Why the Bidens were right to rehome their dog Major

My own dog, Claudine, was adopted once and then returned before my husband and I rescued her. I respect the decision of the people who did that

Major Biden on the South Lawn of the White House in Washington, DC, on 31 March 2021 (MANDEL NGAN/POOL/AFP via Getty Images)

It’s official: Major Biden — Joe and Jill Biden’s rambunctious German Shepherd — will no longer live at the White House. Rather, Major, a rescue adopted by the Bidens in 2018, will live with family friends in a “quieter environment”.

It’s not unfair to Major to say he had a turbulent time at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. In November 2020, Joe Biden, then the president-elect, slipped while playing with the pup, suffered some hairline fractures, and ended up having to wear an orthopedic boot while they healed. Then, of course, came the infamous biting incidents: On March 8 this year, he bit a Secret Service employee, and on 30 March – despite additional training – he “nipped someone while on a walk”, per Jill Biden’s press secretary Michael LaRosa.

Major’s rocky White House tenure came to a public end on Monday, when LaRosa told New York Times White House correspondent Katie Rogers: “After consulting with dog trainers, animal behaviorists, and veterinarians, the First Family has decided … it would be safest for Major to live in a quieter environment with family friends.”

LaRosa, perhaps realizing that when it comes to Major Biden, the people of America have receipts, specified that “this is not in reaction to any new or specific incident, but rather a decision reached after several months of deliberation as a family and discussions with experts”.

I have taken a particular interest in Major Biden’s story, because my own dog was first rescued by another family, then returned, before my husband and I adopted her.

Claudine – that’s my dog, by the way, as well as the apple of my eye and the queen of the known universe – came into our lives three years ago, in the parking lot of a pet store. We knew little about her. We knew she was a rescue and a mutt. We knew she was a skinny terrier with mismatched ears. We also knew she had recently been adopted by a different couple, but things didn’t go as they’d hoped, and they had made the difficult decision to bring her back to the rescue organization so that she could give this whole “find a forever home” thing another spin.

And so, we took Claudine home and quickly realized that she was, well, not the easiest dog in the world. Her behavior suggested she had never been a pet and had no idea how to act like one. (We strongly suspect she was a street dog for the first year of her life. Claudine herself has yet to confirm this fact firsthand, but we’re working on it.) Clearly convinced she was the target of an international conspiracy, she was afraid of most things, from loud noises to plastic bags. When she wasn’t afraid, she was angry – mostly at birds. And when she wasn’t angry, she was hunting – specifically, hunting every squirrel in a 10-mile radius.

Mostly, she was underweight, terrified, and defensive. She was mostly house-trained – emphasis on the “mostly”. Claudine needed what so many of us need in difficult situations: time and patience.

There’s a saying in the rescue dog world, according to which your pup will acclimate to its new life in threes: three days, three weeks, three months. This was the case for Claudine. In the days, weeks, and months after her adoption, her behavior began to change. She had a routine that helped her settle. She had fixed mealtimes (a novelty for a dog who likely spent the first year of her life scavenging for food). She learned how to walk on a leash and not pull so hard she threatened to dislocate my arm. She became the content recipient of cuddles and snuggles.

She went from pacing around the apartment nervously to settling for long naps. Even her prey drive got somewhat under control. In other words: slowly, one day at a time, our scared mutt turned into a happy dog. Even now, when I find her napping, curled up into a ball on her little dog bed, letting out one of those adorable doggie sighs, I experience comical levels of gratitude. Reader, it has been a journey.

In choosing to rehome Major, the Bidens did for him what Claudine’s previous owners did for her. They gave him a chance to live in an environment better suited to his temperament. It’s crucial that we let people do this without stigma. When you adopt a dog through a rescue organization, you are often asked to promise that should you not be able to care for your pet any longer, you will bring it back to the same rescue organization. This ensures the dog’s safety and wellbeing, and it decreases the odds that people will abandon their pets or leave them in untenable situations that can only end poorly.

If there’s one thing Claudine has taught me, it’s that you have to set your dog up for success. In rehoming Major, the Bidens have given him a chance at a more peaceful life. This is what responsible, loving pet owners do; however painful, it is what responsibility looks like.