Help! I Got a Puppy

A HUGE THUNDERSTORM rolled through as I was doing what felt like my 100th ‘final’ read-through of this book.

Flash. Boom.
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Lightning lit up the sky, followed by a wall-shaking thunderclap that rumbled for what felt like ten seconds. My pup, Ranger, lifted his head and looked at me in a way that asked, “Are we worried about this?”
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Ranger used to head straight under the bed at the first sign of a storm. But not anymore. Now he looks to me. I said, “It’s okay, buddy… it’s alright.” He let out a little groan, put his head back down, and went right back to sleep on the couch—unbothered.
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That’s trust—a bond we’ve built over four years through communication, consistency, and learning to understand each other.
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And that’s really what this book is about. Not raising a perfect dog—or being a perfect owner—but developing a relationship that makes life better for both of you.
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But trust and connection don’t come from winging it. They come from showing up, having a plan, and knowing how to course-correct when things don’t go the way you hoped.
When I first started out as a dog owner, I had none of that.

My earliest memories of dog ownership go back to Kiki, a beautiful Siberian Husky my parents had when I was just a toddler. I adored her in the way only a toddler can—by pulling her ears and tugging her tail without understanding the impact. One day, when I was yanking her ears and tail under the kitchen table, she bit me. Not out of malice, but self-defense. She was rehomed shortly after. It was heartbreaking for my parents, but in hindsight, it was also the right call. She wasn’t the right dog for a house with small children.
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Then came Rebel, a mutt my sister brought home when I was older. Rebel was smart, sweet, and desperate for affection. She’d nudge your elbow until you gave in to the pets she craved. But we didn’t know what we were doing. Back then, house training meant rubbing a dog’s nose in their accident. We thought scolding was how you corrected chewing shoes and furniture. And in our suburban neighborhood, dogs just roamed the woods all day. We loved Rebel deeply, but she deserved better guidance than we were equipped to give her.
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Fast forward to 2003. I had started my first pet care company in NYC and began jogging with a black and tan coonhound named Jake. Jake was a client’s dog, but we fell hard for each other. We both looked forward to that 45 minutes we would share each weekday together. His loyalty, his spirit—I knew I wanted a dog of my own again. Not long after, I was pet sitting for a client’s 7-month-old Rhodesian Ridgeback named Ruby. She was total chaos. Chewed everything. Slept on top of me. And somehow, I fell in love. That night led me right to Ruby’s breeder, and shortly after, I welcomed my own Rhodesian pup into my home. His name was Toronto.
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Toronto was my first puppy as an adult. He was a purebred Ridgeback, stoic, sensitive, and sometimes too smart for his own good. On his first night, I let him sleep in the bed. And he kept sleeping in the bed from that night on for the rest of his life. Still, he was crate trained, and his crate became his safe space—he’d often retreat there on his own. But at night, he wanted to be close to us. We trained Toronto consistently and even took nosework classes. But I made plenty of mistakes, too. I waited too long to socialize him outside because, at the time, the guidance was to keep city puppies indoors until all vaccinations were complete. He became cautious and hesitant—a product of missed opportunities.
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Then there’s Ranger. Our most recent dog. We rescued him around four months old, fully vaccinated, and took him everywhere from day one. Beaches, parks, busy streets, new environments. We made it fun, and he grew up confident and well-adjusted. He doesn’t love the crate like Toronto did—we made some early mistakes using it as a time-out—but he tolerates it. Ranger isn’t perfect, but he’s incredibly tuned in. And he’s the reason that thunderstorm story ended in peace, not panic.
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Over the years, I’ve seen dogs in every phase of life—through my own experiences and through thousands of clients we’ve helped. And what I’ve realized is this:
Most puppy problems aren’t “bad behavior.”
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They’re unmet needs, unclear communication, or unrealistic expectations.
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This book won’t give you every answer. Some topics will require deeper research or working with a trainer or vet. But what it will do is demystify the world of puppyhood. It will prepare you for what’s coming. Help you make smarter decisions. Give you confidence. And help you course-correct without spiraling.
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It’s the book I wish my parents had for Rebel.
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It’s the book I could’ve used when I brought home Toronto.

It’s the culmination of years of experience and hard-won lessons that Ranger benefited from.
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So if you’re getting a puppy (or already have one), this is your roadmap. It covers everything from choosing the right pup to building routines, navigating health decisions, socialization, training, gear, emergencies, and more. You can read it front to back or skip around as questions come up.

And no, you don’t need to follow every tip perfectly.

Ignore training for a week—or a month? Don’t beat yourself up. Just start again.

The effort is cumulative. And the more consistent you are, the better your bond will become.

This book isn’t about achieving perfection.  

It’s about creating a foundation.
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Would you build a house without a blueprint? Probably not.
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Yet when it comes to raising a puppy, a lot of people just wing it—and end up confused, frustrated, and overwhelmed.
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That’s where this book comes in.
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This is a field guide—the Google Maps of Puppy Parenthood—designed to help you navigate the chaos without wrecking your house, your schedule, or your sanity.
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Need to puppy-proof your home?
      I’ve got you.

Trying to stop your dog from turning your hand into a chew toy?
      Covered.
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Curious about gear, vets, emergencies, or enrichment ideas?
      It’s all in here.
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You don’t have to be an expert. You just have to be willing—to show up, to try, and to keep trying.

So, if you’re ready, let’s get started.