Jess’s Journey: A Lesson in Progress and Patience

This picture is of Jess, striding confidently down a path she knows well.

A few years ago, this would have been unimaginable. When Jess first came to us, even coaxing her to walk down our garden path was a challenge. She was so scared, so unsure of the world. Building her confidence took time, patience, and effort.

Now, we don’t see that nervous dog anymore. Even our neighbours often comment on how she strolls right up to them, tail wagging, full of quiet confidence.

But then last week, I saw a glimpse of that Jess again—the one I hadn’t seen in a long time.

We went to a local park she’d never visited before. At first, she seemed fine, sniffing eagerly to gather all the information she could. But as we walked further, little things began to build up: a squirrel darting across our path, a lady sitting on the ground writing on a cafe board, dogs and people approaching, and then—the tipping point.

Running, shouting children. Jess’s tail dropped, her body froze, and she refused to move. Fear had taken over.

I bent down, wrapped my arms around her, and held her close. This was what I used to do when she was younger, trembling with fear. I felt her shudder, took some deep breaths with her, and waited. Slowly, she calmed down. She pulled away from the spot, buried her head in a smell nearby, and gradually returned to herself.

By the time we left the park, Jess was back to her familiar, bouncy trot, even pausing to investigate the squirrel again on our way out.

This moment reminded me of two powerful truths about progress:

• Old pathways don’t disappear overnight. The path in Jess’s brain that once told her to be scared of running children was still there, even after years of work. But what has changed is how she handles it—and how quickly she recovers.
• Triggers compound. One new situation might be manageable, but when they stack up—new sights, sounds, smells, and a major trigger—it can still overwhelm even the most confident dog.

The way Jess recovered in that moment struck me. Years ago, her reaction to children would have been much bigger and lasted much longer. She might have spent days unwilling to go on walks. Now, her response was shorter, calmer, and she moved on much more quickly.

When I work with clients, I often hear them say that their dog’s reactions aren’t as intense or prolonged as they used to be. A bark might still happen, but it doesn’t spiral into chaos. A dog might look at a trigger but turn away instead of lunging. These small victories matter.

We sometimes feel frustrated when our dogs don’t seem “fixed” after all our hard work. But progress isn’t about perfection; it’s about making things easier for them and for us. Jess may still have challenging moments, but her ability to recover shows just how far she’s come.

If I’ve learned one thing from Jess, it’s this: every moment of progress—no matter how small—is worth celebrating.