09/08/2025
✨ The 10-Day “Uh-Oh” Moment ✨
(And I know every rescue will get this.)
About 10 days in with a new puppy or adopted dog, the honeymoon period fades. Reality sets in. The texts start coming:
“I didn’t realize how challenging this would be.”
“He cries when I leave, he’s getting worse in the car… I don’t want to give up on him, but I don’t know if I can give him the life he deserves.”
This isn’t about shaming. It’s about expectation.
Ava—high drive, high energy, all heart—was placed in a home I knew wasn’t the right fit. But she was living in a garage in triple-digit heat, and I had no other options. I was also under enormous pressure to “be done with this rescue effort already.” I felt like I failed her. I was assured she could handle it all—she’d taken the classes, and on the surface, things seemed okay. But later I learned Ava had even escaped a few times. Fortunately, her adopter-turned-foster has kept her safe (and cool in the A/C!) until I can find the right place, but it’s only temporary.
Buckley (Cowboy) is adored in his new home, but his separation anxiety has been a shock. His person shared honestly with me:
“He cries when I leave the room. He panics when I leave the house. He’s getting worse in the car. I’m doing all the things you suggested, but if his behavior keeps declining, I don’t know if the life I can give him will be enough for him. I don’t want to give up on him, because he’s such a special, goofy boy.”
And I can’t help but think if the trauma of leaving his home—the Huskies, Ronin, Winnie—has impacted him, too. If behavior is any indication, I’d say it has. And then there’s the truth of his beginnings: found as a newborn in the dirt with his umbilical cord still attached, apart from his mother and siblings, adopted out at just a few days old (?!), bottle-fed and inevitably bounced around, teetering on death’s doorstep. Trauma rewires the nervous system.
He and Ava—both—first experienced true safety and security when they landed here. They’re also both the epitome of strength, courage, and resilience.
That’s the thing about these moments. They aren’t about the dog “failing.” They’re about human expectation colliding with reality.
And I understand it all. I’ve even had these moments myself. I’ve questioned bringing in every one of my dogs at one point. Even Ronin—high drive, high energy, skittish, fearful. His first year was nothing but hiking, field trips, conditioning, and training. It was exhausting. But 2.5 years later, Ronin is an incredible dog—and I was an active participant in his becoming.
We’re not going to always get it all right. We’re not going to always do the very best thing. Neither are our dogs.
And here’s the trap: many people who’ve had the blessing of “easy dogs” end up holding every future dog against that standard.
Marshmallow, easy, effortless dogs are not the norm. They’re a beautiful blessing, but most dogs are not this. Just as most human beings aren’t always joy-filled, calm, at peace, present, or emotionally stable. We are not meant to be totally balanced, all the time.
Culturally, we’ve grown to expect life to be easy and effortless—and dogs to be easy and effortless, too. But that’s not reality. And when reality doesn’t measure up, it’s the dogs who pay the price. They’re given up on, their worlds become smaller, they get bounced around and “re-homed,” isolated, abandoned, etc.
We’re all gorgeous tapestries of various woven threads—strength and struggle, joy and grief, fear and courage, safety and lack thereof, security and insecurity. And so are our dogs.
We expect dogs to fit into our lives, which is important.
But we often neglect to find the balance between where they fit into our lives… and where we fit into theirs.
Cowboy—now Buckley—was always an insecure, introverted, reserved boy. This is how I always described him. He doesn’t ask for much, and he does better living a simple, quiet life. And this is okay.
One of the most common problems I see in human–dog behavioral stories is this: the human’s unwillingness to accept the dog for who he or she is, and the dog not meeting human expectation.
No two dogs—or humans—are the same.
And this is also what Chapter Ten of my book, "The Human End of the Leash: Dog Training’s Missing Link", explores. It’s called “The Space Between”—the gap between expectation and reality. That often uncomfortable but powerful place where growth happens, where both humans and dogs have the chance to become.
As Chapter One states, (every) behavior is an invitation—to learn, reflect, reassess, and rise.
Commitment doesn’t start when it’s easy. It begins when it gets hard.
And, sadly, this is the very point where most give up and wash their hands clean.
But at the end of the day, if it’s not a good fit—and all the things have been explored, time has been granted, and the necessary efforts have been made—it’s okay. They will always have a place with me, even if I have to uproot to ensure this.
I sincerely hope I can help them navigate this space. I promised I’d be there for the rest of each pup’s life… and those were not empty words. I will be.
Otherwise… I’m going to have to find a new place to live with acreage (does anyone know of any place? : ))
kimberlyartley.com
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