The Dog Dilemma

Costs vs. Cuteness

Ranger and Reebok

I love dogs. But I’d hate being a dog owner.

Living at home, one of the best parts of my day is to grapple with Ranger, our big brown Golden Doodle. We play keep-away with a blue soccer ball after dinner. I use my jiu jitsu training to tilt him off balance with my feet.

But for the past four days, my parents were out of town. I had to take care of Ranger and our other white fluffball, Reebok.

I had to be a dog owner, not just a dog player.

And I never realized what it was like to be in my parent’s position. Water, food, walks, pissing, shitting, barking. I really underestimated how distracting dogs are! It’s like having your notifications on full blast ringer.

Dogs are so cute. But sometimes, I just want to chuck them down the stairs.

Costs

The first lesson I learned from this: just because you love dogs, doesn’t mean you should buy one. 

What psycho doesn’t love dogs? But when you’re a dog owner, your life is different. You have another job. Like an economist, you have to look at the hidden costs of every decision—not only the adorable benefits.

Right now, I’m happiest and most fulfilled when I’m in solo study, reading for hours or pursuing mastery of writing in deep flow. I despise distractions. To be constantly in charge of these frustrating fuzzballs makes me miserable. [1]

Before I dropped out of college this year, I was studying pre-med. I used to think it was my dream job. Wearing that white coat would pay pretty good. And it would be sweet for others to call me Dr. Blackwood.

But I didn’t realize the costs. Spending my entire twenties in school. Dropping 100-200K on medical school. Yet that single decision was something I didn’t spend more than ten minutes on.

To be a doctor, I thought you had to like blood and be good at school. I was right. But it shouldn’t be why you choose medicine. Kind of like how you don’t eat at Chipotle just because you’re hungry.

I was good at “playing” doctor, but I didn’t really want to be a doctor. I realized this when I read a career-advice essay from Paul Graham:

“A doctor friend warns that even [shadowing a doctor] can give an inaccurate picture. ‘Who knew how much time it would take up, how little autonomy one would have for endless years of training, and how unbelievably annoying it is to carry a beeper?’”

Always deploy downside thinking: is the solid salary and prestige of a doctor worth giving up the freedom of your twenties? Is the cuteness and companionship of a dog really worth the hourly headache?

And when I say “worth it,” I mean this: do the benefits outweigh the costs enough? Is this truly a good long-term decision that aligns with what you value and who you want to be? [2]

Not for me. Maybe for you, it’s different. 

So just because you love playing with dogs doesn’t mean you should be a dog owner. A friend once told me something similar with girls: just because she’s hot, doesn’t mean she’s worth your time.

Happiness is Daily

The second lesson I learned: to find out what you value, it’s easier to first figure out what you hate. It’s classic inversion thinking. From doggy daycare, I learned something about myself: I hate the constant, repetitive noise of owning a dog.

This made me realize that I value uninterrupted flow states more than almost anything else. I’m in a season of life where I’m all-in on growth and mastering writing. I also love solo study and the insights that come from Deep Work. [3]

Maybe it’s not the dogs—it’s me.

I thrive on think time. Some don’t. Usually, you know you’ve found work you love by knowing you’d do it if you didn’t make any money. That’s me and writing. 

But inversely, you know you’ve found something you hate when someone couldn’t pay you to do it. And that insight is equally as important.

Founding Father Benjamin Franklin once wrote:

“Human felicity is produced not as much by great pieces of good fortune that seldom happen as by little advantages that occur every day.” 

Life is just a fat stack of the tiny things you do every day. Being a doctor might seem cool, but think about the daily routine: patients, paperwork, and pagers. I’m an introvert. Managing people all day would drain me.

Being on-call with a pager clipped to my pants is like having a dog barking in the house. It never stops and makes me want to grind my teeth into powder. 

Dogs cost time, money, and attention. I’m sure some people can justify being a dog owner. But for ambitious people like me, I’d feel like a prisoner on parole with an ankle bracelet.

I’m not saying that people who own dogs are idiots. I just think they might not realize how one decision like a precious little puppy will change every single day of their life for more than a decade. Being a dog owner is a long-term decision that deserves deep deliberation.

So as a rule of thumb, costs come before cuteness. For any decision you make, ask yourself: do I want to be a dog owner or just a dog player?

Notes

[1] Dogs are so damn cute though. Maybe I’ll change my mind on this. I always reserve that right. That’s why my blog is called “Strong Convictions, Loosely Held.” If you’re never changing your mind, you’ve closed yourself off to wonders of the world. The whole point is to be firm in what you believe but always consider the probable possibility that you’re not right.

[2] In science, even if a study shows a difference, that doesn’t mean it’s relevant. The question is: is this difference statistically significant? Scientists use probability tests to help assess whether the difference matters. 

So when assessing any decision, you don’t just look to see if there are more benefits than costs. Based on your own values and season of life, do the benefits significantly outweigh the costs? Remember, costs include your time and other intangible factors like stress, not just money.

In 2021, I tore my ACL and MCL playing hockey. I couldn’t walk for six weeks. I’d never wanted something as bad as walking outside in the sun. Now, any potential benefit of something like skiing, even if it’s euphoria in Evergreen, would never outweigh the pure misery I had as a certified cripple. I will probably never go skiing again. I value my health too much. It’s not worth it for me. 

[3] I’m extreme, not normal. I want to be great. I’m one of the obsessed. 

I love this quote from Derek Sivers:

“Extreme talent requires extreme practice — training like an Olympic athlete.

Extreme success requires extreme focus — saying no to distractions and leisure.

Extreme fame requires extreme ambition — taking the spotlight and its pressure.

You can’t do what everyone else does. You can’t watch 63 hours of everyone’s favorite TV show. You can’t get two dogs that need you to be home. That’s for normal people who want a normal life. That’s not for you.”

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Tremendous Thanks to

Mohammad Khan

,

Anthony D'Apolito III

, and Derek Wong for reading drafts of this.

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