Dogs were part of my childhood
But never in a way that felt familiar or safe.
They were something I had to deal with, rather than something I chose. For a long time, they made me uneasy. I can’t point to a single moment and say this is why. Dogs just felt unpredictable to me. They were loud and fast, and to me it was never entirely clear what might happen next, and that uncertainty stayed with me for years.
Keeping some distance between any dog and me became my normal, stepping aside when I could and avoiding situations where I felt out of control. At the time, that didn’t feel like fear. It felt like common sense.
When Makenzie entered my life, none of this felt particularly important anymore. It wasn’t resolved, but it also wasn’t at the front of my mind.
Our move from Munich (Germany) to Seattle (USA) happened in March 2020. We touched down in Seattle just 2 hours before the US borders closed down, carrying just 2 suitcases and the sense of having reached something we had worked toward for a long time.
But what followed that move was much quieter than expected. The city slowed almost immediately: offices closed, streets emptied, and days blurred into one another. We spent a lot of time indoors, getting to know our new home town from a distance, through windows and short walks.
Somewhere in that stillness, something else became noticeable: Seattle lives with dogs differently.
Dogs were everywhere, but it never felt chaotic to me, as the dog parks were well maintained, leash rules were clear and reliable. Trainers and walkers were part of everyday life and dogs seemed integrated into the city rather than managed around it. For all of those reasons, my fear didn’t disappear, but it also wasn’t constantly present anymore. At the time, I took that as a sign that things had changed.
For me, the idea of getting a dog didn’t come from a strong desire. It came from reasoning things through: everything looked manageable. There were systems, rules, people who seemed to know what they were doing. Puppies learned and respected boundaries, and dogs were welcome almost everywhere. It felt like something you could prepare for. What I didn’t recognise then was how much of that sense of safety came from the environment rather than from anything I had actually learned myself.
Trying to adopt didn’t go as planned. Several shelters told us we didn’t have enough experience and no reliable set up including vet, trainers, daycare etc. And how could we have had, as first time dog owners? At the time, that felt quite frustrating, but nothing we could change without being given a chance.
We lived in South Lake Union, where Shiba Inu puppies were everywhere around us. Tobias quickly fell in love with the breed for their cuteness and curiosity. I remained more cautious, or at least I thought I did. We decided to work with an online agency who after vetting us matched us with a Shiba Inu girl of 10 weeks. There was more reading, more planning, more lists that I thought would give me a stable basis to work with, more ideas about what a puppy would need to learn, and how structure would help all of us adjust.
The assumption was simple: if we prepared well enough, things would work out. That assumption didn’t last very long.
Makenzie moved into the apartment with a kind of ease I hadn’t expected. The space seemed to make sense to her immediately. She explored everything, comfortable taking up space in a way I wasn’t used to. From my perspective at the time, everything essential was in place: a bed, toys, food, water, a well thought-out routine. Simply a great overall plan.
What I didn’t yet understand was that these were logistics, not the relationship. What Makenzie actually needed was presence when things became uncomfortable, consistency without control and a willingness to stay even when I wasn’t sure what to do. That wasn’t something I knew how to offer yet. I also didn’t yet understand how central that would become.
It wasn’t obvious then. It rarely is.