The first time my 12-year-old daughter Lucy asked for a dog of her own, in January 2019, I said no.
That wasn’t because I didn’t want one. Quite the opposite. But I was barely keeping my head above water. Financially and emotionally, I was spent.
The previous year, I had lost my beloved Rough Collie, Fenrir, to a degenerative disease. I had broken my ankle, been burgled, suffered a string of health issues, and then, finally, heard the words from my husband that unravelled the life I thought we had built together: ‘I want a divorce.’
When my daughter asked for a dog, I was just beginning the slow, disorienting walk through that divorce after a 27-year relationship. My heart was broken. I felt grief-stricken and utterly hollowed out.
It was too much change, too soon. I simply did not know how I would cope with a new pet.
And yet, through it all, my daughter quietly, patiently, kept asking for a dog. Not just any dog; her favourite breed, a Border Collie.
I wanted to say yes; but I had once had a Border Collie, and I knew how much work they could be. They are intelligent, intense and demanding. When I thought about the admin, the housework, my own work, I wondered: Could I cope with one more thing?
My daughter never pleaded or made a fuss. Instead, she left small signals. Printed pictures of blue merle Border Collies appeared on my desk like gentle landmines of longing.
After three or four months, I looked at Lucy and saw the changes she was navigating, too – her parents were no longer together.
Her brother was deep into GCSEs and building his own life and I needed her to do more to help at home – plus we were spending much more time with each other.
I realised her need was not simply about wanting a pet. It was about trying to find a place for her love to land. Something solid in a world that was coming apart. I also knew my son would be leaving for university in a couple of years, and then it would just be her and me navigating this new life.
I started to think that, maybe, a Border Collie was not such an impossible idea after all.
My own youth was tumultuous – I had sailed round the world twice as a child, I’d risen from poverty to become a home owner and through it all, I had animals with me. I realised how much I needed them, and wanted to give that to my daughter.
So I quietly started looking.
One day, I took my daughter for a walk with our family dog Hiro and said, ‘I think I’ve found a Border Collie puppy. Shall we ring the breeder?’
Her face was like sunlight coming out from behind a cloud.
We rang, only to find that the dog was no longer available. I said, ‘Never mind, lovely. Shall we go and have a look anyway?’
So my daughter, my son and I went down to Dorking and sat in a yard with a pile of puppies climbing all over us.
At the end of the hour, the breeder turned to me and said, ‘You can have the pup you wanted. In fact, I would be happy for you to have any of them. I have watched your children with them and I know you will give one of these puppies a brilliant home.’
That was the beginning of our life with our new Border Collie, Skye.
I knew we would have to work hard – and that my daughter would have to do the lifting work.
At just 12, she had to learn that training a dog is not the same as being loved by one. She had to learn boundaries, learn to use her voice assertively and clearly, without whining or pleading and to juggle visits between her father and me.
All while looking after Skye: Picking up her poo, making sure she was fed and cared for. She had to learn responsibility not as an abstract concept, but as a daily rhythm.
Skye helped her learn that love is not just affection. It is duty, consistency, and presence. She discovered the strength in showing up even when it is hard, and the quiet satisfaction of doing something well.
In that process, she began to see me not only as her mother, but as her guide, her anchor, and her companion in learning.
Find out more
Eve Stanway is a divorce and break-up coach and psychotherapist of 20 years. Her new book, Conversations at the Shoreline, focusing on the art of having difficult conversations, is available here.
And so Skye changed all of our lives. Walks became our rhythm and connection. Skye brought meaning to our mornings and calm to our evenings.
When I felt overwhelmed, I would sit beside Skye on our back doorstep and let her steady breathing bring me back to myself. There was something deeply reassuring about her presence: How she didn’t ask questions or demand explanations. She needed care and gave comfort in equal measure.
Skye did not fix what was broken or bring back what was lost – she brought a steady constancy that anchored us. She helped turn our fractured house into a home again.
Skye was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.
If you are going through a divorce and your child keeps asking for a dog, I would say: only do it if you can just about manage it. Dogs are not disposable and the work is long, complex, and costly.
A child may long for a dog, but it is always the parent who holds the responsibility. It is a big commitment that cannot be handed over, no matter how enthusiastic the child may be.
But if you can find a small space in the mess for something else to grow, you may find that what grows is strength, resilience, and a new kind of connection.
And supporting a child as they learn to care for another living being can be one of the most profound ways to rebuild their confidence in the aftermath of their parents’ divorce.
Sometimes the best therapy has four legs, a wagging tail, and a way of looking at your child as if they are the most important person in the world.
Because to that dog, they are.
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk.
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