I’ve been wrestling with this situation for weeks now, and honestly, I feel like I’m on the brink of a meltdown. I’ve had my older dog (let’s call him “my big guy”) for years, and he’s been my best friend through so many ups and downs. He’s the kind of dog who greets me at the door every day with a tail that wags so hard his whole body moves. He’s always up for a road trip, a nap, a cuddle—whatever I need, he’s there.
But then I decided to bring a new puppy into the family.
I didn’t think it would be a huge issue at first. People do it all the time, right? They get a second dog, the older dog shows the little one the ropes, they become buddies, and life is full of wagging tails and dog toys. That was the picture in my head. And in the beginning, it seemed to be going okay. The puppy is this adorable, bouncing ball of fur who can’t sit still for two seconds, and my big guy seemed intrigued. Not overly excited, but not hostile either. I thought, “Awesome, they’re gonna get along.”
But here’s where things took a turn.
The new puppy needs constant attention. Potty training, crate training, teaching her not to chew on the furniture—my days started revolving around her schedule. And because she’s so tiny, I felt this instinctual need to watch her 24/7, like a helicopter parent. Meanwhile, my big guy seemed fine. He’s mature, he’s trained, he knows the routine. I figured he’d be okay with a little less one-on-one time. I honestly didn’t realize I was neglecting him in any real way.
Then I started noticing subtle changes.
My big guy would follow me into a room, and if I was busy chasing after the puppy, he’d just stand there for a moment and then quietly walk away. At first, I chalked it up to him just giving us space. But the more it happened, the more I began to see a sadness in his eyes that I’ve never seen before.
I’d look up from cleaning up yet another puddle of puppy pee, and I’d catch him just staring at me from across the room. Not in an angry way, but in a lonely, confused way. Almost like he was asking, “Did I do something wrong?”
That look started to break my heart.
So, I tried to make time for him. I’d set the puppy in her playpen and call my big guy over. We’d play fetch in the yard for a few minutes or share a few treats. But inevitably, the puppy would start whining or barking, or she’d have an accident, or she’d knock something over, and I’d have to run back to her. My big guy would just watch me go.
After a few days of this, I realized the dynamic in our home was changing. My big guy was spending more time by himself, lying on his dog bed in the corner or even going into another room. When I’d call him over, he’d come—but his tail wag wasn’t as enthusiastic. He’d settle next to me for a minute or two, then slink off quietly.
And then it got worse.
One afternoon, I came home from a quick grocery run. Normally, I’d be greeted by my big guy’s bounding steps, tail wagging, maybe a bark or two of excitement. This time, it was just the puppy stumbling over her own paws to get to me. I looked around for my big guy and found him in the living room, lying down with his head on his paws, staring at the door. No movement, no wag, nothing.
I can’t even explain how that felt. This dog has been my shadow for years. And now it was like he had given up trying to compete for my attention.
That night, I sat down with both dogs in the living room, the puppy chewing on a toy, my big guy resting in his usual spot. I started thinking back to all the times he’d been there for me—when I got dumped and cried on the couch for two days straight, when I was stressed out studying for finals, when I moved into my first apartment alone and he was literally my only friend. He’s been my rock, my constant companion.
I looked at him, and he lifted his head, made eye contact with me for a split second, and then looked away. And in that moment, I felt like the worst person in the world. I had effectively replaced him in my daily life without even realizing it.
So, I made a promise to myself: I was going to fix it.
I started by setting aside specific times of the day that were just for him. A walk around the neighborhood in the morning, no puppy. A quick ride in the car to the drive-thru for a treat, just him and me. I’d put the puppy in her crate with a toy, and I’d try to focus on my big guy.
It helped a little. His eyes started to light up again when I’d grab the leash or my car keys. He’d trot around in circles, that tail going a million miles a minute. For a while, it felt like we were getting back to normal.
But the second we got home, everything changed again. The puppy would come racing up, whining and wiggling, and I’d immediately switch into puppy-care mode. My big guy would fade into the background again.
It’s not like I want to ignore the puppy, obviously. She’s just a baby, and I have a responsibility to train her, keep her safe, and teach her how to behave. And in fairness, she’s not the villain here—she’s just being a puppy, and she adores my big guy. She tries to play with him, but he doesn’t engage much. He’ll sniff her, maybe give her a little tail wag, but then he wanders off like he’d rather just not be in the same space.
I keep hoping they’ll bond. That maybe one day I’ll find them curled up together, or I’ll see them playing chase in the backyard. But so far, that hasn’t happened. And I’m torn between feeling like a neglectful dog parent to my big guy and also feeling guilty for even having these negative feelings toward the new puppy. Because I do love her too. She’s sweet and hilarious and so full of life. But I miss the days when it was just me and my big guy against the world.
I’ve talked to a couple of friends about this, and the responses have been mixed. Some say it’s just an adjustment period and eventually my big guy will accept the puppy, that I need to give it more time. Others say maybe I rushed into getting another dog without thinking about my big guy’s needs. And some are even suggesting that maybe my big guy is depressed and I should see a behaviorist or a trainer who specializes in multi-dog households.
I’m seriously considering it. I’m not too proud to admit that I might be in over my head here. My biggest fear is that I’ve broken a bond with my big guy that can’t be fixed. I know dogs are resilient, and I know they forgive easily. But there’s something about the look in his eyes lately that makes me worry I’ve done some real damage.
I try to reassure myself that he’s physically healthy—he’s eating, drinking, going on walks, and he doesn’t seem to be in pain. But emotionally, I feel like he’s withdrawn. It’s like watching your best friend slip away because you started hanging out with someone new and forgot to invite them along.
Part of me wonders if I should have just been content with one dog. Maybe I was too caught up in the idea of a new puppy, the excitement, the cuteness, the Instagrammable moments. Maybe I should have asked myself if my big guy was truly ready for a sibling.
On the flip side, I still believe that eventually, they can become good friends. And I want them both in my life. I love them both. So, I’m not giving up.
I’m looking into training sessions specifically geared toward families with an older dog and a new puppy. I’m making it a priority to spend quality time with each of them separately. I’m even rearranging my schedule to be at home more often, so I’m not constantly dividing my attention in a rushed, stressful way.
I’ve started reading articles about how to help older dogs adjust. I’m learning that I might have made some mistakes early on—like letting the puppy have free rein of the house too soon, or not establishing boundaries so my big guy could have his own safe space. I’m trying to rectify that now by giving him a special area where the puppy isn’t allowed. He seems to appreciate having a quiet zone to escape to, but I also don’t want him to feel exiled. It’s a tricky balance.
At this point, I’m holding onto hope that time and patience will bring us all closer.
I can’t say I’ve found a magical solution, because I haven’t. And if I’m being completely honest, I still feel a pang of guilt every time I see my big guy lying there, watching me play with the puppy. But I’ve started to see small glimmers of change. Like the other night, the puppy was bouncing around, trying to get my big guy’s attention, and he actually engaged for a few seconds—he gave a playful bow and did a tiny chase before stopping himself. It was only a moment, but it felt like progress.
I’m going to keep trying, because I owe it to him. He’s been there for me through everything, and I refuse to believe I can’t figure this out.
I guess the reason I’m sharing all of this is because I feel like a terrible person, and I’m not sure if I’m the only one who’s gone through this. My friends say I’m overthinking it, that everything will be fine in a few months. But at night, I see my big guy curled up in the corner instead of at my feet, and it kills me.
I want him to know he’s still loved. I want the puppy to grow up in a happy, balanced home. And I want us all to find a way to coexist without anyone feeling pushed aside.
So that’s where I’m at right now—caught between hope and guilt, determined to fix things but unsure of the path forward.
I’m trying my best, and I’m clinging to every sign of progress. Because at the end of the day, these dogs are my family, and I can’t stand the thought of losing the bond I had with my big guy.
If you’ve read this far, thank you for taking the time to hear me out. I’m not looking for a miracle, but maybe some encouragement, or even just knowing that I’m not alone in this.
I’m going to keep working on it. I can’t say I have a perfect plan, but I’m not giving up. And in some small way, that gives me hope that maybe we’ll find a new normal—one that includes all of us, happy and loved, even if it’s not quite the same as before.
That’s where I’ll leave it for now. I don’t have a big resolution to share, but I’m holding onto the possibility that our story isn’t over yet. Maybe in time, we’ll write a new chapter where my big guy and the puppy become inseparable.
And for now, I’m just going to keep trying, one day at a time.