It’s 7 a.m. and my house is already awake. The coffee hasn’t even kicked in, but I’ve got a baby strapped to my chest, two 90-plus-pound dogs wagging at the door, and a six-mile walk ahead of us. Most people think I’m insane. I call it survival.
These morning walks are our rhythm, our sanity in motion. My two girls, both now two years old, have settled into this routine like champs. They know when the leash comes out, it’s their time. They get to smell every blade of grass, say hello to their favorite mail carrier, and sometimes, if the timing’s right, chase a few leaves dancing in the wind.
And me? I get fresh air, a quiet baby, and two happy, tired dogs by the end of it. Everyone wins.
Now, these aren’t lap dogs. They’re 90 and 95 pounds of muscle and emotion, loyal, sensitive, protective, and occasionally stubborn. So yes, they wear a gentle leader and an e-collar. And before anyone jumps to conclusions, let me just say: I’m informed. I didn’t just buy an e-collar off Amazon and start zapping my dogs. I went through professional training. I learned how and when to use it responsibly.
To me, an e-collar is like a seatbelt, something you hope you never have to rely on, but you’re glad it’s there when you need it.
On our walks, the collars aren’t punishment tools; they’re communication lines. I talk to my girls constantly, and sometimes they listen better than humans do.
“Over here.”
“Wait.”
“Focus.”
“Good girls.”
Charlie, my more stubborn girl, will sometimes need a gentle vibration to snap her out of a distraction. That’s it. I rarely ever use the shock feature, but knowing it’s there gives me a sense of safety. Especially when I’m pushing a stroller or wearing my daughter. Because let’s be honest, if 180 pounds of dog decided to bolt and I’ve got a baby strapped to me, I’d be in trouble.
But last week, my so-called “reliable” $300 e-collars just stopped working. Out of nowhere.
After a year of flawless use, they wouldn’t connect. No signal. No charge. Nothing. I was frustrated, not just because of the cost, but because this isn’t some vanity accessory. It’s a tool that keeps my dogs safe.
So I called Chewy.
Normally, I adore Chewy. Their customer service is usually chef’s kiss. But this time, something felt off from the start. I explained everything, how the collars just died, how they were barely over a year old, and how I wasn’t looking for a refund because I “changed my mind.” I simply wanted to know if I should start budgeting for new e-collars every two years. Because honestly, that’s absurd.
The woman on the other end was polite, even kind at first. She offered me $150 in credit toward a new device, which I appreciated. But then she said it, the sentence that shifted the whole tone of the conversation.
“Well,” she said, “I would never use one of those.”
I paused.
There it was, the judgment. The unsolicited superiority. The mom-shaming, but this time for my dogs.
Her tone dripped with disapproval, and suddenly, the helpful customer service call turned into something else entirely. She told me that next time, Chewy would be “so kind” to offer a credit again, a phrasing that made it sound like this goodwill gesture was a personal favor, not a matter of fairness.
I told her that I’d always trusted Chewy. That I believed they vetted their products. Because if a company is willing to sell something on their platform, it implies a level of confidence, or at least accountability.
Her response stunned me. She said, “Chewy doesn’t vet products.”
I blinked. “So, you’ll sell $300 e-collars that stop working after a year, and that’s just… that?”
I told her that if Chewy doesn’t vet what it sells, then it should at least make exceptions when high-ticket products fail prematurely. Especially when they’re tools meant for safety, not vanity.
But her tone stayed the same, polite, firm, but tinged with quiet judgment.
I took a deep breath before responding, “Well, I hope your dog is truly perfect. Or that you’ve never had, or never have, an unfortunate experience with one.”
Because I have.
A few years ago, I was attacked by a dog. That same dog went after Charlie when she was just four months old. The trauma from that incident led to my last miscarriage. So no, I don’t take chances when it comes to safety, for me, for my baby, or for my dogs.
Those e-collars are not a form of cruelty. They’re protection. They’re a signal. A way for me to quietly communicate from a distance when I can’t physically control two massive dogs while pushing a stroller. They give me peace of mind.
And I’m tired of being made to feel like a bad dog mom for using tools responsibly.
I walked away from that call disappointed, not because of the faulty collars, not even because of the inconvenience, but because of how judged I felt. Like my love and commitment to my dogs had been reduced to a single misunderstood tool.
The truth is, my dogs are loved beyond measure. They’re brushed, fed, walked, trained, talked to, and treated like family, because they are family. When my daughter naps during our walks, I glance down at her peaceful little face and then at my two big girls trotting proudly beside me. It’s chaos and beauty intertwined.
So, to the Chewy rep who mom-shamed me, and to anyone else quick to judge, remember this: you don’t know someone’s story. You don’t know their “why.” You just see the surface.
And the surface? That’s easy to misread.
Because if you looked closer, you’d see that what looks like control is actually love. What looks like firmness is safety. And what looks like training is really trust, the kind that’s been earned, mile after mile, word after word, walk after walk.
And in this house, that’s what family looks like.
—
UPDATED BIO:
Hi, I’m Fiona — a writer in the midst of an unexpected chapter.
In April 2024, I lost my job. Since then, my husband and I have been getting by on his modest income as a medical resident. After stepping away from IVF, we were shocked — and overjoyed — to find out we were pregnant naturally. While it was the happiest surprise, it also brought new financial stress as we prepared for our growing family.
Then, our baby arrived early — on April 29th, 2025, instead of the expected due date in late May. With no paid maternity leave and no room in our budget for childcare, I’ve returned to part-time jobs and writing just a week after giving birth to help cover essentials like groceries, bills, and a few things for our 🌈 miracle baby.
If you’d like to support my writing — and by extension, our little family — your kindness would mean the world. Every bit helps: $1, $2, whatever you can give.
🍼 Baby Registry — Or if you’d prefer to help more directly, we’re also gratefully accepting support through our baby registry — every burp cloth, diaper and/or bottle goes a long way.
— –
Read also: Two Days After Bringing Our Baby Home, I Asked for a Divorce
Read also: Our Marriage Ended Before It Began: The Pregnancy That Shattered Everything
Read also: I’m Pregnant And Broke — My Cry For Help
—
This post was previously published on medium.com.
Love relationships? We promise to have a good one with your inbox.
Subcribe to get 3x weekly dating and relationship advice.
Did you know? We have 8 publications on Medium. Join us there!
***
–
Photo credit: Delphine Beausoleil On Unsplash
