When Thom first met Cocoa at the shelter, the connection felt immediate. Cocoa was gentle, affectionate, and eager for contact. The kind of dog that makes you believe that love alone might be enough. Thom and his family brought Cocoa home on a foster-to-adopt agreement, hopeful that this sweet boy had finally found his place.
For the first couple of weeks, it seemed like he had. Cocoa settled in quietly. But as the days passed and the shelter stress faded, a deeper story began to emerge.
Cocoa was anxious and hyper-vigilant. While he bonded quickly with the women in the household, he was deeply fearful of Thom. Cocoa avoided him entirely by retreating downstairs, refusing to go for walks, barking, cowering, and keeping as much distance as possible. One early attempt at a walk ended with Cocoa panicking, slipping away, and disappearing for hours before being found tangled in brush.
For Thom, that moment was a turning point. The reality was heavy and honest — this might not work. Without support, Cocoa would likely have to be returned to the shelter.
That’s when Thom reached out to me to assess Cocoa and build a plan.
When I first met Cocoa, the fear was written all over his body. He was exhausted — eyes heavy, fighting sleep, and unable to truly rest. Even while lying on the couch, his stress signals were unmistakable with lip-licking, tension, and constant scanning. This wasn’t defiance. This was a dog surviving the only way he knew how.
Like many shelter dogs, Cocoa came with an unknown history. We don’t always get to know what shaped their fears, only that those fears are real. For Cocoa, Thom had become a trigger likely tied to past experiences that had nothing to do with the man standing in front of him now.
The path forward wasn’t about obedience. It was about changing Cocoa’s emotional response.
Together, we focused on using positive reinforcement methods with predictable routines and, most importantly, patience. Thom adjusted his own behaviour, becoming quieter, more deliberate, less intrusive. Progress wasn’t fast. Real change never is.
But it came.
Weeks turned into months, and subtle shifts began to add up. Cocoa stopped fleeing when Thom entered the room. He tolerated being closer. Walks that once felt impossible slowly became manageable — first alongside others, then eventually with Thom alone. Today, Cocoa will sit at the door and wait for Thom to put the leash on. He still cowers sometimes. The fear hasn’t vanished, but there is enough trust to stay.
Now, when Thom comes home from work, Cocoa doesn’t disappear downstairs. Instead, he hops onto the sofa across from him. He makes eye contact. He sleeps — truly sleeps — with both eyes closed. These moments may seem small, but they are monumental.
Thom reflects on how close things came to going differently. Without understanding that Cocoa’s fear could change with time and support, the challenges might have felt insurmountable, and Cocoa may have been returned to the shelter. Having guidance and a plan helped patience carry them through, even on the hardest days.
That truth matters.
This story isn’t just about Cocoa’s progress. It’s about what is possible when adopters are given the right support and realistic expectations. Healing doesn’t happen on a schedule. But with compassion, consistency, and a thoughtful support plan, trust can grow — slowly, quietly, and beautifully.
Over time, Cocoa has learned that Thom is safe, and he’s no longer a dog in transition. Cocoa is loved, accepted, and at peace with his new family — exactly where he belongs.