I used to think “weird” was an insult.
The thing you didn’t want people assuming when you sniffed your dog’s head for comfort, or got emotional over an old voicemail, or in the middle of some meeting where you accidentally said the quiet part out loud (again).
But then I realized: maybe weird is just what happens when you stop pretending.
The Day I Realized I’m the “Weird Dog Lady
About a month ago, I took a hard fall, one of those ungraceful, slow-motion disasters where you have just enough time midair to think, “Oh, sh*t THIS IS GONNA HURT”.
I was on the pool deck, top step, leash wrapped around my wrist — the way I never do.
Zella was beside me, leashed as always, because, well, she has larger-than-life feelings…and feels the world at full volume. When she sees a cat, it’s not prey so much as pure lightning through her nervous system.
Usually, I’m ready for it. I read her body language like subtitles. But this time, my back was turned, my guard was down, and the neighborhood feral cat made its grand entrance over the fence.
Zella launched.
I didn’t stand a chance.
One second, I was upright, the next, I was faceplanted in the gravel and stone pavers.
I ended up in urgent care with staples in my knee and a hand that still aches when I type.
And here’s the part that really got me: my first instinct wasn’t to clean up the blood or explain the mechanics of the fall. It was to protect Zella from others' ignorance.
When the nurse asked what happened, I said, “Oh, I fell in the backyard,” like I’d just tripped over a garden hose. Because what if they thought I was one of those people? The weird dog lady with the reactive dog, who society already discriminates against. The one who keeps her dog on a leash in her own yard. People at large just don’t get it. They just don’t.
But that’s exactly who I am.
I leash Zella not because I don’t trust her, but because I love her enough to protect her from her own decisions, the same way you protect a toddler who runs toward traffic or a friend who texts their ex.
That’s the day it hit me: I really am that weird dog lady.
Not because I fell, but because my biggest concern, bleeding and all, was making sure no one gave my dog a bad rap.
The Gift of Being “Too Much”
For most of my life, I tried to tone it down.
Tone down the feelings. The fidgeting. The tangents about dog behavior, or trauma healing, or a good redemption story documentary.
But here’s the thing no one tells you about weird:
Weird is just honest with the volume turned up.
It’s the way you show up when you finally stop auditioning for normal.
And yeppers, it’s awkward sometimes. A whole lotta times.
You’ll trip over your own words. Your dog will trip over her own paws.
Someone will say, “You’re kind of intense,” and you’ll laugh because same, Brenda.
But weird people? We feel the world in surround sound.
We love dogs that other people call “difficult.”
We cry at adoption videos, belly-laugh at memes, and believe that humor is a legitimate coping strategy.1,000% so.
We’re the ones who send three different versions of the same message because our brains opened five tabs mid-thought.
Zeke Squad Was Built for This
When I started Zeke Squad, I didn’t want another “cute dog mom brand.”
I wanted a flag. Awareness.
Something the misfits could wear like armor and comfort all at once.
Because weird dog parents don’t just raise dogs — we raise mirrors.
Zeke, my deaf Boxer, feels everrrrrythinnnng.
He reminds me that love doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful.
And Zella, she’s my emotional support hurricane. She reminds me that you can be sensitive and still take up space.
They are weird, in the best way.
And I wouldn’t trade that for all the “well-behaved” dogs in the world.
The World Doesn’t Need More Normal
It needs people who are unapologetically themselves… leash-tangled, mascara-smudged, trying their besssst.
It needs the ones who snort when they laugh and cry when they’re grateful and love like they’re running out of time.
It needs the weird ones.
The ones who see a dog losing their mind in joy and think, *same, buddy.*
So Here’s to Us
To the people who feel too much, talk too fast, care too hard. To those of us who are certain that we drive our co-workers, friends, and family bat-sh*t crazy.
To the dogs who zoomie through our lives like therapists in fur coats.
To the homes that are 40% dog hair and 60% emotional processing.
Weird is good.
Weird is empathy with no filter.
It’s honesty in a world obsessed with polishing.
It’s laughter through tears, dog slobber on your shirt, and hope that refuses to quiet down.
So let them call us weird.
We’ll call it real.
And we’ll wear it. Literally. Across our chests.
We’re here, we’re weird, and we love like it’s our full-time job.
Sincerely,
The Chaos