Problem Solving Unleashed: Practical tools to make training effective and approachable, while embracing curiosity, connection, and the beautifully chaotic realities of growth—for both dogs and their humans.

Frankie’s Story:

Building Stability in Chaos

The first two days in his foster home were all about rest and management. Frankie needed space to decompress, with crate time and solo interactions helping him adjust to this new, unfamiliar world. But despite these efforts, separation anxiety made itself known.

Frankie would cry and whine for upwards of 40 minutes, pushing his rescuer to the brink of questioning her sanity. He may have been a new temporary addition but she loved him deeply and wanted him to feel comfortable. Reality is life doesn’t pause just because a scared pup needs extra care.

By day three, I got a message: “He’s started to hate the crate now that he’s bonded with me a little.” It was a bittersweet moment—connection was forming, but it brought new challenges. Frankie’s separation anxiety grew stronger and he wasn’t shy about showing his frustration.

He began barking and howling escalating to even tearing up the XL crate. His rescuer did everything right—exercise, enrichment, a low-traffic kennel zone—but Frankie wasn’t having it.

That night I walked her through the “peekaboo game,” a simple but effective strategy: walk up to the kennel, toss in a treat, and then close the door and walk away. Adding structure and predictability—showing Frankie that she’d always come back—was a game changer.

By the next day, she updated me: “Goodness, I can’t believe how well he’s starting to ‘get it.’ Why does this work?”

Here’s the best part—once she understood the purpose of the exercise, she added her own twist. Playing recordings of her voice on her old YouTube channel gave Frankie a “half step” between her being fully present and fully gone, easing his stress.

This story has an incredibly happy ending. By the end of two weeks, Frankie’s crate was his safe space. By the third week, his rescuer could leave him crated any time of day, knowing he felt calm and secure. Frankie went from dreading the crate to finding comfort in it—it became his haven.

Sometimes creating stability starts with small, thoughtful steps.

Predictability and patience can turn chaos into calm.

Enjoy this adorable video of sweet Frankie falling asleep listening to the YouTube video.

Hatching Baby Mantis:

When “Doing the Right Thing” Goes Awry

I knew I wasn’t going to do everything perfectly—a quick Google search and gut instinct alone aren’t exactly the recipe for expertise. But I dove in, excited to create the ideal environment for my little mantis project. Most of the babies didn’t survive. It wasn’t the happy ending I had imagined, but it was a stark reminder: failure isn’t the end of the road—it’s just the end of that road.

The first baby mantis to hatch almost ended up in the trash. Why? Because it was the size of an ant, and in my excitement, I assumed that’s exactly what it was. A quick Google search saved the tiny creature, and I got ready for the mass hatching I had read so much about. I separated each baby as it emerged, knowing they’d eat each other if I didn’t. But after six had hatched, things stalled.

More research revealed that mantises don’t hatch all at once—they emerge slowly, with only 5-20% of the eggs likely to survive to adulthood. What I didn’t realize was that touching the oothecas too soon had probably disrupted the process and most of my attempts at creating an ideal environment for them actually made things worse.

By the time the next wave of babies arrived, I suddenly had nineteen tiny mantises and no way to feed them. I couldn’t catch a single small insect despite combing my yard for hours. Stress mounted as the mantises began dying, and heartbreak hit me in full force.

I made a promise that future intuitive projects involving live animals are officially off the table. I’ve learned that my overly sensitive, snack-fueled entomologist side is best used for well-thought-out projects.

My Book!

Poisoned Cues - How "Shoulds" Wrecked My Creativity

When I started writing my book I was all spark and momentum, ready to bring my ideas to life. But then, a not-so-quiet belief barged in: there was a “right” and “wrong” way to write a book.

If I’d lost my spark, it had to be me—I must be doing it “wrong.” So, naturally, I decided the solution was to cram my ideas into "correct" structures I’d found. Surely, those were “right,” even if my brain screamed otherwise.

That was the turning point. The more I tried to shove my book into rigid molds, the more I suffocated my own spark. In the dog world, we call this a poisoned cue—when a cue that is supposed to trigger a positive response instead is tied to something negative. I’d poisoned the act of working on my book with my obsession over doing it “right.”

To snap out of it, I leaned into my current hyper-fixation on moon cycles to practice the skill of bringing together ideas from different corners of my brain. Diving into something adjacent to the book gave me room to play without the pressure.

I’ve always felt like I “play wrong” so I had to take a step back and figure out what my definition of play looked like and what was actually fun for me.

I started organizing ideas in quirky ways- experimenting with mind webs, and connecting dots just for fun. That realization hit me like a cosmic wake-up call: creativity thrives on play, and play requires believing you’re not making mistakes.

It’s funny how easily poisoned cues sneak in.

I really went all out looking for structures to squeeze my ideas into.

Failure isn’t some neatly packaged life lesson—it’s more like trying to teach a dog to sit while balancing a plate of nachos. Messy? Definitely. Hilarious? Absolutely.

But it's also full of moments that nudge you to pivot and figure out what works before the nachos hit the floor.

Progress doesn’t come from perfect plans; it comes from fumbles, crumbs, and those oddly rewarding little wins along the way. Life’s unpredictable, so why not embrace the chaos?

At the very least, you’ll get a good laugh—and maybe a snack—out of it.

Your replies fuel this journey and help me make each episode better. Plus, it’s always great to hear from you!

Let’s explore what’s possible, together—with curiosity, compassion, and a good dose of humor.

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