'My dog is a bit of a d**khead.'

I recently read a Substack from a loving dog owner who politely said their dog 'lowkey kinda sucks'. 

And she had me at hello. 

However, as I read about her dog — who honestly takes the cake for shittiest dog, other than the ones that, like, actually maul you — I felt bad. 

Because I related to her sentiment even though my own dogs, well, they're not even nearly as awful as hers.

So I decided to write this for everyone whose dog is a bit of a d**khead — most of the time, anyway (except maybe when they're curled up in bed with their popcorn-smelling feet).

We were blinded by a nice dog.

This story begins with a good dog. My family were the happy recipients of a sweeter-than-pie, angel cake of a dog: a caramel Spoodle who was my childhood pet. 

She would greet you at the door happily (but not jump on you), enjoyed tucking up close to you but without ever really hogging the space, and minded her own business at the park. 

We actually used to call her a 'derson' because she was basically a human in a dog's body. 

The only thing she ever killed was a rat, which jumped out of the barbecue and straight into her mouth (yes, really), and she was so gobsmacked she accidentally bit down. I'm convinced she mourned her mistake forevermore. 

Yes, she ate our thongs as a puppy and, yes, she was a bit of a fussy eater, but overall, she was a perfect dog. I never worried about her around children, other pets or my own slice of watermelon, absentmindedly lulling too close to the floor in my hand. 

Welcome, Devil #1. 

A few years after our sweet Spoodle died, we got a red dachshund. Dachshund owners will know that picking this breed was our first mistake. 

She is actually a sweet girl in that she loves people and other dogs, but she's never taken kindly to commands of any kind.

She wilfully ignores her name being called at the park, wandering to and fro with a devil-may-care energy — often right through the middle of a fully-fledged game of rugby union, to my dismay.

She's also a champion eater, begging for food until she became overweight and had to go on metabolic kibble (which, yes, is more expensive).

She loves food so much that she once ate a tonne of sand. We think one of the builders spilt something delicious during our renovations — gravy, Coke, choccy milk — it could've been anything.

So this little devil ate, and ate, and ate, until her entire intestine was full of sand and she needed surgery to have it removed. True story.

Also, we might be talking about a little sausage dog, but she has the bark of a Dobermann.

She barks loudly and constantly — day and night — despite us constantly chastising her. 

We paid a dog trainer to 'Caesar Milan' us out of this predicament, to no prevail. We've bought sound machines that allegedly elicit high-frequency noise that stops them, we've even thought about those collars that spray citronella when they bark. We never did it. 

My mum jokes about getting her voice box surgery — which is a real thing — but we love her too much. 

And boy, do we love her, she is the apple of our eye. So, we decided to get her a sibling (another sausage dog – I know, insane) so that she wouldn't be lonely. 

Unfortunately, that also meant there were now two 'apples of our eye', and she is not a fan of sharing.

She regularly growls at her brother if he tries to jump on the couch and will move her sizeable rump in the way, so there's no room to jump up. 

Our littlest sausage now relegates himself to the dog beds (not the sofa, which is Devil #1's domain). He's just stopped trying.

But no, he's not an angel either. 

Foiled by the cuteness of Devil #2.

We became low-key obsessed with black-and-white dappled Dachshunds. We found the perfect puppy — the only one of the litter — and went to pick him up.

Future dog owners, this is a major mistake. You should always meet the whole litter first and get a feel for their personalities, instead of just picking the cutest one.

Our little boy — who is so earnest and tries so hard to be good — simply can't be because he's too anxious.

His anxiety manifests as 'little man syndrome'. Meaning that he's meek and quiet at home and then Mr. F**k You at the park, to anything smaller than him. Little dogs, little children, they're all on the 'jump around and bark at them' menu. 

Big dogs? He avoids those like the plague. 

Our youngest sausage also has terrible teeth (requiring six-monthly dental cleans, which again, $$$). It means that whenever he breathes too close to you, you need to turn away. 

Regardless of this fact, I let him kiss me whenever he wants. I know, it's gross. 

He is also either wilfully ignorant or a few screws short, avoiding all eye contact as we give him commands.

Although I think it's the former, because he was smart enough to climb on the dining room table and eat an entire home-baked pecan pie that was cooling overnight, as well as snuffle every mini chocolate out of a Cadbury's Christmas advent calendar that was left on the same said table.

Both left us poorer at the vet, and reminded us that, in spite of his miniature status, the dining room table isn't too high for him.

Regardless of their ongoing feud over prime couch real estate, he couldn't stand to be apart from his sister for more than five minutes.

That is, until we spent $17,000 on back surgery for our eldest dog, who sadly developed IVDD. (As I've said before, we'd spare no expense — these dogs are our children.)

With her in the hospital, Devil #2 suddenly found himself an only child — and, to his surprise, he loved it.

When she finally came home, he refused to acknowledge her existence. He wouldn't look at her, wouldn't go near her. I almost can't say it — but it was like he wished she'd never returned.

He's warmed up since, but it was a very uncomfortable few months. 

It's not that bad.

Reading the Substack, I realised that my dogs truly aren't that bad. 

I love them 'just the way they are', and my family and I will give them the best most magical lives and mourn over them when they are gone. 

But there is something freeing in saying that sometimes, they're a pain in the butt.

It's hard to ever leave the house, hard to leave them with other people because of their odd behaviours and proclivities, and hard to just get them to listen to you, like ever. 

But they add so much to my life, too. 

They're adorable. 

They're just also… well, d**kheads. And that's ok. 

They're my d**kheads. 

Featured image: Getty.