We adopted Petey a year ago. At the time, we weren’t sure what to expect. He had come from a shelter and carried a lot of fear with him—fear of people, fear of other dogs, fear of every little sound. The first few months were a lot of learning, and honestly, a little bit of wondering if we were up to the challenge.
In those early months, it was all about getting used to home life. He barked at every noise and chewed on anything soft—blankets and pillows were his favorites.
We tried having him sleep in a crate that first night. That was a mistake. We put a lot of effort into crate training, but it ended up doing more harm than good. We kept trying to help him gain some independence. But even when we left him alone in our room, he could never fully settle. After being abandoned on a highway and then locked up in a shelter, confinement was understandably hard for him.
The hardest part was taking him out for walks. My wife would wake up early just to take him out to do his business—beating the traffic, getting ahead of the neighborhood, before other people and dogs filled the sidewalks. Then she’d come back home, and Petey would crawl back into bed with me for a couple more hours. It was a strange period, one that now feels like another lifetime ago.
But slowly, things began to change. The house became familiar. Less scary. He started to understand that this was a safe space where no dog was going to sneak up behind him, and where he could actually relax and take a nap. The little wins felt huge. By the end of that quarter, Petey was settling in ways we never thought possible.
And maybe one of the biggest achievements in the first three months was being able to wean him completely off the medication he was on in the shelter. Without the drugs fogging him up or adding tension, his real personality slowly started to come through.
He still chewed blankets and pillows… but we’ll call that progress.
As spring arrived, Petey’s world began to stretch beyond a five-block radius. This is when the real tests started—park walks, new places, brief encounters with other dogs, and slowly, very slowly, being around strangers. But each time he made it through a hard moment, he came out with a little more confidence. Every new experience chipped away at the old ones, rewriting and replacing them.
We took him to events, hoping the exposure would help—and honestly, to run a few tests, since we had a lot planned for the summer. Some moments were rough: barking at passing dogs and people, or panicking when my wife or I walked away to step into a store. But over time, something shifted. He started to realize that the world isn’t always dangerous. That we would always come back. And what once felt unbearable slowly became just a mild inconvenience to him.
We noticed it most on our walks. Instead of staying on constant alert, he began to sniff more, linger a little longer, and actually enjoy his surroundings.
At home, there were fewer and fewer uncontrollable, crazy moments. During the first few months, the hours between 1pm and 4pm were Petey’s crazy hours, where it would rather demand constant attention, freak out over nothing, or chew on things. This made it hard for us to work. So we were glad that this was just a passing phase, something he was able to grow out of.
Step by waddle-y step, Petey started trusting not just us, but the world around him too.
By the third quarter, it felt like Petey had found his stride. Summer arrived, and with it came longer walks, new trails, and lazy naps in the sun.
We had always believed that underneath the fear was a sweet personality waiting to come through. Over the summer, it finally did. He was now enjoying his life to the fullest.
We started leaving him home alone for short stretches—an hour at a time—watching him through our little security camera. We were relieved to see that after a few howls, he’d curl up in his bed. He wasn’t completely relaxed, but he wasn’t overwhelmed either. Mostly, he just seemed grumpy.
We took him on a few trips that summer, and each time he surprised us. He would sniff, explore, and often lead the way. One of those trips was to Pender Island, where he stayed in a hotel for the first time. It was challenging—for him and for us.
The ferry ride was tough, and dog-friendly hotels come with a lot of dogs wandering around, which can still send him into a panic. It would have been easier, and definitely more relaxing, to leave him at home. But pushing him to come along ended up being another big step forward.
And we could see the difference afterward. The moments of uncontrollable fear were fewer and farther between. Back at home, he started napping more during the day. Watching him enjoy the small, ordinary joys of summer, he felt like a completely different dog from who he was six months earlier.
As the seasons changed again, Petey was looking so much healthier. We were starting to recognize all of his little irritabilities—his sensitive skin, his sensitive stomach, and his sensitive disposition. Shelter trauma still shows up from time to time. He still startles occasionally if a dog starts barking on the TV, and he still doesn’t exactly love it when kids run toward him.
We’ve also been able to leave him home alone for longer stretches without him getting anxious. What started as forty-five minutes has slowly grown into a few hours. We played chill music on YouTube while we were away, just so there was always some background sound. That way, bumps in the building, beeping in the alley, or random noises wouldn’t immediately send him into a fit. It meant our algorithm got completely taken over by lo-fi and jazzy playlists, but that’s a small sacrifice.
Walks feel more relaxed. He’s even gotten really good at walking with a loose leash. He still has his moments of stubbornness, but he’s becoming a dog who can enjoy life without constant fear.
What surprised me the most this year was the change in his physical appearance, especially his eyes. It’s wild how much they’ve changed in a year. It really shows how stress, anxiety, fear, and abandonment can shape an animal, whether it’s a dog or a human.
We used to joke that he just had Steve Buscemi eyes. Turns out, once he felt safe, they were more Zooey Deschanel eyes.
Looking back over this year, it’s hard to believe it’s the same dog. We were warned that adopting him would completely shake up our lives. And yes, the first few months were stressful—and yes, we still sometimes have to wake up in the middle of the night to take him for an urgent late-night poop or have to cross the street a few times to avoid dogs or loud families—but honestly, life with a dog has made us happier than life without one.
We were told Petey might never be cuddly, might never learn anything new, and might never be able to go anywhere with us. None of that turned out to be true. Over the past year, we’ve watched him transform from an anxious, fearful little dog into a confident, happy sidekick. And this is just the first year.
Petey has shown us patience, resilience, and the joy of learning to trust a whole new world. If this year is any indication, he still has a lot more adventures—and growth—ahead of him.
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Elliot Chan 