The day we picked up our golden retriever, I knew we were in trouble.
She stepped out of the car, and I looked at the breeder and said, “Are you sure she’s 10 weeks old?” Because what just climbed into my arms looked less like a puppy and more like Clifford the Big Red Dog. She was enormous. Oversized paws, solid body, heavy as a horse. The kind of presence that makes you feel like you skipped a few steps and landed in something much bigger than you planned.
That should have been my first clue.
Everyone tells you golden retrievers are the best dogs. Loyal, gentle, family-friendly. What they do not emphasize enough is that they are also the worst puppies.
This dog came into our home like a tiny, fluffy wrecking ball.
She has teeth like a great white shark. Not sharp in a cute way. Sharp in a how-is-this-even-possible kind of way. Her claws can shred. I do not have a single shirt left without a hole in it. Not one.
She drags entire rolls of toilet paper through the house like it is her full-time job. And when she pees, she does not gently squat like a polite puppy. She pees like a Clydesdale. It is shocking. There is no quicker-picker-upper capable of the job.
Every single crazy thing you have watched in a video or read about golden retriever puppies is probably true.
And yet, she is also incredible. And she was wanted. My daughter made a list of her reasons for why we should have a puppy. It was simple and honest.
She is cute. She will get me off screens. It is good exercise. And something about companionship. About having something to love and take care of.
She kept coming back to that list. And during the week of her birthday, my husband finally gave in.
He said yes.
We will get a puppy in 2026.
A reasonable plan. A future decision.
Except by the next day, we were already in the car, driving two hours to pick her up.
And just like that, Millie Doggy Brown was ours.
And then … reality.
Twelve o’clock. Two o’clock. Four o’clock. Six o’clock.
Up. Outside. Back in. Repeat.
Night after night.
At some point, after one too many exhausting mornings, my daughter looked at me and said, “I just want my old life back.” And honestly, I got it. Because this part is hard.
Because in the middle of all of this chaos, the biting, the constant supervision, the feeling that your life is no longer your own, it is easy to forget why you wanted this in the first place.
But the truth is, this was not just her dream. It was mine.
When I was younger, I had a mutt named Sandy, and I used to tell people she was a golden retriever. I even wrote a report on golden retrievers once because I thought they were the most beautiful dogs I had ever seen.
So, when things got really tough, my daughter looked at me and said, “She’s your dream, Mom. You wanted her. You do it.”
And she was right; I had fought for this, too. So now, every time there is resistance from her, I remind her of the original deal, and we pull out the list she wrote before we said yes.
These were your reasons. This is your why. And it hit me. This is not just about the dog. This is about how we approach everything in life.
Because what we do in our businesses looks a lot like bringing home that oversized puppy.
At the beginning, it was exciting. You see what it could become. You imagine the end result. The loyal dog. The thriving company. The life you are building.
What you do not fully account for is the mess.
The chewing. The tearing. The sleepless nights. The moments where you look around and think, what did I just sign up for?
There are seasons in business that feel exactly like this. Where everything is harder than expected. Where your time is not your own. Where it feels like you are constantly cleaning up something that just unraveled.
And this is the moment that matters most.
Because this is where most people either push through or pull back.
This is where your why becomes more than a nice idea. It becomes a tool.
Anything worth having takes work.
We say that to our kids, but we do not always apply it to ourselves. We want a good dog without the puppy phase. We want a thriving business without the growing pains.
It does not work like that. The mess is part of it. The discipline is part of it. Though it challenges you in every way, you know you earned it.
So, I started thinking about what it would look like if more business owners actually wrote down their reasons. Not the polished mission statement. The real ones.
Freedom.
Providing for your family.
Building something you are proud of.
Loving the work.
And when things get hard, because they will, you go back to that list.
This is why I am here. This is why this matters. This is why I keep going.
And one day, that messy, demanding business becomes something steady. Something meaningful. Something you built because you stayed, and you kept the puppy.
But you do not get one without the other.
So, if you are in a season where everything feels like it is getting chewed up, where your shirt has a few holes in it, and you are cleaning up messes you did not plan for, you are probably closer than you think.
Go back to your list.
Because one day, that chaotic puppy becomes the dog you cannot imagine life without.
