Now I Know My Dog Has a Lot of Bad Habits

When I brought my golden retriever, Milo, home, I was prepared for some chaos. I read every dog ​​training book I could get my hands on, watched countless videos, and stocked up on toys, treats, and everything else a responsible pet owner should have. I envisioned a sweet, gentle dog who would sit politely, listen to commands, and shower me with affection.

But the reality was far from that pretty picture.

It started on day one. Within minutes of moving in, Milo had chewed up one of my shoelaces, knocked over his water bowl, and left a small hole in the carpet. I reminded myself that he was still a puppy, and patiently cleaned up after him. After all, every dog ​​has accidents.

But as the days turned into weeks, I realized that Milo had come up with a whole list of bad habits. He bit everything — shoes, carpet, even the corners of my coffee table. Nothing seemed safe from his sharp dog teeth. When I tried to redirect him from chew toys, he would give me a mischievous look and nibble on my slippers as if they were the most delicious things in the world.

And then there was the jumping. Milo loved to jump — on me, on guests, on random strangers in the park. No amount of “sit” or “down” seemed to work. Every visitor was greeted with a wave of his paws and a nose dangerously close to their faces. It was embarrassing, to say the least.

Another quirk? Milo had an unfortunate habit of stealing. If you put a sandwich down or leave the garbage can open for even a moment, he would pounce on it like a cute little criminal, snatch it up, and run away at lightning speed. Many times, I had to chase him around the room, trying to get half-eaten tissues or stolen socks out of his stubborn little mouth.

The worst, though, was his barking. Milo would bark at everything — birds outside, passing cars, people walking by, the mail carrier, even the wind on some days. Nighttime was the hardest. Any odd irritation in the house would set him off, and I found myself waking up all the time, comforting him, telling him everything was okay.

I’ll be honest: He tested me. There were moments when I felt like I had made a huge mistake adopting him. I questioned whether I was capable of handling him, or if I was somehow failing him. My friends and family tried to help me by giving me advice, but it was still exhausting.

One night, after another round of barking and shooing Milo away from the litter box, I sat down on the floor with him and just started crying. I was overwhelmed, frustrated, and so very tired. As I cried, Milo came over and quietly laid his head in my lap, looking up with those wide, honest brown eyes. In that moment, everything softened.

He didn’t know any better. He wasn’t being mean—he was a puppy. Dogs explore their world through their mouths, their paws, their boundless energy. He wasn’t trying to make my life difficult. He was trying to learn how to live in it.

That realization changed everything for me.

From then on, I approached Milo differently. I enrolled him in dog training classes, where he learned to control his emotions and I learned how to communicate better with him. It wasn’t an overnight miracle — he still stole socks sometimes, and barked a lot when the mail came. But little by little, he got better. He learned to go outside, sit and wait for treats, and even calm himself down around guests.

I also started to see the good in his “bad” habits. His chewing? It was a sign of how curious and eager he was to learn about the world. His barking? It meant he was protective, watching out for me in his own way. Stealing his food? Okay, it was a little hard to excuse him, but it reminded me that he was still just a silly puppy who loved to play.

Milo taught me a bigger lesson than I ever expected: Love means accepting imperfection. It’s easy to love a perfect dog who never makes mistakes. But it’s far more powerful to love a dog who makes a mess, who tests your patience, who pushes your buttons — and to love him anyway.

Today, Milo is almost a year old. He’s calm, happy, and well-behaved — though he still has some of those “bad” habits. Sometimes I catch him sneaking a paper towel or running his hand over the mail, and I laugh. I think back to those early days when I felt so hopeless, and I’m grateful I got over it.

Because underneath all those flaws is the best dog I could ever ask for — loyal, loving, and endlessly happy. Milo has a soul that can brighten even my darkest day, and I wouldn’t trade him for anything.

So yes, my dog ​​has a lot of bad habits. But I now know that each of those habits is just a part of him — the silly, stubborn, wonderful creature who stole my heart the day I brought him home. And in the end, those so-called “bad” habits helped build a bond between us that could never be broken.