No one told me I’d cry over a dog that sleeps 20 hours a day.
When I adopted my greyhound, I expected smooth sailing. They’re marketed as the “easy dog.” No barking. No chewing. No drama. Just a nap-loving, sofa-adoring speedster.
But here’s the truth:
I felt like I was failing.
Quietly. Secretly. Constantly.
And if you're feeling that too? You're not alone. You're not broken. You’re just raising a greyhound—one of the most misunderstood breeds in the dog world.
😐 “The Easy Dog” Isn’t Emotionally Easy
Let’s get this straight:
Yes, greyhounds don’t chew your shoes.
No, they won’t tear up your house.
But they will ignore you for hours.
They’ll stare into space like something’s haunting them.
They’ll flinch when you reach out too fast.
They’ll shut down completely if they’re overwhelmed.
At first, I thought I adopted a dog that didn’t like me.
He wouldn’t wag, wouldn’t play, wouldn’t cuddle on command.
And I spiraled into the most millennial pet-parent question possible:
“Is it me? Am I not doing enough?”
💔 The Loneliness of Loving a Quiet Dog
Here’s something I’ve never said out loud:
I envied the golden retriever people.
The loud, slobbery, over-the-top kind of dogs that leap into their owners’ arms at the park.
Meanwhile, I was standing beside my greyhound—beautiful, calm, still—feeling completely… invisible.
No one talks about how quiet can feel like rejection.
Or how “low maintenance” can feel like emotional distance.
😬 Greyhounds Come With Emotional Baggage
Most greyhounds weren’t bred to be pets.
They were tools. Workers. Racers. Cogs in a system. Some never saw toys or stairs or kind hands until they were 3 or 4 years old.
That’s not something you undo with treats and belly rubs.
They carry this strange mix of stoicism and confusion into home life.
Sometimes they tremble in doorways. Sometimes they freeze on hardwood floors. Sometimes they shut down completely in new environments.
And you wonder:
“Am I traumatizing him just by trying to give him a normal life?”
🤯 It’s Not You. It’s the Greyhound Way.
Greyhounds aren’t emotionally broken.
They’re emotionally subtle.
They bond silently.
They love you through presence, not performance.
You have to recalibrate your expectations.
A wag from a greyhound is earned. A cuddle? Even rarer. But when it happens—it means everything.
Once I stopped expecting my greyhound to act like other dogs, I finally saw him:
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Following me from room to room like a shadow.
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Nudging me once, gently, when I was sad.
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Sleeping pressed against my leg in that way that says, I trust you now.
💡 What Helped Me Feel Less Like a Failure
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Stopped comparing.
Especially to dogs with big personalities and Instagram-ready expressions. Your greyhound's silence is not a flaw. -
Created gentle routine.
Greyhounds love predictability. Walks at the same time. Quiet spaces. Limited chaos. -
Let go of needing validation.
You don’t need a dog that throws a party every time you walk into the room. You need a dog that feels safe just being near you. -
Talked to other greyhound adopters.
And wow—what a relief to know we were all secretly wondering if our dogs hated us the first month.
✨ Final Thought: The Progress Is Quiet, But It’s Real
If you’re feeling like a failure, it’s probably because you care deeply.
You’re learning to speak a whole new emotional language.
Raising a greyhound isn't about loud wins.
It’s about small shifts.
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The first time he runs back to you at the park.
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The first time he chooses to lay beside you.
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The first time he falls asleep, completely relaxed, in your home.
That’s love.
That’s success.
That’s everything.
Even if it doesn’t look like much to anyone else.
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