All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put my faceless ceramic pooch back together again. I tried, though—armed with a mother’s love and a tube of super glue—hoping to restore my little ceramic companion to its former charm.

Because I’m overly cautious about fumes, I set up the repair on the back patio while Clara napped, baby monitor within reach. Working outdoors seemed sensible, and I thought a few careful glues and adjustments would do the trick. Pretty quickly, however, things started to go off the rails.

The shards simply didn’t align. Some pieces were too tiny or irregular to reattach cleanly, and there was a conspicuous missing chunk from the top of the pup’s head. Without that critical section, the face couldn’t be rebuilt in a way that looked natural. The seams were jagged, the contours were wrong, and the whole thing felt off.

I considered several options. One was to use plaster or putty to fill the gaps, sand it smooth, and then spray-paint the entire piece for a uniform finish. That would be a legitimate DIY ceramic repair approach: fill, shape, prime, and paint. Another was to embrace the accident and repurpose the remains—turn the head into a planter, a quirky umbrella stand, or a sculptural accent—ideas friends suggested when the mishap first happened. Those creative solutions have their appeal, but the thing I loved most about the piece was its face. The expression was the heart of the little dog, and without it the sculpture lost a lot of its personality.

Emotionally, I’m oddly at peace with letting it go. After that failed repair attempt, the pup no longer feels like an essential decor piece for our home—especially now that Clara is beginning to move more and explore. A large ceramic figure in the hallway might not be the safest choice with a toddler on the verge of toddling. Practical concerns aside, there’s a sentimental side to admitting when an object’s time has passed. I did my best; sometimes things break beyond reasonable repair.

That said, I’m not heartbroken. I still have another sculptural companion that fills the void: my concrete greyhound. Its clean lines and durable material make it a reliable statement piece, and it fits more safely into our family home. Concrete lacks the fragility of glazed ceramic, which makes it a smarter choice for a household with a curious child and a lot of foot traffic. The greyhound gives me the same decorative satisfaction without the constant worry that it might shatter into countless pieces.

If you’re facing a similar pottery or ceramic disaster, here are a few practical tips based on what I learned:

• Work in a well-ventilated space or outdoors if you’re using strong adhesives or paints, and keep children safely away during the process.
• Assess whether the missing fragments are critical to the overall look; sometimes tiny losses can be concealed with filler and paint, but other times the character of the piece is too altered.
• Consider alternate uses for broken ceramics—planters, bookends, or garden ornaments can give new life to damaged pieces.
• When sentimental value is high, decide whether restoration is worth the time and cost, or if replacing with a sturdier piece is the smarter choice.

In the end, I’m glad I tried to save my ceramic dog, and I’m surprisingly okay with letting it go. The repair attempt was a small, cathartic exercise in problem-solving, but sometimes acceptance is the best outcome. My home still feels warm and curated, and the concrete greyhound now plays the role my fragile pup once filled—only this time, without the worry of another accidental smash.