My dog got her period. Instagram didn’t prepare me for this

When you get a puppy, you tell yourself you are ready for the responsibility. You picture leisurely walks, maybe a picnic, a sleepy head resting on your lap. Instagram agrees; every other reel is of a fluffy pup slow-blinking like a rom-com hero. But what social media doesn’t tell you is about the 3 am wake-up calls because someone decided to bark at nothing, and the walks that turn into Olympic-level sprints to prevent them from eating dead leaves or discarded chicken bones and inspecting suspicious puddles. Raising a dog may not be Instagrammable every day; it’s messy, exhausting, but still the most rewarding thing you will ever do.

The puppy ‘honeymoon’

With Zurie, the puppy stage was an endless loop of me Googling “is it normal if…” and “how to remove vomit from…” I lost more socks than I knew I owned. Some vases met a tragic end due to her relentless tail wags. My indoor plants developed PTSD. But the internet kept telling me this was “the most magical time.”

Now, at one year old, Zurie has hit puberty, which means mood swings, clinginess, and the aforementioned long period. I did not know “dog menstruation” would become a phrase in my vocabulary. She doesn’t quite understand what’s happening to her, so my efforts to make her feel okay have doubled.

She paces, she whines, she demands cuddles, then immediately demands space. Basically, she’s a teenager in fur. And just like with human teens, nothing is predictable. One day, she’s licking my face with love, the next, she’s glaring at me because I dared to eat something without sharing.

You will never see a reel of someone scrubbing muddy paw prints off their cream-coloured curtains or panic-cleaning a living room because the dog had a digestive “incident” right before guests arrived. You will not see the human crawling on hands and knees under the bed to retrieve a chewed-up toy or bottle.

You certainly won’t see someone spending a Saturday morning comparing absorbency levels of dog pads at the pet store while explaining to strangers that “she’s not sick, she’s just… a woman now.”

There are days my home smells faintly of wet fur, antiseptic, and whatever odour the shampoo failed to cover. No amount of filters can hide that.

Zurie during her first birthday celebrations.

It’s no less than raising a human baby

People love to say, “But a dog isn’t a real baby.” To which I say: Come and babysit Zurie for a week. You will feed her, bathe her, wipe her, monitor her moods, plan your outings around her, and keep a mental log of her bathroom breaks. You will learn the art of distracting her while you sneak vegetables or medicines into her food. You will buy toys only to watch her ignore them in favour of chewing your Amazon order’s packaging.

Like parents of human babies, you will also experience the crushing guilt of leaving them alone for too long. You will plan “date nights” and then spend them checking the dog cam to make sure they are okay.

Perhaps the only difference between a baby and a fur baby is that mine has teeth sharp enough to puncture furniture.

Like any parent, I, too, have that gnawing anxiety that I may not be doing enough. Every time I raise my voice when she ignores a command, I spiral into guilt. Did I just let her down? Am I a bad dog mom? She looks at me with those eyes, and suddenly I am convinced I have failed her. There’s a constant self-doubt that comes with caring for a creature that depends entirely on you.

And then there are other people: Neighbours who recoil at the sight of a leash, drivers who honk because we dared to pause at the curb, and the unsolicited advice-givers who think they know exactly how to “control” my dog. Parenting a pet would be infinitely easier if it didn’t come with the burden of other opinions.

Sometimes, finding a public place where we can just exist can also be a struggle. Dogs aren’t allowed in the park near my house — a rule enforced with hawk-like precision — even though it is routinely trashed with half-eaten bread pakoras and chole chawal. Zurie is apparently a bigger threat to public hygiene than a mountain of oily takeout containers.

Zurie and her many moods. (Photographer: Trishila Roy)

Dog parenting is exhausting, but worth it

It’s tempting to crop out the chaos and present only the heart-melting snapshots, but pretending dog parenting is all sunsets and snuggles does a disservice to the real magic. The bond is built in the messy, exhausting, unfiltered moments like: the 5 am emergency walk in the rain because she had to pee; the kitchen floor mopping marathon after she discovered a jar of peanut butter; and cleaning all the shedding from her coat from all the furniture.

These small and ridiculous moments will become irreplaceable memories long after the couch has been reupholstered and the carpets professionally cleaned.

Undeniably, Zurie has me wrapped around her paw. She greets me at the door like I have returned from war, even if I just stepped out to take the trash. She curls up beside me when I am working late, occasionally resting her chin on my keyboard as if to say, “Enough click-clack, human.”

Her joy is unfiltered, her affection non-negotiable. Zurie may not have a single thought in her head besides play, food, sleep, and unlimited cuddles, but she has taught me to wake up early, be patient, and always have cleaning supplies in stock. She has also given me a reason to laugh every single day, even if the laugh is at my own expense.

So if you are thinking of getting a dog because the Internet told you it’s pure joy — it is. But it’s also laundry, vet bills, unexpected bodily fluids, and an emotional rollercoaster with a co-pilot who can’t speak your language but somehow still runs your entire household.

I wouldn’t trade it for anything. But I also wouldn’t wear white around Zurie for the foreseeable future.