There is a thing that happens with Birdie sometimes. Birdie is our chocolate brown, 10 lb Chihuahua / Daschund / Terrier mix.
She’ll be doing her business outside, get almost all the way through it, and then… she can’t quite finish. And she completely loses her mind. She comes running toward me, backend still hunched, absolutely beside herself, doing this little panicked half-waddle that I cannot describe without laughing.
And I find a leaf. Or a stick. Or whatever’s nearby. And I help her.
Every time. Without hesitation. Without making a face (well… maybe a little bit of a face).
That is Hot Dog Mom Summer. Not the aesthetic. Not the matching bandanas. That.
We asked you what you’ve done for your dog this summer. We dropped the ask in email, on Instagram, on Threads… and you showed up. This is what came back.
The Petty
The things you’ve rearranged, refused, or quietly stopped doing.
“My alarm is set for 5:45 AM every single day this summer. Not for work. Not for a workout. Because the pavement gets too hot by 8 and she deserves a real walk, not a rushed one. I am not a morning person. I have never been a morning person. I do not know who I am anymore.”
“I stopped buying nice window blinds. She destroyed two sets pressing her face against the glass to watch for the mail carrier. Now we have curtain panels. She earned this. I’ve made peace with it.”
My house is 69 degrees in July. I wear a hoodie inside. My dog runs hot.
“My leg was completely numb. My phone had fallen just out of reach. I was genuinely hungry. I did not move for 45 minutes because she was asleep on top of me and she looked so peaceful and I just couldn’t. I missed a call. I would do it again.”
“I have walked a different route for three years now – adds about 20 minutes to the loop – because there’s a stretch of black asphalt on the old one and the pavement gets too hot. It’s not up for discussion.”
The Financial
Things you’ve bought, replaced, or upgraded.
“I bought him a $300 orthopedic memory foam bed. He slept on the hardwood floor next to it for a month. The bed is still there. He uses it occasionally, on his own terms, which I respect.”
“I have a $14 fleece throw that she will only sleep with. It’s been washed so many times it’s basically see-through. I tried to throw it away once. She noticed. I went and got it back out of the trash.”
“I spent the better part of June buying: a cooling vest, a kiddie pool, an elevated cot, a portable battery fan, and a set of paw protection booties. She won’t wear the booties. The other four are in daily rotation and I have no regrets about any of it.”
“We traded up to an SUV so he could lie flat in the back without his legs hanging off the seat. I told people it was because we needed the space. I was not lying, exactly.”
My dog's fresh food subscription is $200 a month. I will not pay $3 extra for oat milk in my own coffee. I understand how this looks.
The Social
Group chats lost, weddings declined, plans broken.
“I have been suspiciously quiet in my friend group chat for about four months now. It’s because I keep leaving things early to go home and watch him sleep. When they ask what happened, I say I had a thing. The thing is my dog.”
“She canceled a destination bachelorette trip — Nashville, the whole thing — because no one could be trusted with her dog for four days and she didn’t want to board him. She sent a really nice gift. She says she’d make the same call again.”
“I left the dog park early because a storm was coming. He sat in the back seat facing away from me for the entire drive home. I apologized out loud at a red light. He did not acknowledge me. I apologized again when we got inside.”
He said 'he's just a dog' within the first hour of meeting her. There was no second date.
“One week in June, my chihuahua’s sustained stare made me cancel a Target run, a haircut, and after-work drinks with a friend I hadn’t seen in three months. I gave each of them a different reason. My dog knew exactly what she was doing.”
The Genuinely Unhinged
The bath, the bed, the specific behavior you’ve stopped explaining.
“I have an entire indoor enrichment playlist for days when it’s too hot to walk outside. It’s organized by tempo. We have a routine. My dog knows the opening song. You can call it whatever you want — I call it Tuesday.”
“I check the pavement temperature with the back of my hand before every walk now. Every single one. I started doing it for her. I have done it twice this week when I was walking alone, out of habit, just to check. No dog in sight.”
“I have a fully developed voice for my dog. She has a backstory, a personality, a nemesis — a specific squirrel, very untrustworthy, shows up near the back fence. I do this narration alone. I do it in front of guests. I will not be stopping.”
“I made frozen blueberry and broth cubes last Sunday. Watermelon chunks. Peanut butter in silicone molds. I have not meal-prepped for myself once this entire summer. I do not see the inconsistency.”
“I raised my voice on a work call – not at her, near her – and spent the rest of the evening in a guilt spiral. I apologized. She had already forgotten and was chasing a moth. I was not over it for another hour.”
I got married. My dog couldn't be at the ceremony. Two weeks later, I put the wedding dress back on and did a full photo session in the front yard so we could get pictures together. Cars slowed down. I just waved. It was completely worth it.
I am a person who carries a leaf in her back pocket on walks now. Just in case.
The group chat still doesn’t get it. But you do. And that’s exactly the point.
