I came Home Today to Find Out That My Wife Had Given Away All my Three Dogs. What should I do?
I came home today, expecting to be greeted by the excited barks and wagging tails of my three dogs—Buddy, Rocky, and Sadie. Instead, I was met with silence. At first, I thought maybe they were sleeping, but as I searched the house, a sinking feeling settled in my gut. They were gone.
My wife stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, an unreadable expression on her face.
“Where are the dogs?” I asked, my voice already laced with fear.
She exhaled sharply, not meeting my eyes. “I gave them away.”
My heart stopped. “You what?”
“I couldn’t take it anymore! The shedding, the barking—it’s been driving me insane! I found them a good home. They’re fine.”
Rage and devastation surged through me in equal measure. “You gave away my dogs without even asking me? Those dogs have been with me for years, longer than we’ve been married! How could you do this?”
Her expression remained firm, but I saw a flicker of guilt in her eyes. “I did what was best for both of us.”
“No, you did what was best for you.” I turned away, chest heaving. “Where are they?”
“I’m not telling you. It’s done.”
That was the final straw. I grabbed my car keys and walked out the door, ignoring her calling my name.
I drove aimlessly at first, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios. Had she really found them a good home? Were they safe? I couldn’t just sit back and accept this. I had to find them.
After calling every shelter and rescue organization in town, I finally got a lead—a local adoption agency had received three dogs matching my description earlier that day. Without a second thought, I sped to the address.
When I arrived, my heart leapt as I saw Buddy, Rocky, and Sadie in a kennel together, their tails wagging as soon as they saw me. I didn’t bother holding back my emotions as I knelt down, hugging them tightly.
The shelter worker approached me. “Are you their owner?”
“Yes! My wife—she gave them away without my permission. Please, tell me I can take them home.”
She nodded sympathetically. “She didn’t sign a formal surrender, so legally, they’re still yours. You just need to show proof of ownership.”
Tears of relief stung my eyes. “Thank you.”
An hour later, I was driving back home with my three best friends, feeling a mix of joy and apprehension. I knew this moment had changed everything.
When I walked through the door, my wife’s eyes widened in shock. “You got them back?”
“Of course, I did,” I said firmly. “And if you can’t accept that they’re part of my life, then maybe we need to reconsider ours.”
For the first time, she looked genuinely regretful. “I… I didn’t think you’d go this far.”
“That’s the problem. You didn’t think about me at all.”
Silence stretched between us before she finally whispered, “I’m sorry.”
I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Sorry isn’t enough. We need to talk—about trust, about respect, about whether we can even move forward after this.”
The road ahead wasn’t clear, but one thing was—I had my dogs back, and no matter what happened, I’d never let anyone take them from me again.
That night, I stayed in the guest room. My wife tried to talk to me several times, but I wasn’t ready. I lay awake, my dogs curled up beside me, their familiar warmth and steady breathing grounding me in the moment.
The next morning, I took the dogs for a long walk, needing time to think. Could I ever trust her again? What did this say about our marriage? She had gone behind my back, disregarded my feelings, and tried to erase something so precious to me.
When I returned, she was waiting at the door, eyes red from crying. “I know you might not forgive me, but please, just hear me out.”
I crossed my arms, nodding for her to continue.
“I was wrong,” she admitted. “I was overwhelmed and selfish, and I see that now. I thought if I got rid of them, things would be easier, but I only made everything worse. I love you, and I want to fix this—if you’ll let me.”
“Do you even understand what you did to me?” My voice cracked with emotion. “You took away my family. That’s not something I can just get over.”
“I know,” she whispered. “But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make it right. I’ll go to therapy, I’ll work on myself—please, just give me a chance.”
I looked down at Buddy, Rocky, and Sadie. They had been with me through everything. They had never betrayed me, never abandoned me.
Could my wife say the same?
“I need time,” I finally said. “I don’t know if I can move past this, but if we do try, things have to change.”
She nodded, tears streaming down her face. “I understand.”
Weeks passed. We started therapy, both individually and as a couple. She worked hard to prove she could be different—more understanding, more respectful of my boundaries. I wasn’t sure if we’d make it, but for the first time in a long while, I felt hope.
No matter what happened between us, though, one thing was certain—I would never let anyone come between me and my dogs again.