The last difficult moment with your dog doesn’t have to keep repeating.
Maya had already lived in three homes. Each family had sought professional help, but her relentless chasing of anything that moved continued. By the time she came to me as a last resort, she had been labeled an “untrainable menace.”
I did not agree with that label in the slightest. I saw a young dog caught in a pattern she had not yet found her way out of—and I agreed to welcome her into our family.
The very next day, I gathered all eight dogs for our morning walk. Maya needed to be on a leash, so I called her to me before we left the pasture.
She came right away.
But just as I was about to connect the leash, another dog moved. Maya spun around and raced after them. I called her again. She came back. Another dog shifted position—and off she went again.
This happened over and over for nearly twenty minutes while I tried different things, and my thoughts began racing right along with her.
What have I gotten myself into? Maybe I overestimated my ability to help this dog. Am I asking too much of her? Am I going to regret my decision to take her?
What have I gotten myself into? Maybe I overestimated my ability to help this dog. Am I asking too much of her? Am I going to regret my decision to take her?
It amazes me now—and humbles me a little—to remember how quickly my mind traveled from one difficult moment to an entire imagined future with Maya.
We had not even left for our walk, and part of me was already wondering whether I had made a terrible mistake.
Then I paused long enough to see what was actually happening.
Maya’s whole history, and the very reason she was now with me, was that she had become stuck in a repeating pattern of chasing anything that moved. And yet, every time I invited her back to me, she came.
She wanted to connect. Her willingness was right there.
I needed to meet her where she was and make it easier for her to stay connected.
I needed to meet her where she was and make it easier for her to stay connected.
First, I asked all the other dogs to stop so there was less movement sweeping Maya away. Then I grounded myself and became what I like to call a love magnet: feeling my love for her in my heart and letting it show in my face, my smile, my body, my voice, and my invitation.
I called one of the other dogs into my hands and loved on them, knowing that Maya’s attention would follow their movement and bring her into my personal space. When she joined us, I connected with her lovingly. She leaned into my touch, and I quietly attached the leash, tapped my leg and invited her to walk with me.
Our movement, combined with our connection, helped her stay with me without her trying to race away and reaching the end of the leash.
The leash was not there to control her. It was a cord of connection between us.
When we reached the back gate, each dog waited for their turn to be invited through, as they always did. Maya fell right into our rhythm, and we went on to have a wonderful walk together, even with the other dogs running freely around us.
The next day, we followed the same pathway, and it took no extra time at all.
Those first twenty minutes with Maya did not mean I had made the wrong decision. But for a few moments, my mind had tried to turn one difficult experience into a prediction about our future life together.
I have seen a similar thing happen many times over my decades of working with devoted dog women:
A walk goes badly, and the next time we reach for the leash, part of us is already bracing for more pulling, barking, or struggle. Or our dog avoids the harness, and tomorrow we prepare for another rough start.
We are not consciously choosing these thoughts or deliberately deciding that the struggle will happen again. Our brain naturally remembers what went wrong and watches for its return. Much of that protective process happens beneath our awareness.
It makes sense. And yet, when we want to create a different life with our dog, it can keep yesterday’s struggle active in today’s experience. Before anything has even happened, our body may already be tense, our attention may have narrowed, and we may be preparing to respond to the past instead of meeting what is actually happening now.
One of the women I have had the privilege of accompanying through this is my friend and brilliant dog mom, Sandra.
Sandra welcomed Monty into her family with an active, joyful shared life in mind. Instead, ordinary life with him became much harder than she expected. Walks, life with her other animals, and the activities she hoped they would enjoy together were all affected by their struggles.
As Sandra later shared, her world gradually became smaller and her confidence faded. She became so focused on what was going wrong that it was difficult to see beyond it. The harder she worked to change their difficulties, the more completely those difficulties seemed to define Monty and their life together.
I get it. When a struggle happens again and again, it can become so loud that everything else gets lost beneath it.
I get it. When a struggle happens again and again, it can become so loud that everything else gets lost beneath it.
On a coaching call, I invited Sandra to start looking for what was already good and easy between her and Monty. I wanted to help her widen the picture—to remember the moments when Monty connected, communicated, settled, and showed her that he wanted to be with her.
At first, those moments were hard for Sandra to find. But as she began looking, she noticed Monty choosing to connect with her, offering affection, responding to her, settling with her, and showing her the many ways he was already willing and able to participate.
The struggle was real. And so were these lovely moments.
Soon, Sandra could see more of the real Monty again. She began meeting him as the whole, loving, communicative, capable dog beside her—and their struggles were no longer the whole truth about their relationship.
And that is what changed how Sandra met their life together.
Instead of trying to make Monty fit the life she had expected, she became more attentive to what helped all of them flourish. She began making different choices about their walks, activities, environments, pace, and expectations. She built from the connection and cooperation Monty was already offering, and together they began creating a life that worked for them.
Early on, one of those new experiences happened at the back door.
Sandra and Monty had developed a familiar struggle there. He would bark and rush through the doorway, and Sandra had come to expect it. By then, she had become, in her own words, “so negative and lacking confidence in myself and my ability to love Monty.” Even an ordinary doorway could arrive carrying the weight of everything that had happened there before.
But this time, Sandra noticed what was happening inside her before she opened the door. She paused. She breathed. She connected with her love for Monty and spoke to him quietly.
And their whole exit unfolded differently.
Of course, one easier doorway did not erase every struggle Sandra and Monty had shared. But now they had new lived experience to remember—and another way to begin the next time.
As Sandra continued building from what was already good between them, their life opened. She recognized more of Monty’s communication and capability. Their walks and activities expanded. Life together became easier, closer, and more joyful.
This is how new pathways begin.
The last difficult moment with our dog is real. It contains important information about needs, capacity, environment, safety, or something in our shared experience that needs our attention.
But it is not a prophecy—and it is not the only truth available to us.
But it is not a prophecy—and it is not the only truth available to us.
That walk when our dog checked in without prompting is true too. So is the moment they accepted our help, paused at the doorway, softened into connection, made us laugh, or rested peacefully beside us.
Something that I have found helpful myself, and I often recommend it to my BPA women is simple, and yet profound. Before the next walk, or whatever part of life has become difficult, pause and remember some of the times you and your dog have felt good, easy, loving, or connected together.
Your first thought may be, I can’t think of anything.
That’s okay. It tells us how loud the struggle has become. Start small. Remember the greeting that made you smile, the few connected steps you shared, the time your dog came close when you needed comfort, or the quiet moment when you looked into one another’s eyes.
These moments matter. They remind your brain, nervous system, and heart that the struggle is not the whole story.
Then, before you meet that difficult moment again: Pause. Breathe. Connect.
Connect with what is already good, easy, and loving between you. Bring that with you into what happens next.
💖 Reflecting on Connection 💖
I’ve been thinking about Sandra and Monty this week, and about the courage it can take to look for what is good when the struggle has become so loud.
Sandra could have continued waiting for Monty to become easier before allowing herself to fully enjoy and trust their life together. Instead, she began with the love and connection that were already there. From that place, they created moment after moment that gave them both a different future to step into.
This is what I want for every woman and dog I have the privilege of accompanying. Not a life where nothing difficult ever happens, but a life in which the last difficult moment never becomes the only truth we carry forward.
Our dogs are never with us long enough. We don’t have to wait until every struggle has disappeared to begin living the life we dream of sharing with them.
And that brings me to something I’m especially delighted to share with you.
🧭 Re-Mapping Your Future with Your Dog
I’m so excited about this new workshop—I think it might be my best one yet!
I’m eager to guide you as you discover your true North Star for the life you dream of sharing with your dog—and begin mapping the first steps that can lead you there.
Bring one real-life struggle that keeps repeating. Together, we’ll look beneath the behavior at the well-worn pathway you and your dog keep finding yourselves on, and find the place where a new pathway can begin.
I would love for you to join me.
Sunday, October 4th
1–4 p.m. Central
Free live online workshop
Replay available for a limited time
Register for the free workshop here.
A new pathway is waiting for you and your dog to discover—together.want to share—from this day forward, not someday.
📸 That’s me with Maya, waiting for the sheep to be set at the famous Meeker Classic Sheepdog Championship … along with something I truly believe. 💖
If you’d like to work with me and learn how to create a partnership lifestyle for you and your dog, you can request an invitation to join us in the Brilliant Partners Academy when the doors open for the next enrollment!
