The Dog Knows the Way

Mini Podcast 1: Aloha’s Medical Emergency ~ My Untraining Begins

Discover a soulful guide to raising a true companion. Learn how to become the companion your dog deserves, creating a bond that heals.

🎙️ Five minutes of science, soul & stories from my heart to yours—shared for the ones who feel it all and need a way to walk through it. For those who aren’t just training a dog, but becoming a companion worthy of being followed.

Companion Dog Training

It began with a sound I pray never to hear again.

Not a bark. Not a whine.

Just silence—split by the wet, choking drag of something thick and terrible hitting the floor.

Dark. Phlegmy. Blood, heavy with fear.

I found her there, crouched low just beyond my bedroom door, trembling in the hush before dawn.

And of all nights—this was the one I’d chosen to let them sleep apart, a quiet ritual I used now and then, meant to nurture their confidence away from my closeness.

But that night, the space between us felt like a continent.

 Her eyes—those soulful, ancient eyes—were rimmed with confusion. And her mouth… oh, her mouth.

Her saliva was dark and thick, not fluid but syrupy, pooling and clotting as it slid forward, interrupting her airways. Her huge tongue lolled unnaturally outside her mouth, not in relaxation but in desperation—leaving barely enough room to breathe.

From her mouth, blood poured, not like a wound but like a faucet unlatched by some unseen force.

And there it was: The horror. Raw. Red. Unrelenting.

It wasn’t just what I saw. It was what I couldn’t do. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t reach the source. I could only kneel into the moment and try to hold back my own trembling long enough to speak her name.

“Aloha… I’m here. I’m here.”

And in that breathless hush between panic and movement, I knew something was about to be unlearned.

The Moment Everything Slows

We rushed from one emergency vet to the next. The first offered heartfelt concern and injected pain meds. The second offered—a steely impersonalization of care, an unsuccessful procedure — and sent us home with three bottles of meds and cold instructions:

 “TAKE WITH FOOD.”

But how? When my beloved companion couldn’t even close her mouth, her swollen tongue lolling out—leaving barely enough space to breathe, let alone chew.

The third was a surgical specialist who never called. I waited. Hour after hour. Day after day. No answers. Just static.

“Obstructed gland… possible hereditary rupture… surgical intervention likely…”

But inside that whirlwind—fluorescent lights, clinical phrases, clipped syllables— only one thing pulsed loud and clear through the fog:

 She needs me to be still. She needs me to stay.

I need to STOP & pull myself together for her sake!

Aloha was slipping. Not just in body—in spirit. She was tired. And afraid. And I had moved too fast for too long to notice the signs.

What Jung Might Say

Jung said the Self will send signals when the ego drifts too far from truth. First a whisper. Then a pull. If we still don’t listen, the body gets involved.

“Crisis is the breaking of the shell that encloses understanding.” (Jung, Modern Man in Search of a Soul)

That morning, Aloha’s body became the crisis. But the truth that broke open was mine.

What She Had Been Trying to Say

In the weeks before this, she had offered hints.

She slowed. She avoided her food bowl. She looked at me—really looked—as if asking whether I’d notice the subtle shift in her breath, her posture, her pulse.

I didn’t. Because I was moving too quickly—ticking off checklists, showing up for others, doing the good work of “being strong.”

But Aloha didn’t need my strength. She needed my stillness.

And when I wouldn’t offer it, her body collapsed into the only message I would finally hear:

Stop. Come home. Stay.

What the Science Says

This isn’t just myth. It’s medicine.

Studies in veterinary behavioral science confirm that emotional resonance between dog and guardian affects health outcomes—immune regulation, respiratory function, even wound healing. (See: www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC8330780/)

Dogs whose humans are chronically stressed often experience somatic symptoms—especially if the bond is strong.

Aloha’s system, already predisposed to weakness, had likely been carrying my pace… until it couldn’t.

A Sacred No

That day, I sent a message to my clients.

Not with detachment. Not with shame. But with reverence.

“Aloha needs me now. And I am answering her call.”

“Because I cannot offer your pups the presence they deserve until I have offered it fully to her.”

It wasn’t an apology. It was a vow.

A Ritual (For When You’ve Moved Too Fast)

If you, too, have missed a signal… If you’re carrying the quiet ache of “How long has it been like this?”—

Try this:

●       Sit beside your dog with nothing in your hands.

●       Touch them gently—just a finger at first.

●       Listen to your own breath.

●       Wait until you feel theirs sync with yours.

●       Then say (out loud or in silence):

“Forgive me for not seeing. Thank you for staying close. I am here now.”

Repeat as many times as needed.

This is not repair. It’s return.

🕯️ Final Embers

That morning, Aloha became more than my companion.

She became my teacher. My interruption. My sacred emergency.

She showed me the cost of moving through life at a pace faster than breath. And the gift of finally stopping before something sacred slips away.

When I knelt beside her on that floor—blood soaking her fur, tongue limp, breath thin— I didn’t think about training. I thought about trust.

And when I finally whispered, “I’m here,” she leaned—just slightly—into the sound of my voice.

Because the dog, even when bleeding, even when betrayed by time and tension, still knows the way.

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