How Guilty Should I Feel That I Can’t Give My Dog Everything?

Welcome to Tough Love. We’re answering your questions about dating, breakups, and everything in between. Our advice giver is Blair Braverman, dogsled racer and author of Small Game and Welcome to the Goddamn Ice Cube. Have a question of your own? Write to us at toughlove@outsideinc.com.

I recently got my first dog. I’ll admit that I was kind of impulsive in getting her. I fell in love with her at the shelter, where I’d just gone to look, and I just couldn’t leave her there. She’s my world and I couldn’t love her more. The problem is that she’s a highly active breed (well, she’s a mutt, but definitely has some husky in her) and I feel guilty that I’m not able to give her more exercise. I work from home so I’m with her throughout the day, but I’m working, so I can’t play with her during that time. She lies by my feet while I’m in meetings, and she sleeps in my bed at night. I walk her every evening for about an hour, which is usually all the time I have, but it never tires her out and she still has so much energy. I worry that I’m not getting her what she needs and I’ve been beating myself up over this to the point of missing sleep. How do I know if I’m getting her enough exercise? How do I forgive myself if I can’t do more?

As a dogsledder, I sometimes think that people can be uncomfortable with canine athletes because they feel indirectly implicated: if these dogs can run a hundred miles in a day, and they seem to enjoy it, what does that mean about my dog? Would my dog be happier if they got to run all the time? Some people relieve this cognitive dissonance by deciding that since their dog is happy—and treasured and adored—then sled dogs must be unhappy as a default. After all, their lives are so different from a pet’s life. How could two totally different lifestyles both be right?

It seems like your thinking is almost the opposite. If dogs can be happy with constant exercise and engagement, then how could your dog be happy without it?

The truth, of course, is that dogs, like people, are highly adaptable, and can live good lives in a whole bunch of different situations. And even the most athletic sled dogs don’t start the season by running a hundred miles in a day. Their first runs, when end-of-summer temperatures begin to dip, might only be a few miles—two or three or five. But they gain endurance quickly. A run that exhausts them in September is basically a warm-up in January. And that marathon push in January? It’s an easy trot in March.

Therein lies the catch-22 of highly athletic dogs: you can never establish a routine that consistently wears them out, because the more exercise they get, the more exercise they need. Rather than feeling daunted about it, I’d encourage you to see this phenomenon as freeing. You’re not going to tire out your dog, at least not reliably. You’re simply not. It’s impossible. Scratch that goal off your list.

Your real goal is simply to do enough.

What does enough look like? You don’t have to know, because your dog will tell you! She may not ever be truly exhausted, but does she seem content during the day? Engaged but relaxed? Excited to go for her walk, and also excited to come home again? The fact that she lies by your feet during meetings—presumably without freaking out and interrupting much—suggests that she’s feeling content and fulfilled. If she’s not getting restless or destructive, it’s an excellent sign that you—and she—are doing great.

If you sense that she’s restless after all, you have a few options for adding exercise to her day. Dog-walking services can range from the pricy (professionals and doggie daycares) to the more budget-friendly (hiring the kid next door) and creative (trading off dog walks with a neighbor). If you have a backyard, or access to a fenced-in space, that’s huge—it gives your dog a chance to run around at her own speed, without the constrictions of a leash and a pokey human. (Not that you’re pokey personally, but I assume most humans seem pokey to dogs.) Alternately, if she’s good at coming when called, you can find plenty of other places to run her loose, too. Could she wear herself out at a dog park, or by playing fetch? What about a physical toy like a tether pull, which could help her burn that extra energy?

Keep in mind that it might not be more exercise she needs, per se, but more activity: chances to problem-solve, to use her nose and brain. Can you make her food more interactive by hiding kibbles in a snuffle mat or scattering treats in the grass for her to sniff out and enjoy? Getting soup bones at the grocery store so she can lick out the marrow? Even something as simple as hanging a bird feeder outside your window—somewhere she can see—will give her entertainment.

That said, from what you describe, I suspect that you’re already doing plenty, and are instead falling prey to the anxiety of knowing that we could always, always, always do more for the ones we love. We could sleep less, work less (or more), wear ourselves thin, give everything we possibly have. We can always dig deeper. And the ones we love deserve it. They deserve it all.

So the question, in that case, isn’t whether you’re doing enough. It’s whether you are enough.

And that’s something I can answer decisively, because it’s unequivocally true. You know how your dog is your world? You’re hers, too. You’re the one she thinks of when she’s falling asleep, and the one she looks for when she wakes up. You’re the one who walks her, feeds her, makes her feel safe—you gave her family, a pack. You give her purpose and a home in this lifetime. Imagine loving someone so much, so wholly, that simply lying by their feet gives you all the peace in the world. That’s how your dog loves you. That’s what you give her, every day.

You have nothing to forgive yourself for. If you have trouble believing that, ask your dog. Look at yourself through her eyes. You’ll see nothing but a miracle.