One of those first walks, we passed a front yard with a statue in it. A little elephant — trunk raised, just sitting there in someone’s garden. Not moving, not making a sound.
And Izzy startled.
Not a big dramatic spook. Just a subtle shrink. A slight cower. A “I don’t know what that is and I’d like to be smaller right now” moment.
My friend laughed a little — the way you might laugh at a kid who gets scared of their own shadow. Affectionate, not cruel. But still: “It’s just a statue, Izzy.” And we moved on.
I filed it away without quite knowing why.
Fast forward to later that summer. Izzy and I were on one of our long adventurous walks — the kind where we’d just pick a direction and go and see what the neighborhood had to offer. We ended up on a street I didn’t know well, a block with lots of little garden decorations. And there, in front of one of the houses, was a small stone turtle. Just sitting there. Minding its own business.
Izzy stopped.
Same thing as the elephant. That stillness. That “I don’t know what that is” energy. The little Mohawk of raised fur between her shoulders.
And this time, I did something different.
I didn’t laugh. I didn’t say “come on, it’s fine.” I didn’t pull her away or push her toward it. I just… stopped with her. I let her look. I told her quietly: “it’s fake, it’s just a statue, you’re okay.” And I waited.
And slowly — so slowly — she started to move toward it. Not a confident stride. More like a stalk. One careful step. Then a pause. Then another step. Until she was close enough to stretch her neck out and touch it with her nose.
And I watched her smell it. Really smell it. Process it. Understand it.
And then I watched her whole body change. The Mohawk went down. Her shoulders dropped. She exhaled a sigh.
She looked up at me like — oh. It’s just a thing. I figured it out.
That moment. That exhale. That is what trying looks like. And I almost missed it — because it didn’t look like confidence. It didn’t look like bravery. It looked like a dog moving one careful inch at a time toward something that scared her.
🐾 What Trying Actually Looks Like
Your dog trying is not going to look the way you think it will.
It’s not going to look like a breakthrough. It’s not going to look like a before-and-after. It’s probably not going to feel like a moment you’d think to celebrate.
It’s going to look like:
A dog who used to shut down completely who today just… paused instead. A dog who used to bark at every stranger who today looked at one and then looked away. A dog who used to freeze on the threshold who today put one paw over it — and then backed up, but did put the paw there. A dog who used to need you to coax them through everything who today took one step on their own.
That’s trying. That’s trust emerging.
And most people miss it because they’re waiting for something bigger.
🧠 Why You Shouldn’t Cheer
When Izzy approached that turtle statue, I did not cheer.
I didn’t say “YES! Good girl! AMAZING!” I kept my voice quiet. I kept my energy steady. I let her finish what she was doing.
Because here’s the thing about fragile early attempts: they belong to your dog. Not you.
When we over-celebrate — when we gasp or squeal or flood them with praise right in the middle of their process — we actually interrupt it. We pull their attention back to us right when they need it on themselves. We make the moment about our relief instead of their discovery.
And what they learn is: my person gets really excited when I do this.
Instead of: I did something scary and I was okay.
The first lesson makes them dependent on your reaction. The second lesson builds confidence from the inside out.
So what do you do instead? You stay calm. You stay present. You let them finish. A quiet “good girl” after the fact is fine. A soft exhale. A gentle hand if they come back to you.
But in the middle of the attempt? You be the still water they can orient to. You be the proof that there’s nothing to panic about.
Because your nervous system is telling their nervous system what to feel about this moment. If you light up — they read that as something significant just happened. If you stay steady — they read that as this is just Tuesday. I tried something. It was okay. The world didn’t end.
That’s the lesson you want them to take away.
💤 If You Haven’t Seen It Yet
Some of you have been at this for weeks or months and you’re not sure you’ve seen any of this yet. And you’re starting to wonder: is it working? Am I doing it right? Was that something — or am I making it up?
First: you’re probably not making it up. The attempts are often so small, so quiet, so easy to explain away that we doubt them when we see them.
A dog who glanced at the scary thing instead of looking away. A dog who ate a treat in a new place, or in the face of a trigger, they’d refused food in before. A dog who sighed and lay down instead of pacing. A dog who chose to come close to you without being called.
These are not nothing. These are dispatches from a nervous system that is starting to believe the world might be okay.
And if you genuinely haven’t seen anything yet — that’s information, not failure. It might mean the environment needs adjusting. It might mean the asks are still a little too big. It might mean your dog needs more time in the Stabilize stage before they’re ready to reach.
But it is not evidence that your dog can’t do this.
Not ready to try yet is completely different from never going to try.
💛 What Trust Does Over Time
Izzy still walks past that block sometimes. She doesn’t even glance at the turtle anymore.
Not because she forgot about it — but because she filed it: known thing. safe. not interesting.
That’s what trust does over time. It turns the scary things into just… things. One statue at a time. One careful step at a time. One small exhale at a time.
Watch for the trying this week. Not the breakthroughs. Not the big moments. The one paw over the threshold. The pause instead of the panic. The nose stretched toward the thing that used to send them sideways.
Notice it quietly. Let it belong to them.
And know that every time you hold steady while they figure something out — you are building the belief that trying is safe. That the world has some give in it. That you will be there, steady and calm, on the other side of whatever they’re afraid of.
That’s not a small thing. That’s everything.
🔎 Not Sure What Your Dog Is Ready For Right Now?
If you’re trying to figure out whether your dog is still in the Stabilize stage or starting to move into Rebuild — or you’re just not sure what to focus on — the Find Your Path Quiz can help you get clear on where you both are.
Take care of your dog’s nervous system — and your own. We’re healing together — one moment, one breath, one walk at a time. 💛