I always believed a pet would bring us closer. Instead, it became the crack that split our marriage wide open.
I’m Hannah, 35 now. This happened from fall 2023 through most of 2024, during what I thought were the strongest years with my husband, Derek.
We’d been together since 2016 — married in 2020 in a small backyard wedding delayed by COVID. No kids yet, but we talked about it constantly: “After we’re more settled.” We bought a house in a quiet suburb outside Portland in 2022 — three bedrooms, big fenced yard, the perfect setup for the family we planned.
The only thing missing? A dog.
I’d grown up with golden retrievers — they were my therapy growing up in a chaotic house. Derek liked dogs fine — had a lab as a kid — but wasn’t obsessed. He said, “When we’re ready, sure.”
In September 2023, I saw her on the shelter website.
A 10-month-old Australian shepherd mix — “Luna” — surrendered because her owners’ new baby was allergic. Photos: soulful eyes, fluffy black-and-white coat, curled up in a kennel looking scared. Bio: “High energy, loves people, needs an active home.”
My heart melted.
I showed Derek: “Look at her. She needs us.”
He scrolled: “Cute. But Aussies are a lot of work — herding breed, need exercise, training.”
I promised: “We’ll do it together. Walks, classes, I’ll handle most of it.”
He hesitated — work was stressful (he’s a software sales rep, long hours, travel). But he saw how much it meant to me.
We visited the shelter that weekend.
Luna bounded over, tail wagging, licked our hands, leaned into us.
We filled out the application.
Adopted her the next week.
First month was bliss.
Luna was sweet, smart, eager to please. We took her on hikes, to dog parks, puppy classes. She slept curled between us. Derek even said, “She’s pretty great.”
I posted photos — “Our new family member!”
Then the reality hit.
Luna was high-energy — true to breed.
Needed two long walks a day, mental stimulation, or she’d get destructive: chewing shoes, digging in the yard, barking at nothing.
Derek’s travel ramped up — two weeks away in October.
I handled everything alone: 6 AM walks in rain, training, cleaning accidents.
I was exhausted — working full-time as a project manager, remote but demanding.
When Derek got home, he’d crash — “I’m beat from flights.”
Luna would jump, nip for attention.
He’d snap: “Hannah, control her!”
I’d remind him: “She needs exercise. Help me walk her.”
He’d grumble: “I just got home.”
Resentment built.
By Christmas 2023, fights were constant.
Me: “You wanted this too!”
Him: “I didn’t sign up for a second job.”
Luna started reacting to the tension — anxious, whining, destructive when left alone.
We crate-trained — she howled.
Neighbors complained.
Derek: “This dog is ruining our life.”
I: “She’s a puppy! We need to commit.”
He gave an ultimatum in February 2024: “It’s me or the dog. I can’t live like this.”
I was stunned.
“You’re making me choose between you and an animal we adopted together?”
He: “She’s making me miserable. The barking, the hair, the constant demands. I want my house back.”
I cried for days.
Friends split: some said “A man who makes you choose isn’t worth it,” others “Marriage is compromise — rehome the dog.”
I tried everything.
Hired a trainer ($2k). Dog walker ($400/month). Behaviorist.
Luna improved — but Derek didn’t.
He’d come home, complain about fur on his suit, ignore her.
The house felt cold.
In April 2024, I found a note on the counter while he was on a work trip:
“I’m staying at a hotel when I get back. I need space. Figure out the dog situation or I’m done.”
I called him, sobbing.
He: “I love you, but I hate our life right now. The dog is the symbol of everything wrong.”
We tried therapy — six sessions.
Therapist: “This isn’t about the dog. It’s about unmet expectations and communication.”
Derek admitted he felt I prioritized Luna over him.
I admitted I felt he refused to share responsibility.
No progress.
In June 2024, he moved out.
Said he needed “peace” to decide if he wanted to come back.
We separated.
Told family and friends: “Growing apart.”
Truth: a 1-year-old rescue dog became the flashpoint for deeper issues — his need for calm, my need for nurturing.
Divorce filed in September 2024.
Final in March 2025.
He got the house (bought out my share).
I got Luna — and a small apartment.
We split everything else 50/50.
No kids — thank God.
Derek’s dating someone new — saw photos, no pets.
I’m single.
Luna’s 2 now — trained, happy, my shadow.
We hike every weekend.
She sleeps on his side of the bed — what used to be his side.
I don’t regret keeping her.
I regret believing a pet would fix what was already cracking.
The adoption didn’t divide the household because of the dog.
It divided because we weren’t the team we thought we were.
When push came to shove — one of us compromised.
The other didn’t.
Luna got a forever home.
I lost mine.
But I gained a loyal companion who never gave ultimatums.
Some days, that feels like enough.
Most days, it doesn’t.
But it’s the choice I made.
And I’d make it again.
Because love shouldn’t force you to abandon something innocent you promised to care for.
Even if it costs you the person you thought you’d care for forever.
TL;DR: Adopted a high-energy rescue puppy together; husband refused to share responsibility, gave ultimatum “me or the dog.” After fights and failed therapy, he moved out and we divorced. I kept the dog and started over alone. The pet adoption exposed deeper incompatibilities and ended our marriage.
