You know, when I first moved to Seattle with basically just what fit in my Honda Civic, I never thought I’d have room for a pet. My studio apartment was intentionally sparse – just the essentials I needed to live comfortably without all the clutter I grew up with back in Connecticut. But then I met Luna at a local shelter event, this scrappy little terrier mix who’d been there for months because she wasn’t the cutest puppy anymore. Something about her just clicked with me, and honestly? She fit perfectly into my minimalist lifestyle in ways I never expected.
The thing about having pets when you’re living intentionally simple is that it forces you to really think about what they actually need versus what pet stores want you to think they need. Walk into any Petco and you’ll see aisles and aisles of stuff – forty different types of toys, beds in every color, treats for every possible occasion. It’s just like the consumer culture I was trying to escape, except now it’s marketed as “loving your pet.” But here’s what I’ve figured out over the past year and a half with Luna: she’s happiest with less, not more.
When I first brought her home, I made the mistake of buying a bunch of toys thinking I needed to entertain her constantly. Spent probably $80 on squeaky things and rope toys and puzzle feeders. Half of them she ignored completely, and the other half just created this constant mess of scattered pet stuff around my carefully organized space. What she actually loved? A single tennis ball (which I found for free at the dog park) and this old cardboard box that my laptop came in. She’d spend hours just sitting in that box, completely content.
That’s when I started thinking about pet care the same way I think about everything else – what actually adds value, and what’s just stuff for the sake of stuff? It’s not about being cheap or depriving your pet of anything they need. It’s about focusing on quality time and genuine care instead of trying to buy your way to being a good pet parent. Kind of like how my parents tried to show love through expensive gifts when what I really wanted was just their attention.
Food was probably the biggest learning curve. The pet store had entire walls of different brands, all claiming to be the best nutrition for your dog. I spent hours reading labels and researching ingredients, trying to figure out what Luna actually needed. Turned out, one high-quality brand with simple, recognizable ingredients worked better than rotating through five different types of specialty food. Buying larger bags meant fewer trips to the store and less packaging waste, plus it was way more economical on my nonprofit salary.
I keep her food in one of those airtight containers (bought it secondhand from Facebook Marketplace for $15), and that’s literally the only pet-specific storage I have. Her leash hangs on the same hook I use for my jacket. Her one good toy lives in the cardboard box she loves so much. No special organizers, no cute pet storage solutions, no dedicated pet area taking up half my studio. She has her bed in the corner, and that’s her space.
The routine thing has been huge for both of us. Luna eats at 7 AM when I have my coffee, and again at 6 PM when I’m making dinner. Walk in the morning before work, longer walk or dog park in the evening, bedtime around 10. That’s it. No complex schedule, no constantly changing activities, just simple consistency. She knows what to expect, and I don’t have to think about it. Turns out dogs actually love predictable routines, which makes sense because it reduces their anxiety about not knowing what’s happening next.
Grooming is where I see people go completely overboard. Luna’s short-haired, so she gets a bath maybe once a month unless she’s rolled in something gross at the park. I brush her weekly with this one good brush I bought (which, okay, I did spend money on because cheap brushes are useless). No special shampoos, no conditioners, no fancy nail clippers. The local pet store does nail trims for $10, which is easier than buying all the equipment and stressing both of us out trying to do it myself.
What’s interesting is how this approach has actually strengthened our relationship. Instead of constantly buying her new stuff, I spend that time on walks, training, or just hanging out. She’s better behaved because we’ve focused on basic commands rather than trying to teach her twenty different tricks. She’s healthier because I pay attention to her actual needs instead of getting distracted by products. And she seems more settled and content than some dogs I know whose owners are constantly buying them things.
The environmental aspect matters to me too, obviously. Every toy Luna doesn’t need is plastic that doesn’t get manufactured. Every unnecessary grooming product is chemicals that don’t go down the drain. We walk to the dog park instead of driving somewhere special for exercise. I buy biodegradable poop bags in bulk online instead of constantly purchasing small packages at the store. It’s all connected to the same values that drive the rest of my lifestyle choices.
Dating with a pet has been… interesting. Had this one girl over who asked why Luna didn’t have more toys, why I didn’t have one of those cute pet gates, where all her “stuff” was. Like, Luna has what she needs and she’s clearly happy and healthy, but some people expect to see evidence of consumption as proof that you care. Same energy as my parents asking why my apartment looks “empty” when it has everything I need to live comfortably.
The financial benefits have been significant though. My monthly pet expenses are basically food, the occasional vet visit, and replacement poop bags. No impulse purchases at pet stores, no constant stream of new toys and accessories, no expensive grooming appointments. That savings goes toward higher-quality vet care when she needs it, or into my emergency fund, or toward experiences we can share like camping trips where she can run around off-leash.
I’ve connected with other minimal pet owners online, and it’s cool to see how many people are figuring this out. We share tips about what actually works versus what’s just marketing, recommend vets who don’t try to upsell you on everything, talk about how to handle family pressure to buy your pet more stuff. Because apparently pet minimalism is just as confusing to people as human minimalism.
The challenge now is maintaining this as Luna gets older and potentially if I ever have kids someday. Will I be able to resist the urge to buy a bunch of new puppy things if we get another dog? How do you teach children about intentional consumption when every pet store is designed to make them want everything? Still figuring that out, but I’m pretty confident that Luna and I have found something that works for both of us. She’s got everything she needs to be healthy and happy, my space stays calm and organized, and we’ve built a relationship based on time and attention rather than stuff. Which, when I think about it, is exactly what minimalism is supposed to do for your life.
Nicholas’s a sustainability worker in Seattle who sees minimalism as climate activism. He writes about consuming less, living simply, and building a life that aligns with environmental values rather than material ones