Those who have had a puppy may be familiar with the term Puppy Blues. Its name is inspired by Baby Blues, a lighthearted name for a time in motherhood that is anything but light. A phase of severe sleep deprivation, hormonal fluctuations, and anxiety. The Baby Blues are a transition. A mild, according to the medical community, period of depression. As a new mother struggling to adjust, you may likely be told “Everyone gets the Baby Blues, this will pass”, and that very well may be true.
Up to 85% of new mothers are estimated to experience postpartum Baby Blues(1). However, an estimated 25% of new mothers continue to experience depression symptoms three years postpartum(2). 0.1 to 0.2% of new mothers experience postpartum psychosis(3).
For most adults depression, even when mild, is a cause for alarm. A red flag that something is not right. For new mothers, bleeding and sleep deprived, we have decided the red is natural. Normal. We serve them platitudes and get annoyed when they forget to text their friends back.
While some things are normal in the sense that they are ubiquitous, near unavoidable, they are often not normal in the sense that they mark a distressing change to a person’s daily life.
This is why while motherhood and owning a pet dog are not comparable, Puppy Blues gets its name. It nestles itself into a similar dynamic of emotions. That being the transition that happens as we welcome a new member of our family into our homes. We superficially expect this to be joyful, and for some it is. Only we may instead discover an uncomfortable blend of regret, depression, and sleep deprivation. In a small way, dog ownership is a kind of motherhood, except your newborn runs over 40km/h and shits on your in-laws' floor at their Christmas party.
Puppy Blues are a time of transition, they are meant to pass, but some of us continue to experience this stress until our dogs are fully mature; an arduous two, sometimes three, years after their birth.
When my partner and I decided we wanted a dog I was unemployed. There was a listlessness to my life and too much time on my hands. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop”, which is to say, do not get a dog while you are temporarily unemployed. That is the devil talking. I say this mostly in jest. In those crucial developmental months it was wonderful to have so much time to train our new puppy. Some dog trainers online seem to not comprehend that most people have jobs and cannot dedicate six months of time to get their dog to relax quietly in their crate. Building up the puppy’s tolerance minute by minute. Many owners will simply toss their dog in the crate to cry it out, or throw their hands in the air and decide the crate is too big of a hassle. I hold no moral judgments in saying this, as dogs are expensive, so really, you do need to go to work. The murmurs online that a fulltime job might exclude you from being a good dog owner seem relatively new, gaining traction during the peak of the Covid-19 pandemic, when work from home opportunities exploded in popularity(4). I was lucky that I had so much free time. We also lucked into getting a dog who is remarkably quiet, so of course we named our boy Lucky.
Despite his angelic lack of barking, and my open availability, I quickly learned that puppies are work. A lot of work. This is something you can know logically but never properly internalize until your puppy pisses on your bed at 1am when you are desperate for sleep. Eyes glazing over as you load the washing machine. Puppies must be taught everything, how to settle, not to jump, where to pee, not to bite, then, just when you have a fleeting feeling of pride, they regress and you must do it all again. The worst of this was when Lucky was five, seven, and nine months old. So I maintain in all my neuroticism that uneven numbers are bad luck.
In an effort not to be eaten alive by die hard dog lovers, I will preface the following with this: Lucky is well cared for, we play with him daily, we feed him, we cuddle him, and our vet says he is in great shape. I may have some frustrations with dog ownership, but he is adored. That out of the way, here are some frequent phrases that escaped me over those first 9 months.
“I can’t with this dog.”
“I regret getting a dog.”
“Oh my gawd! This goddamn dog!”
I am not proud of these words. In most cases these would slip out mid sob sesh. For example, during the worst of his leash reactivity, Lucky sprained both my ankles by yanking me towards a dog so far away that I could barely see it with my glasses on. I was on crutches for weeks afterwards. I am thankful my dog only understands English in the context of what actions are attached to what words. He knows that “Sit” means he should sit. He knows “Do you want… To go… Outside?!” means he should sprint up and down the halls while I open the door. What he knows of regret is only that salty tears are fun to lick up. I try not to let my frustrations affect him, if it is truly bad, I leave the room. The reason doctors advise new mothers to set their baby down and leave the room if needed is so they will not shake their newborn. This is not the doctor making a character judgment, this is an acknowledgement of how chronic stress can manifest into material harm if we do not take care of ourselves.
In an article on caregiver stress, the Mayo Clinic emphasises the importance of those in a caregiving role to ask for and accept help(5). How in a caregiver’s efforts to help, they may neglect their own health, become isolated, develop a short fuse, or have unhealthy coping mechanisms such as substance abuse. There are times in our lives where we are burdened by or are a burden to others, even if the love is all the same.
What I hated about my puppy was a mirror to what I hated about myself. No, I don’t chew shoes, but to love me is work. I am high maintenance. My wonderful, ever patient partner will deny this, but I am. As someone on the spectrum I have needs that Non-Autistics simply do not. Sensory, social, and structural needs that all fall outside of the norm. Many of those of us with Autism have loved ones who operate in a caregiver role to compensate for a lack of professional support. Just the other day I was indulging in my special interest by creating a collage of shark photos. The exhilaration was so intense with energy to the point where my excitement became physically uncomfortable. My partner had to squeeze each one of my fingers in sequence, then my arms, then apply deep pressure across my entire body, to get me calmed down to a state of manageable happiness. Even in my joy I am needy. This is something I resent about myself at times. I still carry the pain and guilt of past relationships where the burden of my neurodevelopmental disorder was too much.
While Lucky is a high energy dog breed, I am always moving, spinning, stimming. He has a sensitive stomach. I am a picky eater. He is prescribed trazodone for vet visits, I, for sleep. He needs a ton of mental stimulation. I experience suicidal ideation when bored. He is leash reactive to other dogs on walks. I have meltdowns in public. Lucky struggles to relax without assistance, and so do I.
An anxious dog with an anxious owner. It is not Lucky’s fault he is anxious. Herding dogs are bred to be exactly that. Alert to the smallest of movements and noise. Place such a sensitive being in an urban environment and you will realize how natural their discomfort is. In the same vein it is not my fault that I am autistic. I was born like this. I am the human equivalent to a herding dog in that I am incredibly sensitive to sensory input. I once crossed from the opposite end of the house to where my partner was sitting in the living room to ask,
“What is that noise?”
“What noise?” He said. I locked in on the sound in seconds, and picked up the watch beside him.
“This.” He shook his head in confusion so I held it up for him. With the watch mere centimeters from his ear he finally heard its tinny alarm beep. Its batteries on their last legs.
My partner has normal hearing abilities, I do not. Now imagine that level of intensity and inability to tune out background input but for everything. Your attention is pulled in several directions at once. Your mind struggles to make sense of the buzzing of light fixtures, or how that stranger’s breath smells like they haven’t eaten anything today, or how a thread has come loose in the seam of your shirt, rubbing you so gently yet your skin feels raw, painful.
When I am frustrated with Lucky’s heightened alertness, I think of how his senses are even more intense than my own. I do not do this because it is a mother’s duty to love her son. That might be true in a moral way, but in reality people do surrender their animals. If I did not want a dog I would not have one, nor would I have ever gotten on. Rather, I seek this understanding because I enjoy my life with Lucky in it, and I want our companionship to be harmonious. I want to understand him better, to be a better caregiver, but through this exercise of empathy I run into a problem,
If he is so much like me, how can I love him if I refuse to love myself?
If I know in my soul that I do love him, not out of obligation, but as a conscious choice that I make daily, do I not deserve the same?
A mother’s Baby Blues are not born from a lack of love. Mothers can love deeply and experience depression all the same. An owner can struggle, even regret, getting a dog, but still commit themselves to ensuring that their puppy thrives. Working cooperatively to create management strategies when there are problems that cannot be resolved. So then, where does this aching fear of being a burden and scrambling to feign independence stem from? There is love in caring for someone, and shouldn’t I trust my partner’s autonomy in deciding to care for me? If loving me is an active choice, is that not more admirable? More indicative that I am worth the work?
Being burdensome, being is not something we all have a choice over. What is our choice however, is what we do to support the ones who love us and whether we will meet ourselves in our truest form, messy and high maintenance, and choose to love ourselves anyways.
Cited Resources
1: “Baby Blues and Postpartum Depression: Mood Disorders and Pregnancy.” Johns Hopkins Medicine, 28 Jan. 2025.
2: Putnick, Diane L et al. “Trajectories of Maternal Postpartum Depressive Symptoms.” Pediatrics vol. 146,5 (2020): e20200857. doi:10.1542/peds.2020-0857
3: Friedman, Susan Hatters et al. “Postpartum Psychosis.” Current psychiatry reports vol. 25,2 (2023): 65-72. doi:10.1007/s11920-022-01406-4
4: “Working from Home in Canada.” The Daily, Statistics Canada, 18 Jan. 2024.
5: Mayo Clinic Staff. “Caregiver Stress: Tips for Taking Care of Yourself.” Mayo Clinic, Health and Lifestyle, 9 Aug. 2023.