the smell of my desperation has become a stench

Learn how your dog learns

This post is brought to you in partnership with CANIDAE®.

CANIDAE® would like to offer some coupons to you and your own pet: $5 off bags, $2 off cans, $1 off treats.


Last week I mentioned that I had a long talk with Coco’s trainer, one of the most down-to-earth and genuine people I’ve ever had the privilege of calling a friend. I originally got her name and number from a neighbor who was walking his 10-month-old Australian Shepherd down the street without the dog screaming as if it was being burned alive. He’d seen me attempting to walk an infant Coco a few times, so I asked him what drug he was using. He answered, “KC, her name is KC. She’s better than a drug.”



One evening in the spring of 2008 KC walked through the front door. Chuck greeted her with a wagging tail and his usual proper silence, but Coco did what Coco did best: she let out a screech that you could package up and use to peel off four layers of wallpaper and tried to jump on top of her with all four paws. “SOMEONE IS HERE SO LET US CONVINCE THEM THAT THEY SHOULD NEVER RETURN” was pretty much Coco’s philosophy on meeting new people.

KC fended her off with one firm movement of her forearm, nodded a greeting at me, and then stood straight and still with her arms crossed over her chest. Chuck turned and walked over to sit next to the couch in the living room, but Coco continued to squeal. Several seconds passed, and the squealing soon gave way to sniffing. Coco sniffed her legs, then her shoes, then her legs again. KC said nothing and didn’t move a muscle. And then suddenly… Coco froze. I watched it all happen in slow motion… Coco very slowly lifted her head to look KC in the face, tilted her head as if to say, “Is this really what is happening?” and then ran like mad into the kitchen.

I was like, “Is this really what is happening?”

KC made quick pursuit of Coco, and just as she entered the kitchen she called out to me, “Uh oh, we got ourselves a puddle.”

Coco had run toward the back door in the kitchen and peed all over the floor.

Some of you may be thinking, “Awww! Poor thing! She was scared!” And that’s very sweet of you, but also very incorrect. What she was really thinking was, “CRAP! The Pack Leader showed up and is going to find out that I was sitting at her desk!”

KC’s presence alone had that effect. Over the next few weeks and months she’d come to the house and teach me how to command that respect from Coco. I never really achieved that same level of presence, I’m not sure many people can. KC is one of a kind. But she taught me enough that Coco transformed from an all-out maniac to a lovable lunatic with occasional maniacal tendencies.





KC’s main passion is training diabetic alert dogs, canines who can sense when someone’s blood sugar levels are too high or two low and perform a visible warning. I caught up with KC recently thinking that I’d talk to her about training techniques, but the conversation started in a completely different and tremendous direction. I knew once I got her talking that I’d want to her tell stories for hours.


I sat down on the couch in her living room, and immediately her Chocolate Lab named Radar crawled into my lap.

KC: See? This is my personal service dog. And he has amazing abilities to pick up on what’s going on with people. He doesn’t normally crawl into people’s laps. He’s like, “Aw, you’re sad, I’ll make you feel better.”

Me: Yeah, I’m sad. I don’t know what to do.

KC: Well, what are the vets saying?

Me: The vets don’t really weigh in because his blood work is so good, but his nerve deterioration is so bad that he has no idea that he’s peeing. I’ll take off his diaper, and he’ll drizzle on the floor.

KC: Let me ask you this. With that subject alone, would he be mortified if he had done that at any other time in his life?

Me: That’s a very good point.

KC: There is a lot of pride in Chuck. There always has been. When you look at all the crap on his head that’s he balanced over the years… that’s proud. That’s, “I can do something that not many dogs can.” I just… I know, Heather, this a really tough subject. And it is a hard subject.

Me: Have you had to do it before?

KC: Yes. I‘ve had to do it a couple of times, and I’ve done it for other people. I’m going to tell you a heart-wrenching story about a very young puppy. Wow…

I had a litter of puppies, and a young man who was four years old at the time kept coming over here with his family. One puppy couldn’t see yet, couldn’t hear yet, but he swam across the whelping box in my kitchen, crawled up in this little kid’s lap and went to sleep.

Next time they came over, same thing happened. Still didn’t have eyes, but he went across to that little kid. They were looking to get a puppy out of that litter. Every time somebody else would come in this puppy would stay back, didn’t really want to involve himself. But the minute that young boy would walk in this puppy was like, “There’s my boy! There’s my boy!”

And honestly, Heather, that was the first time I was very clear in my head that sometimes a dog chooses its owner. We may think we are choosing them, but they truly choose us and there’s a reason.

I got ready to send the puppies home. And when I handed the puppy to the little boy and to his father, I said, “Jason, I have never seen anything like this in the 20 years I’ve been involved with dogs and breeding and all the things that I do. I don’t know what lesson this dog has for you but I do know that it’s a big one.” I would love to have shoved both feet down my throat because I had just literally stepped in it.

Me: Oh no…

KC: Two weeks later—the puppy was now nine weeks old—at five o’clock in the morning, my phone starts ringing. It was four-year-old Jason.

“KC, this puppy is acting like it can’t see. It’s acting like it can’t hear. He’s not good.”

I said, “Jason, I’m calling my vet, tell your family to head that way.”

We pulled in shortly after 6 AM. My vet started examining him. No clue what was wrong with him. We didn’t know if it was genetics, we didn’t know if it was poison, we didn’t know what was going on. The puppy kept going downhill, and the vet said to me we need to put this puppy down. This is not fair to the puppy. Now that came from the vet. I said, okay. Jason is four. How do you tell a four-year-old?

So I got down on the floor with Jason, and I started explaining to him that they were going to put the puppy down. They’d named him Ruff. I told him Ruff was going to go to sleep and that he couldn’t go home with him. And I look up and the vet is crying, his dad is crying.

Jason stopped me mid-sentence and said, “It’s okay, KC. God needs another hunting dog. And of all the hunting dogs, he chose my Ruff.”


I said okay, so we started to put the puppy down. And as soon as the puppy took his last deep breath, Jason goes, “Bye, I will see you again soon.” Jason’s dad and I and the vet are all going “Uhhhh… what just happened?”

Two years later, Jason is now six. I did another breeding. Same mama, same daddy as Ruff. She goes into labor again, here comes this family again. A puppy swam across the whelping box and crawled up into Jason’s lap and went to sleep! Never missing a beat this kid looks at me and says, “See. I told you he was coming back.”

Me: Heart-wrenching is putting it lightly, KC.

KC: And then there’s Snitch, one of my own. He was one of the puppies from my program, could sense a change in blood sugar levels better than any other in his litter. And at nine weeks old—I’d spent thousands trying to save him already—he was at the vet on the verge of death. No one knew what was wrong with him, and I knew I was going to have to let him go. The emotion of it… my blood sugar levels just dropped and dropped and dropped. And as sick as that puppy was, he could smell it and he jumped up and tried to alert me. As sick as he was, and he was still trying to take care of me? That was too much of a responsibility for that poor little guy. He needed his energy to fight. So for me, as hard as that was, I still believe in quality over quantity.

Me: When did you start this program?

KC: I started training diabetic alert dogs about ’06-’07 and it started with him (she points to Radar). The first time he ever alerted I was sitting right where you are. He was just under a year of age. He came and stood in front of me and then backed up and gave me his happy face, patted his front feet on the floor which every other flipping time meant, “I got to go pee.”

So I got up, went to the kitchen, opened the back door and told that dog to go pee. He just stood there and went, “I don’t want to go out.” He had this look on his face like, “You’re an idiot.” So I sat back down. Again, he backed up and patted his front feet. Again, that’s always meant, “I got to go pee, would you let me out?” I got up again, went to the kitchen and opened the door. Again he looked at me like, “You’re an idiot.”

I sat back down and AGAIN he does it and at that point I said, “Okay, buddy you’re going out. I don’t know what you want but you’re trying to tell me something.” I stood up, and right then I felt the low blood sugar. The low blood glucose, that was like 68.

Me: Oh, so at that point you already knew you were diabetic.

KC: Yeah. So I grabbed my meter, at that point it was over on the table right there. And I checked and I saw it was 68. And I did what I always do when I see that number. I say, “Ah, crap.” And I threw it on the couch and went running into the kitchen to get juice because I needed it to bring my sugar levels back up. But this time I’m going, did I just see that? Is that possible? Dig a dog just tell me that something was wrong with me? Nah, that can’t be. Did that happen? Hmm.

Once I figured it out I decided to change the way he was trying to tell me. So I started to toss my meter. Every time Bravo would try to get me to go to the door like that I would just toss my meter. Very quickly he learned to go grab my meter and bring it to me. Eventually I knew that when he brought me my meter, I had a problem.


Me: You trained him to tell you very specifically that you were in danger.

KC: Oh, yes I did. Now I knew enough to pattern and chain the behaviors together. It took me probably 4 years after that before I figured out what he was truly trying to do with going to the door.

Me: Yeah, why the door?

KC: This guy is ultra sensitive. He does not like me to be mad. It breaks his heart if I get upset, if I raise my voice. He’s just sensitive. What he was trying to do was he knew that every time that smell came that is associated with low sugar levels, I would swear, get angry and go run into the kitchen. In his little pea brain, he was trying to get me to go to the kitchen because where is my door? In the kitchen. If somehow I can get her to go to the door, maybe she will eat something and that smell will go away.

Me: That’s how this all got started.

KC: Yes, absolutely. A dog’s love and devotion is free for the earning. Start with a good quality dog or start with a good quality trainer and put the effort in. This diabetes alert dog stuff is an amazing thing, a gift. But I’m watching companies all across the country charge anywhere from $16k-$25k for a service dog.

HA: Just a general service dog?

KC: Yes! That’s a typical price for a service dog. I mean, if you have reasonably well-behaved children and you’ve got a good sense of logic, why not work with a good trainer and learn how your dog learns? You know a lot of the families I work with don’t want a full-out service dog. They just want an eager, good nose around the house that can help when the kid’s blood sugar is off. That will wake them up in the middle of the night if something is wrong with their kid.

Me: I like that. “Learn how your dog learns.”


KC: But now here’s the problem. There are a lot of trainers that train a program. “I’m only going to train Cesar Milan’s way.” Or “I’m going to train Sit Means Sit way.” Or “I’m only going to use Karen Prior, I’m only going to use Connie Cleveland.” Dogs are like people. Train the dog, not a program.

Me: But I know you. I know you, KC. You do not charge anywhere near that kind of money for what you do. You don’t even advertise yourself.

KC: I don’t need to. It’s word of mouth. People find me that need to find me. Heather, you can’t buy me.

HA: I found you by word of mouth.

KC: Exactly. Money does not impress me. Material things obviously do not impress me. Do I want to be able to live? Yeah, I do. But I don’t need to have the fastest cars, I don’t need anything flashy. Really, all I need is a roof.

What’s important to me is that if I were to die tomorrow I don’t want anybody ever to say that I was about the money. I don’t charge nearly enough for my training. I don’t charge nearly enough for puppies. I don’t charge nearly enough for anything. I know that. But I love people and I love dogs and I’m a lousy business person. I won’t deny that. And you know what? When I leave, if I can say I helped one kid who’s diabetic? That’s all that really matters to me.



Many of you have asked about Coco and wondered how she’s handling the loss of her once constant companion. Coco has never known a life without Chuck beside her. I guess the best way to explain what is happening is that Coco and I are the ones who are experiencing the pain of his absence the most, the two of us together.






Chuck had withdrawn in the last few years, and because of that and the last several months of his incontinence, the girls didn’t have much of a bond with him. They’d see him wander through a room occasionally, but they never showed him the affection that they show for Coco. When I told them about Chuck passing I remained silent in the moments after the words left my mouth because my kids aren’t required to have any specific emotion about him. I didn’t want to manufacture a connection that didn’t exist or make either of them feel guilty for not mirroring the pain in my own face. I have and will continue to let them process it without any interference on my part, offering guidance when and where it’s needed.

That night we all slept in my bed with Coco nestled at my feet. Marlo woke up three times frantically looking for Coco and finally crawled to the end of the bed to press herself into Coco’s body for the rest of the night. Chuck’s passing had revealed to her the dilemma of her attachment: if this could happen to Chuck, it could happen to Coco.

The following night I put Coco to bed in her crate where she would sleep alone for the first time. She hesitated before stepping inside, but it’s what happened the following morning that disclosed her total confusion. Normally I’d let both dogs out of their crates, and before leaving the room Coco would run a circle around Chuck. She’d then race him to the laundry room where I’d feed them breakfast and then bolt out the back door, barking her head off to menace the squirrels. But that morning she ran out of her crate and turned several circles… around… wait? Where is he? Where is he?

She ate her breakfast slowly and then scurried to the back door where she stopped abruptly. Instead of racing outside she stood there alert surveying the entire backyard, looking to the left, to the right, and then back to the left. Then she turned her whole body to look back at me where she might have noticed the early morning light bouncing off the tears pooling at the side of my eyes. I nodded and then closed my eyes forcing the tears down both sides of my face. She lingered for several more moments and only then turned back around to wander slowly out into the grass.

I keep reaching down to pet my purse thinking it’s him. She continues to turn circles every morning around an empty space.

When Coco isn’t busying herself with corralling Marlo she is directly by my side, her head resting on my feet. My commitment to her is as strong as it was to him, perhaps even more so in honor of what he gave to both of us.



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Thank you, CANIDAE®, for making food that nourished my baby boy until his last day in this giant field of grass under the blazing sun. #HealthyPetHappyPet

  • Sharon Barrett

    2015/07/15 at 8:41 am

    This puts into words what so many of us have gone through with the loss of a pet. We have two dogs and two cats, and this spring our older Boxer lost an eye to glaucoma. She’s nine, and that’s old for that breed, and the long recovery and the pain she endured really hammered home that she’s going to be gone one day. I’m not sure how her younger brother will handle that loss, because Ti loves her with an undying loyalty. He loves ‘his kitties’, too, but not like her. I hope that the day comes that you’ll be able to remember without tears and pain.

  • Joni

    2015/07/15 at 8:53 am

    We had to put our 12 year old Golden Retriever down in March, and your last sentence nails it! Because of what he gave us for those 12 years, we know we want another four legged family member to honor his memory. It is hard….I still cry almost daily. But it is slowly getting better. My heart hurts for you……

  • Susan

    2015/07/15 at 9:25 am

    Thank you for sharing your life with Chuck with us. The sorrow is still fresh.

  • Jennifer Cafferty-Davis

    2015/07/15 at 9:40 am

    I know so many of us raved about Chuck and how special he was. He was an incredible and unique guy. Your description of Coco as a “lovable lunatic with occasional maniacal tendencies” makes me giggle. The personality of Coco sounds like something equally as unique as Chuck, though in a very different way. I am so glad you and Coco have each other during this incredibly difficult time. In situations like this, it really is obvious that animals can sense and feel emotions. She is there to help and comfort you. The mutual love and understanding is priceless.

  • Andrea

    2015/07/15 at 10:06 am

    I had two dogs that were the best of friends. They’d lay together all tangled together, play all day, share my lap, walk side by side, check on one another. They just had a bond that warmed my heart.

    When I had to, unexpectedly, put one of them down it broke my heart. But the pain my other dog went through completely overshadowed that and I was worried he would mourn himself to death.

    Dogs are just special. We could all learn so much about love and loyalty from them. Thank you for sharing yours.

  • April Mitchell

    2015/07/15 at 10:10 am

    Thank you for sharing Chuck. I do also want to thank you for sharing KC’s story. My 13 year old daughter was diagniosed with Type 1 diabetes last year. She would love to have a dog and having one that detects blood sugar levels would be so awesome. Too bad I am in WV and so far away from her. I am looking, reading, enjoying her website now.

  • Valerie Aguilar

    2015/07/15 at 10:10 am

    I probably should have waited to read this until I got home but I couldn’t. So many tears. I feel like I knew chuck and want to thank you for sharing him with us. I’m emotional after reading this and can’t imagine what you’re feeling but I send lots of virtual hugs. I have a fur baby of my own and reading all of this makes me hold her extra tight. Thinking of you and sending lots of love from Texas!

    Sidenote: After reading all of your posts about Canidae, I have decided to switch out my dog food and look forward to seeing great results. Thank you again for all of the information you give. I want my little Zoe to have the best!

  • Ashley the Accidental Olympian

    2015/07/15 at 11:31 am

    You’re trying to kill me aren’t you? This pregnant lady can’t handle this.

    This loss that ripples through your whole family, down to Coco, through the internet into each and every one of our lives. The love that we all feel for Chuck, and the amount we all miss him could never be quantified. I can’t stress enough, thank you so much for sharing him with all of us throughout all these years. Although each of these posts shatters my heart once again, I feel like we’re all going through this together, and each post helps all of us heal with you. We miss you Chuck, but we’ll never forget you.

  • Living The Scream

    2015/07/15 at 11:54 am

    Thanks for letting us all Know about KC. What an amazing cause to devote your life too.

  • APJH

    2015/07/15 at 12:20 pm

    I had two dogs growing up–a cockapoo and a golden retriever. My dad built them a big, cozy carpeted doghouse that they slept in together every night. After our cockapoo died, our goldie never went into the doghouse again. It took a few months before he seemed to “get over” the loss of his companion.

    Coco is lucky to have you and the girls to help her get through these next few months. And you are equally lucky to have her.

  • theheathers

    2015/07/15 at 12:31 pm

    Thank you for sharing this journey. Because of your posts, I’m in my first bag of Canidae for my 11yo pooch. Posts like this remind me that she won’t be around forever, but I can make better choices for her to keep her around longer. This post also reminds me that when the time comes, my 5yo daughter will be able to deal with her death better than I will. Thank you for bringing the light to the darkest of days when it concerns our pets.

  • pupsaver711

    2015/07/15 at 1:06 pm

    I have 2 dogs and we as a family of 4 (2 people/2dogs) rescue/foster/rehome dogs. While the part of the story that the woman breeds dogs rubs me the wrong way because 100s of dogs die in shelters everyday including puppies and purebreds I feel your emotion here as familiar and need to offer you solidarity instead of complaints. I do wish you would tell a story about a rescue or a rescue dog as that is what Chuck was. I think that would really honor him. If you need any, let me know

  • mira

    2015/07/15 at 1:51 pm

    Read this intending for it to be the last thing I read before I head to bed. Big mistake. Am all weepy now.

  • Christine Barber

    2015/07/15 at 2:13 pm

    Every time I saw a picture of Chuck, I would touch his nose on the screen in affection. My loss is so much less than yours, but my heart is broken and is with you and your family. Be well.

  • Amy G.

    2015/07/15 at 2:32 pm

    I think dogs grieve as hard for us as we do for them.

    My grandmother passed away last week. She lived with my aunt and my aunt’s dog Sassy. In the past year as my grandmother became bedridden, Sassy would keep watch over her from a chair at the foot of her bed. She would come and go over the course of the day, but would always come back to grandmother’s room at night to sleep at the foot of her bed. She is so sad and confused now that grandmother is gone.

  • Jana Griffis

    2015/07/15 at 2:57 pm

    God dammit why’d I read this at work. I am so very sorry Heather. I lost my ‘are you sure this isn’t a human’-dog 2 years ago last month and I still can’t believe it sometimes. I do know that she sure as hell made a lasting impression in my life & others. It’s not easy but it’s possible. I know sometimes I just need to know that something is possible for me to survive.

  • L - Mama(e) in Translation

    2015/07/15 at 3:01 pm

    Heather, thanks again for sharing your precious last moments with Chuck in the previous post and the insightful conversation with KC in this one. I also loved Chuck like all your readers and I have been very saddened since he got worse and when you shared the news with us. May the memories of his life, registered in thousands and thousands of photos, many of which we got to see, but most of which belong solely to you. Hugs,

  • Kelly

    2015/07/15 at 4:25 pm

    I lost two dogs to cancer in 2010. The same year I was in an accident and in a coma for 12 days. That coma stole so much of my memory, I can remember so little of our little dog, more of the bigger dog. Of course I cried when I read this, not just the sadness of it, but the beautiful way you are parenting your two wonderful daughters. You are in my thoughts and prayers.

  • Rachel

    2015/07/15 at 4:37 pm

    On Monday, my old man, my perfect boy, my Bid Bad Wolf, my Trouble dog, he died. He was 15, had hind nerve weakness with incontinence and partial/intermittent paralysis, and laryngeal stridor, but a bright eagerness to greet everything in life, even though it was slow and painful to get there.

    Our other 3 dogs are in various states of distress. The younger dogs have been clingy, and nervous when anyone leaves a room. My wife’s dog, his “brother” of 12 years, who is 16, and senile, can only stand on his bed, and cry. We’re spending a lot of time just touching each other, to fill in the space of our loss.

  • CaliGal

    2015/07/15 at 4:40 pm

    I am so sorry for your loss. Like most of your fans, Chuck was a favorite. Couldn’t wait to see his Daily pics and to see what craziness he was hold on his head. I know there are no words to ease your pain. I just wanted you to know that you’re not alone. You, your girls and Coco are in my thoughts and prayers. Thank you too, for sharing the way you do. You’re amazing. 🙂

  • LyndaN42

    2015/07/15 at 8:00 pm

    In 1988 we lost my cat Tony, the last of the the cats my dog Bobby came home to. We all felt the loss, but we never realized how much Bobby missed having a cat until we brought home Simon, lovecat extraordinaire, a year later. Simon sauntered into the house, stretched out his paw, and Bobby ran to him like an old friend. I should probably mention Bobby weighed 80 pounds and stood six feet tall on his hind legs, but this little black cat who came into his life would sleep right in the center of his bed and stick his face into his food bowl and Bobby went right along with it. When Bobby passed in 1995, Simon went into a depression that lasted until he met the herding dog Holly who enjoyed shredding boxes along with him. I’m grateful moments like that don’t leave us, and I’m grateful fur siblings somehow make us feel less alone in our sadness.

    Give Coco extra hugs, and know you and Chuck have made me bawl so many times this week. Dogs rule. Catdogs doubly so.

  • Franca Bollo

    2015/07/15 at 9:34 pm

    So much I’d like to say but anything I write has probably been expressed by someone else here. I will say that I am feeding my cat Canidae. Thank you for bringing this to exceptional product to our attention. Oh, and I will say “thank you” for writing about Chuck and Coco in a way that underscores the real connection between species. These are not your “pets”. They are beings that share your life, feel deeply and have a profound effect on those who are open to it. I also appreciate you writing about how you let your daughters have their own feelings. There’s a takeaway for all of us. xo.

  • Cornelia

    2015/07/15 at 9:42 pm

    I’d been dreading Chuck’s passing for several years. It’s so, so sad. The part about Coco looking for him brought tears to my eyes. There are some wonderful photographs here, especially the one with them modeling ties and the last one, with them looking so knowing and amused.

    To end on a lighter note, I always thought you were exaggerating about how horrible an old dog’s farts can be–but then my mother-in-law brought her old dog to stay with us and my first thought was Holy shit, Heather was not kidding!

  • Carla

    2015/07/16 at 1:25 am

    I loved reading about KC. Thanks for sharing her with us, and also for letting us know how Coco is doing.

  • Jodie Kingsbury

    2015/07/16 at 5:28 am

    Im so sorry for your loss. I was in tears thru this whole post. Your words are so poignant. Thank you for the coupons again. MY dog is doing so much better on Canidae than any other food or treat.

  • Jane

    2015/07/16 at 6:08 am

    Hi Heather I’ve been reading you forever and following Chuck as well. You did him proud. Poor Coco – she’ll be lost without him. I hope she was able to sniff his body after he passed. Condolences Jane

  • Sandy M

    2015/07/16 at 6:54 am

    Morning the loss of a pet is so very personal. Be gentle with yourself.

  • BeckySTL

    2015/07/16 at 9:56 am

    Why oh why did I read this at work? I hate to think of how you and Coco feel. I’m so sad from 3000 miles away, I know you’re heartbroken. I really do hope you feel all the love your readers are sending your family…Thank you for sharing.

  • bluesurly

    2015/07/16 at 9:59 am

    Lovely. Thank you for sharing KC’s story. Does she breed Chesapeake Bay Retrievers? I was blessed to have a rescue CBR who was 2 and slated to be euthanized due to her aggressive nature. Turns out she had been abused. She never went after a single person in the 11 years I had her and was just the greatest dog. Hugs to all. Especially Chuck and Chelsea <3

  • Vanessa

    2015/07/16 at 10:38 am

    Man, I have to stop reading you at work. I need to go home and snuggle with my own crazy mini Aussie now and Oh! Chuck. Your pain and loss resonate with me, in me, as I have known them, and Marlo’s fear is the fear I know, too, with my little buddy.

    Sending you both love.

  • Lala

    2015/07/16 at 2:42 pm

    You mean the committed dog trainer who trains affordable service dogs? That’s what rubbed you the wrong way? Fuck off.

  • Meg

    2015/07/16 at 3:37 pm

    My dog right now is the sweetest girl and learns by what makes me happy. It sounds sappy, but it’s true. Reinforcing good behaviour with treats helps, but she stops doing something if I’m not pleased with it. Every dog has different motivations and knowing what those are is incredibly important and why I don’t like strict training methods.

  • Marie McDowell

    2015/07/17 at 9:47 am

    I’m really sorry for your loss too, Rachel. My heart breaks for you all, particularly your dog’s “brother”.

  • Peggy Fry

    2015/07/17 at 10:05 am

    Heather, I first started reading your blog because of Chuck. He looked just like my dog, Buddy, who had just passed away. My heart is with you all. I never met Chuck, but I loved him.

Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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