On New Year's Eve, we tried to expand our family. I'd been considering adopting a dog for a while and had been monitoring the Humane Society's website for potential candidates. On December 31st, my girls and I saw a dog we liked, so I decided to make the leap.

"What a great way to start the new year!" I thought. "This will help me get out of the house and exercise more. Our resident dog can have a companion, and I'd like a big dog to play with and keep me company." I had a lot of good reasons to adopt another dog. We were rescuing a canine from the streets and providing it a good home, with many years of love and care.

We met Phoebe at the shelter. She was beautiful. She had a black, shiny coat, and a warm personality, wanting to play and explore everything around her. She was big; 50 pounds of solid muscle. She was a lab/border collie mix. She appeared healthy, and was extremely strong and active. All three of us fell in love with her immediately. We completed the adoption paperwork, bought a crate and some toys, and made our trek home.

Introducing Phoebe to our previously adopted 11-pound miniature pinscher, Daisy, went as smoothly as could be expected. The dogs were a bit leery of each other, but seemed eager to get to know one another.

Getting Phoebe adjusted to being in a new home wasn't quite so easy. Within a day or so, I started noticing signs that she was an anxious dog. She followed us from room to room constantly, not wanting us to be out of sight. When we put her in her kennel, she became as stiff as a board and wouldn't relax. She whined and cried constantly whenever we tried to leave the house. She was too aggressive with Daisy, and when Daisy had enough, she'd snap at Phoebe.

Adjusting myself to having a second (much larger) dog was even harder. Suddenly, there was twice as many walks to take, twice as many potty breaks, and more house training to be done. Then there was the daunting task of constantly keeping an eye on Phoebe; I couldn't trust her alone yet. She also wasn't getting along with Daisy. It felt like my work had quadrupled.

We still loved Phoebe. We were determined to make it work. All three of us wanted to be a two-dog family. Phoebe was adorably quirky, and we were desperate to slot her into our family.

The more we tried, however, the more difficult it became. Phoebe was destroying her crate, blankets, leashes, rugs... even tried to tear up the carpet. I was exhausted from keeping an eye on her 24 hours a day. She even tried attacking Daisy, going for her throat with jaw open and sharp teeth bared. I couldn't sleep well at night. I spent most of my awake hours worrying about how to handle the situation. It was becoming more obvious that maybe we just weren't the best fit for Phoebe. She needed a family that had the time and patience to work through separation anxiety and crate training.

We tried getting help from the vet. We talked to an animal behavior specialist at the Humane Society. Nothing was working in the short amount of time we had.

Sadly, on Thursday, January 4th, we made the heart-wrenching decision to surrender Phoebe back at the Humane Society. My daughters and I were devastated, hot tears rolling down our cheeks and sobs erupting through our chests. Phoebe was beautiful and she had an awesome personality, but we weren't the right family for her. We knew it our hearts she needed someone else.

Here comes the crazy part of this story: the very next day, my older daughter adopted a cat. A CAT! I've always been allergic to cats (or so I thought). I didn't want a cat. I hate litter boxes. I didn't think cats had personalities. I've always been a dog person. The last thing I ever expected is that we'd own a cat. LAST THING EVER. But here we are, with a male cat named Earl Grey.

Here's the cool part: Daisy and the cat are getting along great. Early Grey adapted quickly to our little family, and fits right into our busy schedule. He requires very little work, and what needs to be done, Kaitlyn does. I'm not having any allergic reactions. Peace has been restored in our home and I am sleeping well again. Who would have thought?? Me - a cat owner??

“No matter how badly you want something, if it isn’t right, it isn’t going to work out.”

Somehow the universe had a lesson for our little family in all of this. No matter how badly you want something, if it isn't right, it isn't going to work out. It can be a relationship, a friendship, a job, a pet, or any number of things. If it isn't right, it won't work. It doesn't matter how many things about it seem right. It doesn't matter how many positive attributes it has. It doesn't matter if you're helping to save something or someone. If it isn't right, it won't work.

What's right for us won't have to be forced. It will flow easily into our lives and fit right into what we've already created. We don't have to try hard to make it work. It won't bring confusion, frustration, angst, or fatigue.

Sometimes we can want something so desperately that we try to overlook the obvious, ignoring glaring downfalls to a situation that should clue us into the fact that it's not right for us. Sometimes we are so eager for love, for companionship, for a new job, for new friends, or even for a new pet that we forget to make a complete assessment to determine if whatever we want fits ALL areas of our lives.

Want to know the crazy thing about all this? What's right for us sometimes looks completely different from what we've imagined. Here I am, a new cat owner. That was the furthest thing from my mind when we entered the humane society December 31st. I expected we were going to be a two-dog family, but that wasn't what the universe had planned for us.

Like Earl Grey, what's right brings us joy, love, and peace. What's right for us will come and never leave.