Mom guilt is a real thing. I suffer from an acute case of dog mom guilt. Particularly when it comes to my original love: Beau.
She is so beautiful
I adopted Beau six years ago. So she spent more than three years living her best life as the sole proprietor of double-income parents. Then her mom—that would be me—had to go fuck shit up for her by bringing home a very pregnant tiny tot of a dog, and by tiny, I mean, Tessa is 35 pounds.
Poor Beau. Her home had been invaded, and now, she is the proud matriarch of five underlings. She does love the fear she strikes into all their hearts. She also loves having built in playmates to torture. I will never know how my eight year old dog runs the shit out of four three-year-olds. She is aging well.
I realized last week, Beau is in fact aging. My once energizer bunny who would zoomy all across the beach and any free space, preferred sitting on the beach, watching Mommy and a friend play in the water. She ran around, digging and playing, but she was calmer and far better behaved than she’s ever been in her entire life. As proud as I am, I hate it. She’s getting older. She’s far from old, but her age is starting to show. She used to bound into the ocean, sticking her entire head under water. She would dig a huge hole and roll around in it. She would leap to catch sand, yes sand, in her mouth. She would run as the waves came in and chase them out again. When I would run out into the ocean, Beau would be on my heels. At one point, I was standing a ways out, about knee deep, for ten minutes or so. Eventually, Beau decided I’d had enough deep water time, so she swam out, poked me with her nose, and made it clear I was to come back to the safety of the shore.
The mom guilt comes in because, well, it’s always there about everything. Yet, I hadn’t taken Beau to the beach since before the pandemic. She loves it there so much, and I forgot to make time. Three years is such a long time in a dog’s life, and I deprived her of a great love for three years all because I forgot to make time.
There is no one more precious in all the world.
What in the actual fuck, RaeAnna?!
I am an absolute failure of mother. Absolute might be a bit extreme. They’re loved, healthy, sheltered, and well-fed. Feeding my girl’s soul? That’s also important, and I forgot. I’ve forgotten to feed my own, but that’s my fault. Beau doesn’t have a voice or a choice. It’s my privilege to make her life the best it can be. Pre-pandemic, pre-puppies, Beau was on the go 24/7 as we traveled the country together. She has lived an adventurous life, but her life got small in the last three years, and that’s on me.
So I’m going to do better by Beau and all the others. Unfortunately, Beau has less time. It’s the reality of dogs’ lives, but it’s the reality of her being the oldest. The days are ticking. They always have been. Going to the beach last week reminded me just how precious every single moment with her and her siblings is.
I love dogs. I have six rescue babies to prove it. It’s a lot; I’m aware. Cathy, the founder and CEO of Brindle Market, and I connected over Instagram a little while back, and I quickly became obsessed with her shop and story. I’m actually living in the Do No Harm tshirt as I write this. I asked her a whole bunch of questions, and she answered them so thoroughly, which makes writer-me very, very happy. So let’s talk about Cathy!
I had to get my own street dog a sparkly cape! | Sweatshirt
With years of volunteering in animal rescues and focusing on at-risk animals, Cathy began dreaming of creating a business that would bring awareness to and benefit the community. Based in California’s Bay Area, Brindle Market came into existence in 2016. Named for the blending colored fur pattern, she has created her own blend of fashion, small business, and animal rescue by donating 10% of proceeds to animal rescues to be a part of the solution. She’s creating beautiful, wearable pieces that advocate for animal rights. I can personally attest, they are very comfy!
An animal mama, Cathy shares her home with Meeka, Sadie, and Tucky. Meeka, the kitty, joined her family after getting lost in a neighbor’s attic during repairs. After two weeks of mysterious meowing, Cathy rushed to the vet before keeping her furever. Sadie, a small terrier mix, darted in front of Cathy’s car begging to be caught. When her original owners failed to respond to messages and a short stay at the local animal shelter, Sadie joined the family. Tucky, a tuxedo cat, was a neonatal orphan kitten foster fail. Some things are just meant to be, and our hearts know it.
Animals have been a huge part of Cathy’s life. Her first rescue dog, Katie, came into her life at thirteen. A year out of college, Bella, a pit mix, became a part of her family. The relationship came with reactivity challenges and training classes, but—like every good dog parent knows—with love, time, and lots of training most things can be turned around. It was also a lesson in breed discrimination in culture and legislation; as well as, a learning curve of how every dog has different needs. Bella was the catalyst for Cathy’s path as a pitbull advocate and her life with rescues.
You know what would be cute for Christmas? This t-shirt.
Between the pandemic, chronic illness, and disability, Brindle Market transitioned into an online-only business in 2020. The transition was not always simple. Cathy took control of a difficult personal and global situation to continue creating and bringing good into the world. Expanding her team to include a social media manager, blog writer, photographer, and affiliate program, she has been able to expand, reaching new partners to sustain her family and business in the face of illness and global economic upheaval.
In 2022, she will be integrating owner and pet wellness elements to Brindle Market. Continuing the theme of blending life with passion, she is leaning into lessons she has learned on her health journey. This inclusion also allows for positivity in the face of adversity and embracing all the moments we cherish with our pets. She is determined to continue Brindle Market and give back to the animal rescue community, having donated more than $11,500 and counting.
I’m so honored Cathy felt comfortable enough opening up about her personal struggles with illness and disability along with the steps she’s taken to keep her amazing business going. As a chronically ill, freelancing, dog mom trying to make it in a mid-pandemic world, I can empathize with the struggle. She’s doing amazing things for the community and the world! So please go check out the website, support a small business, be a part of changing a rescue baby’s life, and also Christmas is coming up so go nuts!
Visit and Shop Brindle Market https://brindlemarket.com/
We’re doing a massive throwback to when the puppies were still babies and I was the proud mama of fifteen dogs. Keeping in the vein of: I’m so far behind in writing content for the blog, I’m showing up with these pictures taken in the middle of May 2020 when the babies were tiny and I had yet to realize I had lost all motivation. So content I meant to publish well over a year ago is finally seeing the light of day.
This was as haywire as it looks.
As of right now, the puppies have been in their forever homes for a year and three months. I ended up keeping four and the mama along with my first rescue dog. The house is chaos, and I love it.
When it comes to names, I believe a name is important. It is an identity. The utterance of a name evokes an entire being. I’m the owner of a unique name with meaning. My dogs are my children, and I wanted to bestow them with unique and meaningful names; even if those names would only be with them for a short time.
Beau is the first baby I named. Her full name being Beauvoir for Simone de Beauvoir, the French writer, feminist, and existentialist. I wanted her to be strong and smart and full of character. All things that she very much is. When Tess came along, she was a pregnant teenager alone in the world, so I named her for the titular character in Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Let’s just say, her story has a much happier ending than the novel.
Tess brought the puppies into the world on March 3 and 4, 2020. Dylan and I went back and forth naming them. To say the least, the names were not necessarily equal in creativity. No paws pointed in any direction… Just to inform, the names I chose were largely literary or historical and sometimes both. The exception being Noski, meaning socks in Russian because he had four white paws, creatively uncreative.
My favorite thing was sitting down and letting them climb all over me.
March—Everyone thought I named her March because she was born in March. That would be coincidental. I named her for the March sisters in Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. Now named Vienna, for Vienna sausage because she looked like a tiny sausage puppy.
Hardy—Named for one of my favorite authors, Thomas Hardy, who wrote Tess of the D’Urbervilles. He was a Victorian novelist, who wasn’t afraid to tackle difficult subjects and women’s struggles. Now named Marcus, for Marcus Aurelius, so yay for a creative furever dad.
Hera—[Dylan Named] He wanted to name a few girls after ancient Greek goddesses, who are strong. Yay for mythological stories. So I’m not mad about it. Still named Hera.
Boudica—A warrior Queen of the Iceni tribe, who met and conquered the Roman forces in 60 AD. Maybe not literary, but there are some great books about her! Now named Lucy!
Makeda—Named for a highly disputed woman who may or may have not existed in Ethiopia and/or the Middle East, depending on tradition. She is better known as Queen of Sheba and first mentioned in the Hebrew Bible.
Lily-May—A combination of Lily Bart from House of Mirthand May Welland from The Age of Innocenceboth by Edith Wharton. Now named by Sadie.
Athena—[Dylan Named] Another girl named for an ancient Greek goddess. She’s still named Athena, but she goes by Teena.
Oryol—The hometown of Ivan Turgenev, a Russian writer, known for exploring nihilistic themes in much of his work. Fathers and Sonsis a particular favorite. He now goes by Murphy.
They were chaos, but they were cuddly chaos.
My house has three girls and three boys. The girls were all named by me: Beau, Tess, and Makeda. Dylan named the three boys: Knight, Duke, and Bear. None are literary names. I did make Knight’s name fun by pronouncing it K-Nig-Hit. It is pronounced phonetically and not with a silent k, g, or h. People look at me weird, and I love it. I like to tell people Duke was named for Duke Orsino in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, and Bear was named for Professor Behr in Little Women. Neither is true, but I can pretend.
bisous un обьятий, RaeAnna
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I love my dogs so, so, so much. All six of them. I have no favorite. They each have my whole heart because they are uniquely and perfectly themselves.
People, who are not me, tend to fall into two categories:
Oh my God. That’s too many. You need to find new homes for some of them.
Oh my God. You are living the dream.
To the people in the two categories, I say:
Fuck you. It’s a good thing it’s not your life.
I KNOW! IT’S THE BEST THING EVER.
Boys, Duke and Knight, relaxing before the vet comes in.
Life changed extravagantly after I adopted one dog. Life changed completely when I rescued fourteen and kept five. It wasn’t the plan, but I’m so happy with what is. Six dogs complicates life a bit. From travel to going out to having handy people over, there was some adjusting. Things run smoothly now, but there was a learning curve to knowing what works and what does not. They all bring their own personalities, preferences, and quirks to each and every day. We honor those but also maintain boundaries and rules to ensure the house, family, and pack are safe, happy, and healthy.
Today I want to talk about the adventure that is going to the vet. It used to be a simple and seamless experience. One dog. Once a year. With check ins if something was out of the norm. It was easy and as inexpensive as having a rescue dog can be.
Having six dogs… Going to the vet is an affair. When the puppies were puppies, we would load all thirteen in laundry baskets and head to the vet with Tess in tow. As they got older, we would pile them into the back seat, two at a time, until all thirteen were in. Then the same on our way into the vet’s office. Now that I have six permanent dogs instead of one, I have an entirely new process of spacing our vet trips out for two reasons:
They’re huge. I can’t imagine trying to wrangle 408 pounds of dog into the vet all at one time. It would be a nightmare. Also my car isn’t big enough. I have enough self respect and self worth to not attempt.
Money. Financially taking all the dogs to the vet at one time is extravagant.
This first year has been rough. I wouldn’t have it any other way [unless healthy dogs was an option, then I would have it that way], but it was expensive. A lot of the expense was expected, but there was a good amount that wasn’t. Tess was heartworm positive when I picked her up off the side of the road. Duke had to have dental surgery to fix his face and give him a good quality of life. Both expected expenses. Makeda ended up getting a very serious eye infection and had to have lots of tests to ensure she wouldn’t lose her eye. Good news, she’s totally fine. Duke ended up having repeated x-rays and MRIs because he has some skeletal issues. Upside, he will grow out of them, but it’s been both painful and frequent for the last ten months and will continue for eight more. Tessa had emergency surgery because she got a cut too close to her shnoot. Knight has SEVERE allergies, which did not present as allergies at first. Many tests later, it’s an easy but lifelong battle we both get to enjoy. Duke [that boy is chalk full of problems], is having mouth problems again, so back we go to the doggy oral surgeon. All of these were unexpected, but we made it work because they’re our babies. And what was I going to spend that money on anyways? Probably fancy restaurant food. I like my dogs more than fancy restaurant food. Worth it.
Knight protecting Duke from the mean, mean vet with the pokey stick of health and wellness.
I did the math. Just to cover costs of heartworm prevention, vaccines, and check ups, it costs almost $1600 a year in Houston, Texas for six dogs. In my house, yearly vet check ups are non-negotiable. I decided to spread out the check ups to two a month in the summer. Knight and Duke in June. Bear and Makeda in July. Tess and Beau in August. It makes it easier to wrangle at the vet and easier to wrangle my wallet.
Budgeting is super important when it comes to having six dogs. From food to supplements to saving for the inevitable yearly check ups to saving for the oopsies. I knew all of this when we decided to take on five more doggos. I have made budgets, plans, and adjustments in our life. I wouldn’t call the things I’ve given up “sacrifices;” they are adjustments. We adjusted. I gave up some trips and some fancy restaurants, but we have gained so, so much more by including them in our family and life. Even Beau loves having them around; I never thought I would say that.
I don’t want anyone to think this is me complaining. This is 100% me not complaining. BUT it is me being honest. Honest about the financial commitment of properly taking care of six dogs. Adopting is more than just bringing home a cute dog and feeding it and taking it potty. Like children and adults, they require training, medical check ups, vaccines, medication, and attention when things happen. Just like humans, dogs can and will get sick, have injuries, and more. Those take both time and money. So often, people think and talk about the time commitment that must be made when taking on a dog or two or six. We don’t talk about the monetary aspect of having a pack and the things that can and do come up.
Celebratory “it’s all over” puppaccinos for the very goodest boys.
I count myself lucky to take on the joys and challenges of raising six fur babies with my awesome co-parent. We share the responsibilities, financial, time, and physical, of raising and tending to them. There’s a give and take for both of us; a balance we have happily managed to find.
So if you’re contemplating adopting a dog or growing your pack and want to chat about what that means, I’m always here! I love talking about my babies and hearing from passionate dog parents.
If this isn’t your first time here, you’ve probably noticed I have anxiety. That would be because I talk about it A LOT. It’s a huge part of my life and dictates a good portion of how I live and my internal musings. Lately, anxiety has been dousing me with an extra helping or twelve, and it has really been affecting everything from sleep to productivity to mostly sleep.
Beau looking back at me… Neither of us knew where we were or where we were going.
I’ve never been a big sleeper. Part of that comes from my natural circadian rhythm: I just don’t need tons of sleep to feel peppy, focused, and productive. The other part is my eternal FOMO. I have had a fear of missing out since I was an infant, which is long before that term entered the patois. My parents will be the first to say that I would not sleep if there was even an inkling of something happening. I remember being about three years old, hopping out of bed during my nap to have a listen at the door because I wanted to know what was happening: Mom was watching a soap opera, but damnit I was not going to miss out on what was going on in Susan’s third husband’s love child’s second marriage (I just made that up, but I’m sure that’s come up at least thrice). The longer I sleep the more I miss out on: time to work, time to play, time to be awake and do nothing but at least I won’t miss anything while I’m awake doing nothing.
As much as I don’t want to sleep, I do, in fact, need it. Anxiety keeps me up more than anything else. This isn’t new. I remember being eight and having a borderline anxiety attack (although I did not have the words for it then) about growing up and having to file taxes and also decide what my major in college would be. I ONLY HAD ELEVEN YEARS TO FIGURE IT OUT. Yeah, I was a weirdo then. Nothing has changed. As an adult, my anxieties are a bit more grounded in reality, but in eight year old me’s defense, those are real things to worry about… Just maybe not at eight years old.
Three weeks ago, I was in the midst of an anxiety spiral over some very real problems. Some of which have since been solved, yay! I couldn’t stop. It started on Sunday and reached its zenith Tuesday night. I hadn’t slept much, which was fine. I was nowhere near a psychotic episode, although anxiety said differently. Tuesday night, I did not sleep a wink. Not one bit. I laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, stewing. I eventually did a bunch of reading, writing, working, and then in a desperate attempt to dumb my mind, hopped on TikTok. Beau was snuggled between my legs, content with the consistent inconsistency of her mother at nighttime.
Beau’s got this. She led the way. The way to nowhere helpful.
By 5:30 am, I had sufficiently given sleep my every effort and failed. The only failure I have been able to accept with out personal devastation. With the energy of a sleep deprived human—it’s actually quite a lot; after years of sleep deprivation, I am one of the most energetic and positive exhausted people in the history of the world—I literally skipped into my closet, put on running clothes, dressed Beau in her running gear (aka harness), woke up Dylan, let the puppies out/fed them, and ran out the door.
Exercise is one of my least favorite activities. I loathe it, but it is something I do with regularity because it is incredibly good for our bodies, brains, emotions, and overall health. COVID halted that, but I’m trying to slowly work myself back into life.
Running is at the tippy top of exercise I hate, which is exactly the reason I turn to it when I’m dealing with inordinate amounts of stress and anxiety. It takes equal parts determination and pain to start and keep going, making it the perfect mental distraction. Beau has come to look forward to times of high anxiety because she gets lots of walkies.
My neighborhood has tons of walking trails and parks. Beau isn’t the easiest dog in the world to walk. She wants to sniff all the things, chase any bird/leaf/squirrel, and zig zap like it’s an Olympic sport, but I like getting the alone time with my OG (Original Girl). She knows the drill, we head out the door straight for the walking track just down the road. We did one lap before a walk on the woodsy trail.
I decided to confuse Beau and do something different: Head onto the dirt trails deeper into the woods. The Iowa girl in me loves exploring nature. Living in Houston, there is a stark lack of hills and woods, though we have amazing parks and walking trails. My neighborhood has some unexplored woods, and this was the day to dive in.
Beau lead the way. She loves getting to zig zag without Mommy holding her back. Every fork in the path, Beau chose the direction. I was doing a good job tracking each turn… at first. For, maybe, the first two or three forks. A gazillion forks in… I was starting to think there was a potential of being lost. An hour and ten minutes into our walk-run, I decided it was time to turn around. As we made our way home, after several turns… I realized we were lost. For realsies lost. I knew where I was adjacent to my house, but getting there via trail or off trail was a completely different story.
At one point, I found a nice little, green sign nailed to a tree at one of many, many forks, denoting the paths: Rabbitt Pun and Creekside. I let Beau choose Creekside because I truly had no idea which one to take… or if we’d even seen that on our adventure in. We followed the path choosing another fork. Next thing I knew, I was back at the intersection of Rabbitt Pun and Creekside. Frustrated, I took Rabbit Pun. Obviously Beau’s career as a Sherpa in Nepal is looking quite grim. After choosing another two forks, we were ONCE AGAIN facing Rabbitt Pun and Creekside. I looked at Beau, who looked at me, who looked at the sign. My future as a Sherpa in Nepal is just as grim.
My anxiety had found a new and far more tangible outlet. We were officially lost in the woods.
In a desperate attempt to navigate homeward, I pulled up Google maps. Not helpful. It gave me directions from the nearest road. From the nearest road, it was a two and a half mile walk… According to Google we were about a mile, as the crow flies, from that road. My blue dot showed me standing in the middle of green space.
Luckily, there were beautiful scenes to see.
Off we went, once more on Rabbitt Pun. It felt like the right choice. About twenty minutes later, with no familiar physical indicator, we ran into a man and his two dogs. Beau was excited for company, and I was excited for directions.
We managed to find our way out of the woods… Nowhere near where we entered them, but out we were. What was going to be an hour walk turned into a two hour and forty-five minute walk, nine mile walk. Not at all a fast pace, but there was a lot of confused twirling in the woods.
Beau was thoroughly exhausted and over the moon with joy. I was tired and running late to work at Amanda’s shop, luckily, she didn’t care. My anxiety had found a realistic outlet. Between the utter lack of sleep and long walk, I was able to sleep later that night.
Anxiety’s a bitch. I’ve found my ways of coping with it.
Cuddling with three puppies and their mama. The others are somewhere doing something. I’m very attentive, I know.
Yesterday was National Puppy Day, and I missed it. Well, I watched everyone else post pictures about their puppies. I was lazy and didn’t.
The thing is, every day is puppy day in my house. Not only do I have four actual puppies, I have two older girls too. It’s a zoo. It’s chaos. It’s a furtacular event always. There is never a moment, big or small, that does not have something to do with the dogs. I can attribute that to their being enormous, multitudinous, and very attached to me. I go nowhere alone ever, and I love it.
Even as I write this, I have one asleep on each foot, two are upside down tug-o-warring, one is asleep in their box for naughty reasons, and a sixth is standing up on my wingback chair staring out the window in case of God knows what. That means there are five very big dogs in my small office. It’s wonderful. This is not a complaint. This is a brag. My office is better than your office.
A year ago, I had a home filled with Beau, the original rescue, Tess, the stray mama, and thirteen three week old puppies. I was determined to keep zero of the puppies. Life and a man had a completely opposing world view of what would happen, and I lost. Fast forward through the poop, tears, puppy breath, teething, potty training to today: I am a homeowner with a house full of six much bigger than expected dogs.
I would love to tell you this life is easy. It is not.
Having six dogs sounds amazing, and it is. Having six dogs sounds hard, and it is. Having six dogs sounds a little crazy, and it most certainly is. It was a choice and a commitment. It was a commitment to them and a commitment to Dylan, my pawtner in parenting. We made a commitment to each of our dogs to love, respect, raise, and maintain them until their last breaths, no take backsies. We made a commitment to one another that no matter what transpires between us, we will raise them together; we will not separate them; we will not keep them from the one another; we will share expenses; we will carry the burden; we will lean on the other when things are hard; and we will always create rules and boundaries together for them, no take backsies. Adopting one dog four years ago (wow) connected us in a more concrete way, making it more complicated if things went to go awry. Adding five more rescues to that equation… well, much, much, much more of a concrete connection. Worth it, but a challenge.
There are more than just the challenges of having six dogs. We did it in a COVID world where both our incomes and lives have been impacted very, very much. Tess was incredibly sick and pregnant when I picked her up off the street. Getting her healthy was expensive and heartbreaking. The puppies have some special needs, which makes it expensive and a bit complicated at times. (No complaint. I knew what I was getting into.) The reality is: VETS ARE EXPENSIVE. Their health is non-negotiable. We went without so they could be taken care of. We took on debt to take them to the ER. We buy their dog food first before our groceries. COVID made things much tighter, but it’s worth it.
On top of it, a rescue already existed in this home. Beau was the first priority. We made a decision to foster Tess and the puppies. We knew we wanted to keep Tess, but if the rescue in Beau couldn’t handle being in a multiple dog household, we would have made the very hard decision to find Tess and all the puppies their furever homes. Turns out Beau LOVED Tess immediately. They were inseparable and best buds from the beginning. They do everything together and literally hug every morning when they wake up. Beau also loves the puppies. It was an adjustment, but they adore her and she loves to play with them. But she still had to figure out how to be top dog, get attention, and cope with the fact she was no longer the sun, moon, and universe in two people’s worlds. She had to learn to share: time, food, love, attention, bed. Just kidding, she never learned how to share bed; she’s the only one that always sleeps in bed. Some of her neurosis were exacerbated at first, but with love, time, and extra attention, she’s back to her normal neurotic self.
Is it a breeze now? Fuck no.
It’s still hard. They’re still young. They’re still growing and learning and making mistakes and getting on each others’ nerves. Most days are amazing, but there are some days I cry. Being a dog parent to one is hard. Being a dog parent to six is still hard. Struggle is a part of taking care of and living with another being, human or not. The happiness outweighs all the negatives, but it’s work.
It. Is. A. Lot. Of. Work.
It takes a lot of work just to afford to maintain them and keep them healthy. It takes a lot of emotional work to stay calm in the chaos because I’m not going to fuck up my dogs’ emotional wellbeing with an inability to handle the fact they’re just being puppies. I do my best. Sometimes I fail. That’s okay. They love me anyways. They know they’re safe. They’re in the only home they’ve ever known with the only parents they’ve ever known being loved in the only way they’ve ever known: unconditionally, patiently, enthusiastically, and constantly.
My six dogs have been the catalyst for DRASTIC life changes over the last year, and I’m okay with that. Everything is for the better even when it has hurt like hell. They are and will be my number one priority until the day they die. I took on this responsibility, and no matter how hard it was, is, or will be, I chose to make their lives the very best I can.
If you ever find yourself in my home, know that you are watching six pieces of my heart and the very best of me walk around our home.
In honor of trying to be the very best pawrent I can be. I’m including six inspiration posters I created from things I’ve said to my dogs in my very best high pitched and happy-even-though-my-world-is-chaos-and-stressful dog parent voice:
