I got kicked out of daycare. I never stopped loving humans.

From Doggy Drama to Deep Loyalty: What Getting the Boot Taught Me About Hoomans

Bluey’s Backyard Clubhouse was trending on every sniffer’s snout, and I thought I’d made it. I mean, lunchboxes with my name on them? Nap mats under a wattle tree? I was in paradise—until I wasn’t.

If you’ve ever poured your heart into something...only to be benched for doing exactly what you thought was right, this tail’s for you.

“Thor tackled another ‘incident’ today. We have to ask you not to bring him back.” – Daycare note, still smells like guilt.

Before: Zoomies and Zen. After: Back to Backyard Prison.

I went from top dog in the pack to public enemy #1 in five seconds flat. All it took was one little fence breach (technically not a crime if there’s no signage), two mud puddles, and sixty-seven barks during “quiet head-down time.”

They said I was disruptive. I called it enthusiastic participation. Tomato, tomahto, y’know?

Why I Got Kicked Out (And Why I Still Love Them Anyway)

Let’s rewind the kibble crumbs.

• Day 1: I wagged so hard I knocked the water bowls over. Twice.
• Day 3: I tried herding three Labradoodles into a sandpit. They scattered like feathered pillows. Very inefficient team.
• Day 5: I mistook Toddler Tuesday as “Bring Your Own Squeaker Day.” Turns out it wasn’t chewable. Who knew?

But through every tail-wagging, time-out-triggering moment, I was doing one thing: trying to be a good dog.

I followed my instincts. I looked after the small ones. I barked when I sensed danger (even if it was just the vacuum cleaner guy). And when the hoomans sighed and handed me back to Mum with those awkward smiles, I tilted my head and wagged anyway. Because I still adore them. I always will.

Chaos? Yes. Failure? Not Barking Likely.

That day, when Mum clipped my lead and I trotted out the gates for the last time, I wasn’t angry. I was confused. A little muddy. Very snackless. But not angry.

You see, we dogs don’t hold grudges. Get kicked out of the “club?” We still love you. You tell us off for chewing the nice cushions? We wag and come back for pats anyway.

That’s our secret superpower—loyalty with no strings attached.

What Hoomans Can Learn from My “Expulsion”

• Not every space fits every tail. And that’s okay. The right community doesn’t just tolerate you—they see the bark beneath the bluster.
• Being misunderstood doesn’t mean you’re wrong. It means your audience isn't fluent in Rottie yet.
• Setbacks don’t define your story. I may be daycare-less, but I’ve got a backyard empire, a hooman fan club, and one seriously comfy nap spot under the veranda.

And now? I get to spend every day helping hoomans like you pick strong gear that holds up through chaos—whether I’m chasing fence posts or rating the chewability of “indestructible” toys.

Used to Get Asked to Leave, Now I Get Asked For Advice

Back then, they politely requested I not return. Today, hoomans email me for recommendations on crate setups, kennel layouts, and enrichment tools that can survive Rottie life.

What changed? Nothing, really. I’m still me—still barking, still bold, still hopeless at “quiet time.”

The Real Doggy Lesson?

You hoomans worry too much about fitting in. About being too much, too loud, too enthusiastic. You try to sandpaper your edges to fit rules you didn’t set.

But here’s what I know: the right pack doesn’t flinch at your full bark. They wag back.

So whether you’ve been sent home from daycare, dropped from the group chat, or told you’re “a bit much”—you’re not broken. You’re just a Rottie in a room full of poodles.

And us Rotties? We’re not here to ask permission. We’re here to protect, play, and love without hesitation. Daycare or no daycare.

Keep barking loud, stay loyal, and never trade your wag for approval.

Paws always,

Thor 🐾 Chief Chewer, Fence Inspector, Nap Supervisor