Honey is the latest addition to the O’Brien family. Photos: Kellie O’Brien.
In the lead up to this Valentine’s Day, my heart has been aflutter, the nights have been “ruff” and I’ve spent most days feeling dog-tired from all the action – but not for the reasons you might think.
You see, two weeks ago, we brought home an eight-week-old Cavoodle puppy named Honey and let me tell you, romance has taken a back seat to pee pads, 3 am potty breaks, and arguments over who’s on poop duty.
I now realise why you’re meant to have children earlier in life and why maternity leave is so important.
Our two teenage daughters had been whining and whimpering for a dog for nearly a decade, with relentless promises like “We’ll do all the work, you won’t have to lift a finger!”
Sure, and I’m Cavalier King Charles’ mother.
Against my better judgement (and memories of our childhood family dog Bevan, who we later found out was actually named Paul – not exactly dog names), I dug a hole for myself and caved.
With both girls now older, along with learning of the benefits of dogs during these stressful high school and HSC years, it felt like the right timing.
I wanted a rescue dog: house-trained, mature, emotionally stable. You know, the Ryan Gosling of dogs.
But no, we fell for those irresistible Jimmy Fallon-style puppy dog eyes, because apparently chaos builds character.
And chaos is exactly what we got, served with a side of life lessons in patience and staying civil when your last nerve is hanging by a poop bag thread.
Honey is clever, I’ll give her that.
In two days, she was sitting on command; in a week, she was peeing mostly in the right places. We’ve even taught her to stay. So far? Easy!
The next trick? Learning that I’m not her full-time emotional support human. Otherwise, you may as well slap a leash on me and call it a day.
Nights are a whole other story though.
It’s fair to say, everyone in the family is dog-tired.
Sleep deprivation is supposedly the worst form of torture — and let me confirm, the experts are not wrong.
We’re up twice a night sitting on the bathroom floor pleading for her to “go back to bed”, after which we’re starting the day before even the roosters have hit snooze.
By 7 am, I’m contemplating which species is more feral: my kids or the puppy.
Of course, friends have been there for us with all manner of helpful advice, leaving us with a list of “tips and tricks” longer than Honey’s entire expected lifespan.
Meanwhile, their words of support have us tilting our head (which in dog language means “confused”) and scratching ourselves (which translates to “anxious”).
“It’ll get better, just hang in there!”, says one.
While another gives the brutally honest: “We gave up. Now the dog just sleeps in our bed.”
Some even confessed to ugly-crying during the puppy stage. And honestly? Same.
Then I remember I have a friend with a five-month-old baby who is yet to sleep through the night, and I realise I shouldn’t complain.
I’m only two weeks in.
Plus, when Honey curls up in your arms and looks at you with those cute puppy eyes, wags her tail like she just won the lottery, or plants one of those sloppy, unconditional love kisses on your face — suddenly, you forget how much sleep you’ve lost.
This Valentine’s Day, it’s clear: puppy love is a lot like early dating. There’s excitement, frustration, occasional messes, and plenty of compromises.
But deep down, you know it’s going to be worth it.
(Although, I wouldn’t say no to chocolates. And a nap. Possibly a face mask for the dark under eye circles. And oh, did I mention chocolates?)
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