The No. 1 Reason I’ve Never Owned a Dog — and the Guilt I’m Slowly Learning to Let Go of at 32
Millions of people got dogs during the pandemic. I had every reason to join them — and I still didn't do it.
I’ve wanted a dog for as long as I can remember. And for just as long, I’ve had a reason not to get one.
It started simply enough. When I moved out on my own in 2014 at 20 years old, I told myself I wouldn’t get a dog until I owned a home. It felt responsible—mature, even. Dogs need space, I reasoned. They need a backyard with dog-friendly features. They need stability. And a twenty-something bouncing between apartments with roommates wasn’t in a position to offer any of that.
So I got a cat instead. 11 years later, I still have him, and I love being a pet owner. He’s been through every chapter of my adult life with me—the apartments, the roommates, the first house, the downsize back to an apartment. He’s proof that I can care for another living thing. But he also became a convenient excuse. I already have a pet, I’d tell myself. The dog can wait.
But how long am I willing to wait? Dogs are, after all, the most popular pet in America. According to the American Pet Products Association, 65.1 million U.S. households own a dog. Millennials—my generation—make up the largest share of pet owners at 33%.
And a study by the American Humane Association found that the person most likely to consider getting a dog is someone who’s single, younger, and living in the Western United States. I check every single one of those boxes. I’m 32, single and living in Las Vegas.
On paper, I’m the textbook candidate for dog ownership. In practice, I’ve spent over a decade convincing myself otherwise.
The conditions that kept changing
In 2019, I moved into my first house. It should have been the green light I’d been waiting for. I finally had a home. Six months later, I started working from home full-time—something I still do today—which meant I had more time and flexibility than ever to care for a dog.
And then COVID-19 arrived in early 2020 and robbed many of us, myself included, of a social life. Suddenly I was home all day, every day, with nothing but time. A Forbes Advisor survey found that 78% of pet owners they surveyed acquired their pets during the pandemic. Millions of people saw the same window I did—stuck at home, lonely, craving companionship—and they actually jumped through it. I didn’t. Why?
Because the house didn’t have a backyard. And just like that, I had a new condition. I’ll get a dog when I have a home with a backyard. The goalposts moved, and I let them.
If I’m being honest, the backyard thing was less about the dog’s quality of life and more about my own image of what dog ownership was supposed to look like. A dog in a yard. That was the picture in my head, and anything short of it felt incomplete.
Then, earlier this year, I moved back into an apartment. The house was too big for one person, and I wanted to downsize. It was the right call for my life, but it also meant I was further from that picture than ever. No home. No yard. No dog. And now, at 32, I have no idea when (or if) I’ll own a home again, let alone one with a backyard.
What owning a dog would mean for me
The thing about waiting for the right time is that you start to lose sight of why you wanted it in the first place. So lately I’ve been thinking less about yards and more about what a dog would actually bring to my life.
The science is pretty clear. According to the American Kennel Club, research shows that owning a dog can reduce loneliness, lower stress and improve cardiovascular health.
A study from Washington State University found that just 10 minutes of petting a dog can significantly lower cortisol levels. Dog owners are nearly four times more likely to meet daily physical activity guidelines than non-dog owners, according to a 2019 study published in Scientific Reports.
And for someone like me—single, working from home, not looking to be in a relationship or get married—the companionship factor alone is enormous. One national survey found that 85% of respondents believe interacting with pets reduces feelings of loneliness.
I have flexibility. I have time. I have love to give. The only thing I don’t have is a backyard. And I’m starting to realize that might not matter as much as I thought.
The backyard guilt I’m learning to let go of
I’d be lying if I said the backyard thing doesn’t still get to me. I’ve seen the TikTok videos—the ones where dogs experience a backyard for the first time after years of apartment living, tearing across the grass in pure, uncontainable joy. Those videos are beautiful, and they make me feel a pang of guilt for even considering raising a dog without that kind of space.
But here’s what I’ve started telling myself: that joy isn’t about the yard. It’s about freedom, movement and the bond those dogs have with the people who gave them a good life before the yard ever came along. Those dogs were loved in apartments. They were walked, played with, taken to parks. The yard was a bonus, not the baseline.
I live in Las Vegas. There are parks everywhere. There are dog parks. There are hiking trails just 20 minutes outside the city. A dog’s quality of life isn’t determined by square footage—it’s determined by what you do with the time you have together. And time is something I have a lot of.
Owning a dog doesn’t have to look perfect
There’s a quote I keep coming back to, even if I can’t attribute it to anyone specific: Don’t let perfect be the enemy of good. I’ve spent 11 years of independent living setting conditions for dog ownership, and every time I meet one condition, I invent another.
First it was owning a home. Then it was having a backyard. What would be next? A certain income? A partner? A fence? At some point, the conditions stop being practical and start being a way to avoid the vulnerability of just doing the thing.
The older I get, the more I feel it. The loneliness doesn’t get louder, but it gets heavier. And I’m not at peace with coming home to silence every day when I know there’s a companion out there who would be just as happy to see me as I would be to see them.
Where do I go from here?
I haven’t gotten a dog yet. I’m not writing this from the floor of a PetSmart with a leash in one hand and a bag of kibble in the other. But something has shifted. The question in my head is no longer when will I be ready? It’s what am I waiting for?
Life doesn’t have to be perfect to take the next step. There won’t ever be a perfect time—a perfect home, a perfect yard, a perfect set of circumstances all aligned just so. If I’ve learned anything from 11 years of saying no, it’s that waiting for perfect is just another way of saying not yet. And I’m running out of reasons to keep saying it.
Maybe the best time to get a dog was five years ago. But the second-best time? That might just be now. And hey — if a backyard ever enters the picture, I already know exactly what I’d build (you can learn more about that here).
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