Let me start with this: I thought I was ready. I grew up with dogs. I’ve read the books. I follow all the right Instagram trainers. I thought adopting a foxhound would just be… more dog, right?
What I got instead was 100 days of emotional whiplash, self-discovery, and a total redefinition of what it means to live with a dog — not just own one.
If you’re even thinking about bringing a foxhound into your life, read this first. Because there are things no one told me, things that changed me, and things I honestly wish I had known before that first car ride home.
Day 1–10: The Honeymoon Lie
It started like a rom-com montage.
He was beautiful. Ears like velvet, eyes full of mischief and soul. He followed me around the house, curled up at my feet, and even gave me those “I already love you” looks. I was convinced this was going to be perfect.
Then Day 11 hit.
Day 11–30: The Great Escape(s)
Turns out, foxhounds are escape artists with a PhD in unlocking gates, digging under fences, and finding holes in logic.
I once caught him scaling a chain-link fence like a freaking jungle cat. Another time, he vanished into the woods chasing a scent and came back four hours later covered in mud, burrs, and joy.
That’s when I realized: This wasn’t disobedience. This was instinct on autopilot.
I wasn’t dealing with a naughty dog. I was living with a creature bred for centuries to track, chase, and roam without human permission.
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Day 31–60: The Scent Wars
You’ve never seen obsession until you’ve seen a foxhound catch a scent.
I watched him pace the same spot in the yard for 45 minutes straight, nose twitching, completely deaf to my voice. I tried treats, toys, even loud clapping. Nothing.
I eventually had to learn how to work with the nose, not against it. Walks became sniff sessions. Training became games of “find it.” My ego — and need for control — had to take a backseat.
And honestly, that was the first gift he gave me.
Day 61–90: The Breakdown
This was the hardest part.
Not because of the dog — but because of me.
I started questioning if I was the right person for him. I felt like I was failing him. My patience wore thin. My confidence cracked. I cried more than once. Loudly.
And then, something shifted.
He came and put his head on my chest. Not asking for anything. Just being there. Quiet. Present. And in that moment, I realized what I’d been missing.
Foxhounds don’t perform love. They exist in it.
They don’t give you loyalty to earn food. They give it because you’re pack.
That broke something open in me — a need to stop controlling and start connecting.
Day 91–100: The Breakthrough
By the end of 100 days, I’d stopped trying to “fix” him.
And he’d started trusting me more deeply than I’ve ever experienced with any other dog.
Not because I became some perfect trainer. But because I finally let him be a foxhound.
We created a rhythm: early morning runs, scent work in the backyard, naps in the sun. I learned to read his body language. He learned to trust my tone.
I gave him freedom, and he gave me presence.
What I Wish I Knew Before
If I could go back and whisper something to myself on Day 1, it would be this:
You’re not adopting a pet. You’re inviting a wild soul into your life. Respect that. Prepare for it. And let it change you.
The Forever Part
So, what changed forever?
Me.
I stopped needing everything to fit in a box. I became more patient, more in tune, and more emotionally available — not just with my dog, but with myself.
Foxhounds don’t just challenge your routines. They challenge your expectations of what love, loyalty, and freedom look like.
And once you experience that… it’s hard to go back to anything else.
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