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Guest Essay

By Rachel Feintzeig

Ms. Feintzeig is a writer based in Connecticut.

Being a parent these days is kind of a lot. I recently signed my youngest up for twice-weekly swim lessons, which apparently also meant signing up for a barrage of video text messages chronicling her excruciatingly slow — though still exciting! — journey from floaties to doggy paddling. I coordinate play dates, prepare multiple dinners for my picky eater. I carpool to the good day care two towns over.

My kids? Oh, my kids are in elementary school. This is all for my dog.

Dog parenting has gotten out of control. Is what I said to myself eight months ago. That’s when I started receiving unsolicited advice about our new puppy, Sally. We had to try the human-grade, shipped-to-your-door dog food, several friends said, with such fervor that I started to wonder whether it was a multilevel marketing scheme. Next came the inevitable queries about our academic plans. Were we sending her to canine boarding school for a stretch? Did we know about the van (dog school bus) that ferried suburban pets to a nature preserve an hour north on weekdays?

For someone like me, who considers judging others to be a top hobby, these conversations provided superb fodder. Who would pay for this stuff? I scoffed to my husband, less question than statement. Our prior dog, a beloved golden doodle who had lived until 13, had spent her early years chilling in our New York City apartment while we went to work each day. There, she was happy, because she was a dog, not a preschooler gunning for admission to Dalton. We took her for a walk each evening, we snuggled on the couch. I never got the sense she wanted more out of life.

Parenthood makes hypocrites of us all. I look back at the version of myself that was morally........

© The New York Times