We knew we wanted to adopt, and we knew we couldn’t handle a puppy or any dog with more-than-average training needs because neither of us had much experience and we both worked full time. Our home was medium traffic, we had two cats already, we wanted kids eventually, and we would be out of the house for hours at a time; everything in our life seemed like another reason to say no to each pup at Austin Pets Alive!, where we'd adopted our cats. As we searched, I thought of dogs I had met in life. For some reason, my uncle’s late German shepherd, Ike, was stuck in my mind. I thought of his endless patience when I was small, and how gentle he was with the small dogs he lived with. Something clicked, and on a whim, I typed "German shepherd dog rescue Austin," hoping against hope that something would come up. It did.

Hungrily, I combed their "Available Dogs" page. At first, it seemed like more of the same. Then, I saw him. A dog named Tobbie who had been owner-surrendered at three years old. He wasn’t cat-tested, he had ears for days, and I couldn’t tell if he was thirty pounds or one hundred from his picture, but he had lived with small kids, and his adorable smile said we had to meet him. The next few days happened so quickly; I applied, they checked my references, and soon enough his foster mom scheduled a house visit. When his foster mom dropped him off for good later that week, it was like a dream. We had no idea what was in store for us.

If you’ve adopted an older dog, you know that what you see first is either their very best or very worst behavior. It was the former with our Rocket, formerly Tobbie, who revealed after a few weeks that the sweet little angel who occasionally licked us, napped in his crate quietly, and politely ignored our cats during his first visit was actually an untrained, anxious, and far-too-interested-in-cats kind of dog. So anxious that he barked at strangers, other dogs, and even the wind at three o'clock in the morning. So untrained that he jumped on us when excited, stole items off the counters, pulled like hell on the leash, and even tried to take a sandwich out of my hand. I asked about his history and was told he'd been severely neglected at his former home, covered in fleas and ticks on surrender. Makes sense, I remember thinking.

Immediately, I went to work looking up everything I could about dogs and positive reinforcement-based training; I set about making him a training schedule, I listened to and read every piece of material available to me. “Look at me, not the cat/dog,” click, treat. “Do this instead,” click, treat. That was my life for almost half a year.

Today, he’s a joy; he ignores the cats, walks well on his leash, sits politely when he wants something, and hardly needs us to watch him. He’s confident and calm and even greets dogs occasionally if he’s up for it. When our vet saw him for the second time, a year after we brought him home, she said, “If I didn’t know better, I would say that was a different dog.” When I look at that smile, though, I know it’s the same goofy boy Rocket's always been—just much better trained than before.

I had so much fun training Rocket, but my vet’s comment made me think: maybe other people could use help with “problem” dogs? It’s kind of cliché, but our dog turned my life around by making me realize I could combine two of my biggest passions—animal behavior and problem-solving—into a viable career in dog training. I’m working on my CCPDT now, and I hope I can help other adopters have a similar story to ours.