When Your Dog Is the Dealbreaker, Don’t Be Surprised You’re Single

So you’re scrolling a dating app and you land on a bio that proudly announces: My dog sleeps in my bed, cuddles with me on the couch, rides shotgun in my car, is my ride-or-die soulmate, and if you don’t like it, f**k off.* Wow. First of all, that’s not a bio, that’s a hostage note written by a chihuahua with separation anxiety. Second, mission accomplished—most men absolutely will f**k off. Immediately. With enthusiasm. Possibly with a thank-you note. You’re on a dating app, not Dog Tinder: Alpha Edition. No man, and I mean no man, logged in thinking, “You know what I’m really hoping for? To come in third place behind a throw pillow and a Pomeranian named Fifi.” Even the biggest animal lovers read that and think, “Ah yes, a life where I negotiate intimacy around shedding seasons and sleep on the edge of the mattress like a disgraced intern.”

And let’s be honest, that statement isn’t saying “I love my dog.” Every human on earth understands loving your dog. That statement says, “I have unresolved attachment issues and I am announcing them aggressively.” It’s weirdly confrontational, like you’re daring a stranger to compete with an animal that licks its own butt and panics during thunderstorms. That’s not confidence—that’s emotional fencing with a taser. Men aren’t scared of dogs. They’re scared of the future argument that starts with, “He was here before you,” followed by you defending a Labrador like it’s your ex-husband in divorce court.

Ladies, the point of dating is not to repel men like garlic to a vampire. It’s to attract. You don’t need to warn people away with a bio that sounds like a disclaimer at the end of a pharmaceutical commercial. You can love your dog without declaring a no-human-will-ever-fully-matter policy. Because the guy reading your profile isn’t thinking, “Wow, she’s loyal.” He’s thinking, “I will never win a single argument in this house, and the dog will testify against me.”

Dating profiles are marketing, not boundary-setting manifestos written in all caps. Save the ride-or-die energy for later. Let the man meet the dog organically, like a normal human experience, not as a precondition with a threat attached. Otherwise don’t be shocked when your inbox is quiet and the only one blowing up your phone is Fifi—who, for the record, cannot split rent or hold a conversation.