Is there anything more humbling than realizing you have the very problem you are trying to help people solve? Call it my “shoemaker with bad shoes” moment. As a Certified Dog Behavior Consultant, I discovered something about myself two weeks ago. I was the one with separation anxiety, not my new dog.

Earlier this year, my dog died. Jax was a twelve year old Border Collie. He was my agility and training partner at a time when I was running my dog training school and behavior practice full time. My days were spent teaching training classes for puppies, passionate agility students, and helping families whose troubled dogs were reactive, had separation anxiety, were aggressive, or struggling due to factors related to their breed, dynamics at home, or their background. I also worked as a consultant for animal shelters developing behavior plans to help the most troubled rescue dogs adjust to both life in the shelter and their new adoptive homes.

Due to old age, illness, and other heartbreaking circumstances, three of our five dogs died in the last couple of years and most recently, my superstar Jax.

My career trajectory changed, and I decided to stop teaching training classes and focus my energy on my pet custody mediation work as well as highly challenging behavior cases, specifically anxiety issues. Without intending to, over the years helping owners with dog anxiety problems had become my area of expertise, specifically separation anxiety and broader issues arriving during, and after, a divorce.

Since Jax passed away, there has been dog shaped void in my heart. And I’ve been waiting many months to see when I fell in love with my next four-legged pal.

Enter Sunny, a two-year-old small cream-colored rescue dog of unknown origin who can best be described as a Jack Russell-sized Golden Retriever, crossed with a bit of Falcor, the Luck Dragon from the Neverending Story. All that is known about Sunny was that he had been recently surrendered to the shelter with a dog companion. His packmate had been adopted without him, and he had been moved out of the shelter and was being fostered waiting to find a forever home.

For the first time in twelve years, I fully opened my heart to a new dog. Although I am lucky enough to work with dogs every day, I remembered the joy and indescribable feeling of falling in love with an animal. Everything he does is adorable: sneezing, drinking water, snuggling into my arm, the way he smells, the way he blinks slowly when he bops me with his nose. He is the most perfect creature I have ever seen.

And boy, did Sunny bond with me! He followed me nonstop everywhere I went. It was as if he was attached to me with an invisible leash. He could only lay down and rest if I was sitting next to him. Even if he was deeply asleep, he was aware of my movements and would wake up to follow me anytime I stood up. Unless I fed him by hand, he would not eat. When I left the house, my husband sent me a photo of Sunny lying next to the door, mournfully awake, desperate for my return. Those first few days, I spent most of my time with him allowing for a deep mental and physical decompression time. He needed to sleep, his nervous system needed to switch out of overdrive, he needed to know that he was safe enough to let his guard down. In the last month he left his home, lived in a shelter, lost his dog friend, and moved to a foster family. All the changes had made him worried about what would happen next.

After less than a week, Sunny started to understand the routine and rhythms of our house. He understood that when I took a shower, I wasn't disappearing into the void but would return in a few steamy minutes. He realized that when I walked to the kitchen, coffee cup in hand, I was likely coming back to my office, and it wasn't worth getting up from his bed to join me. He relaxed enough to eat his food from a bowl.

As soon as this initial decompression period passed, I knew I had to put on my professional dog behaviorist hat to proactively prevent separation anxiety (SA), or isolation distress. Rescue dogs are especially prone to SA because, after periods of trauma and stress, they naturally—as Sunny had done—attach to this new person they feel is their solid anchor in the world. This initial instinct to bond with the new safe person in their life, if not addressed quickly in an effective way, can result in long-term, debilitating separation anxiety.

The worse their previous life was, the more likely dogs are to develop SA once they are adopted into a loving and caring home.

My clients who have adopted dogs that had been test subjects in medical facilities, chained in backyards without enough food or shelter, or female dogs left to birth endless litters of puppies in awful environments are the type of dogs who are more likely to end up bloodying their paws trying to claw their way out of the yard, howling for hours, or hurting themselves trying to jump out of a window when their person leaves them alone. They may start screaming in dog panic when their owners try to go to the bathroom in private or try to chew a door in half when their owners make a trip to the grocery store.

SA often develops gradually, over time and can subtly start with a dog choosing to follow one specific person around the house and being constantly connected to them. If the issue is dealt with in the early days or weeks of the dog’s adoption, the dog is much more likely to adjust to its new home than if the owner attempts to address the problem months or years later. Thankfully for Sunny, there was no indication of any overt trauma in his background, but the potential for SA was there because he didn’t want to leave my side.

Fully aware of this, I’m a professional after all, less than a week after I adopted him, I started spending frequent, short periods of time away from Sunny. I gave him wonderful things to chew while I closed the door between us so that being alone would be a happy experience. I left the house three times a day so my departures and returns became non eventful, normal parts of life. My daughter and husband took him to the park, so I wasn't the only special person in the house. Half the time I ignored Sunny when he brought me toys so he would get bored and ask the dogs to play with him instead.

A couple of days later, Sunny stayed curled up on his bed in the living room, completely undisturbed as I reached for my keys. He didn't even glance up. He was also asking the dogs to play tug instead of me. At first, I thought, “great, good job Karis, Sunny doesn’t need to be with you to feel safe anymore.”

Then it struck me then, a surprising pang of… loneliness? I'd been so focused on preventing his potential separation anxiety, I hadn't realized I was enjoying his dependence on me. I liked him being obsessed with me. I had a new purpose in life. I felt loved and needed.

In that moment of realization I deeply resonated with the subtle expression that sometimes appears on my clients' faces when I tell them that separation anxiety is resolvable with a patient, smart step-by-step plan. It’s almost that they don’t want to believe me when I tell them that, even in extreme cases, SA is not a permanent condition but a habituated emotional response that, when handled correctly, can be changed so their dog can be content and happy without them. The expression on people’s faces, or the resistance to implement the program to fix the problem, can be a clue that they want me to tell them it is impossible to fix, that their dog can never be okay without them. Sometimes the biggest hurdle to resolving separation anxiety is that we, without realizing it, might like our dogs needing us.

Ultimately, my experience with Sunny served as a powerful reminder: the most effective treatment for separation anxiety isn't just a behavioral plan, but also a shift in perspective. While professional expertise is crucial, acknowledging and addressing the human element—our own need for connection and the comfort we derive from a dog's unwavering devotion—is equally vital. My "shoemaker with bad shoes" moment became a valuable lesson, both professionally and personally, highlighting the importance of self-awareness in helping others navigate the complexities of canine behavior and the enduring power of the human-animal bond.

Treating My Dog's Separation Anxiety Taught Me About My Own