Help, I have become a helicopter parent to my dog

NEW YORK – Being a parent these days is kind of a lot. I recently signed my youngest up for twice-weekly swim lessons, which apparently also meant signing up for a barrage of video text messages chronicling her excruciatingly slow – though still exciting – journey from floaties to doggy-paddling.

I coordinate play dates and prepare multiple dinners for my picky eater. I carpool to the good daycare two towns over.

My kids? Oh, they are in elementary school. This is all for my dog.

Dog parenting has got out of control. That is what I said to myself eight months ago, when I started receiving unsolicited advice about our family’s new puppy, Sally.

We had to try the human-grade, shipped-to-your-door dog food, several friends said, with such fervour that I started to wonder whether it was a multi-level marketing scheme.

Next came the inevitable queries about our academic plans. Were we sending her to canine boarding school for a stretch? Did we know about the van (dog school bus) that ferried suburban pets to a nature preserve an hour north on weekdays?

For someone like me, who considers judging others to be a top hobby, these conversations provided superb fodder. Who would pay for this stuff, I scoffed to my husband.

Our prior dog, a beloved goldendoodle who had lived until 13, had spent her early years chilling in our New York City apartment while we went to work each day. There, she was happy because she was a dog, not a pre-schooler gunning for admission to Dalton.

We took her for a walk each evening, we snuggled on the couch. I never got the sense she wanted more out of life.

Changing views of pet parenting

Parenthood makes hypocrites of us all. I look back at the version of myself that was morally opposed to doggy daycare the same way I look at new parents who insist their babies will never be exposed to screen time or processed carbs. Because the thing about kids is, they are themselves. They are not us; they are not our theories or our hopes and dreams.

Our task is to parent the kids we get. The same goes for puppies.

My puppy is exceedingly cute, which I sometimes worry is part of the problem. She has a fleecy, caramel-coloured coat, soft, floppy ears and a very healthy sense of self-esteem.

She is an Australian labradoodle, which I had originally taken to mean doodle with added international flair. In reality, it means she has 10 times the energy of our last dog.

She also seems to have an intrinsic need to herd. She tried to herd my son and daughter into a corner of the backyard. She tried to herd our neighbour on his morning jog, barking fiercely all the while.

I got the sense she desperately wanted to make friends, but just came on too strong – a predicament to which I could relate. I got the sense she could run for kilometres without ever tiring – a predicament to which I could not relate.

She needed a job or to train for a half-marathon.

“Maybe we should get her some sheep,” my son suggested.

Compared to acquiring farm animals, a dog school bus was starting to sound reasonable. I sent her off for a few US$30 (S$39) play sessions, where, according to the dog trainer, she herded her peers out of the van. This felt like progress.

Then she peed on my bed, chewed two tubes of lip balm and ate the right eye out of my daughter’s stuffed bunny.

I made a list of friends with dogs, determined to coordinate my own free puppy play dates, sans white van. I would get Sally the social life she wanted and deserved, leaving her so happy and exhausted, she would never even consider eating the bunny’s left eye.

At my neighbour Whitney’s house, Sally wrestled with Birdie, a brown-and-white spotted labradoodle, and dined on homemade dog treats fashioned from carved-out cucumbers, bone broth and freeze-dried raw pellets in a harvest chicken flavour.

Whitney had somehow whipped these treats up while holding down a finance job and parenting two human children, aged four and seven. It felt as though all millennial parenting trends had been leading to this moment: me, sitting on my friend’s couch, feeling inadequate about dog snacks.

At the supermarket, I put a carton of bone broth in my cart.

I never used it – apparently grocery-store bone broth has too much sodium, so you need to order special bone broth for dogs – but I did give in and call that doggy daycare two towns over.

I just felt as if I could not give Sally everything she needed at home. My friends stopped responding to my increasingly desperate text messages begging for daily dog play dates.

Giving in to doggy daycare

The Pupster Academy programme promised new dog friends, whose owners were also desperate enough to pay for full-time care. The place had a heated pool, a dog treadmill and an obstacle course so robust, it brought to mind equestrian show jumping.

Teachers would work on Sally’s sensory skills and her core strength – via paddleboarding sessions, US$8 add-on fee. I started to have visions of her becoming a therapy dog after all, or a star of flyball (a competitive dog sport – look it up).

My husband buckled Sally into her dog seatbelt and drove her over. By that evening, I was pinning Sally’s Pupster Academy certificate on the wall next to my son’s second-grade mathematics award.

Sally did not turn out to be a Pupster Academy prodigy. She still has a bark that prompts neighbours to cross the street during our morning walk. She has made strides in the potty-training department, and she sits obediently for her teachers.

I, meanwhile, now live with the knowledge that my dog can receive a paw massage and a hot towel (US$14; she has not indulged yet) at school. I recognise that it is absurd to spend as much time, energy and money on extracurricular dog activities as we somehow now do.

And yet, when my brother- and sister-in-law recently told us they were adopting a tiny black poodle, I could not help myself.

“Congrats,” I said. “Have you thought about doggy daycare?” NYTIMES