Almost as soon as we adopted Troy, an adorable-looking brindle puppy, I felt I’d made a terrible mistake. My husband Louis – a chef – was always working during that bleak January in 2021. Troy, meanwhile, was turning out to be very different from the little beagle-shar pei cross the Manhattan shelter had led us to expect. Not only was he shaping up to be far bigger than the promised 30-40lb, he was murderously energetic. Early on, puppies aren’t allowed outside and there was nowhere for that energy to go. I found myself entertaining Troy all day long, in an apartment you could walk the length of in less than 10 seconds. I frequently hid from him in the bathroom, if my husband hadn’t got there first.
Troy constantly tested my will. Once, he stole my last slice of pizza from the fridge. After chasing him round the flat with a slipper and locking him in his crate, I realised how woefully unprepared I was for dog parenting, how I let my temper get the better of me.
