will always be my girl. She is still my dog for life, but now she has the life she was meant to have. 

- Chelsea Castonguay