I signed Millie up for swim lessons mostly as a joke. She’s the most dramatic little golden mutt you’ll ever meet—squeaks when she steps in puddles, stares at the bathtub like it’s a portal to the underworld. But the vet said it’d be great for her joints, so… here we were.
The trainer was this super calm, bearded guy named Ronan who looked like he could tame wolves with eye contact. He knelt in the shallow end, cooing gently, coaxing Millie toward the water.
She took two hesitant steps. Then stopped.
Completely locked up. Tail down. Ears back.
Ronan didn’t force it. He just sat in the water, hands out, waiting.
“She’s been through something,” he said quietly.
I didn’t know what he meant at first, but then I realized. Millie had never been particularly brave about anything—just a skittish dog with a flair for the dramatic. Still, I’d never seen her react like this before. She was shaking, her little legs trembling as she stared at the water like it was the most terrifying thing on Earth.
“She’s afraid of the water,” I said, kneeling beside her, trying to offer some comfort. “I think it’s just too much for her right now.”
Ronan didn’t seem to mind. He just nodded, understanding. “Sometimes, it’s not just the water. It could be something else that’s triggering her fear. We’ll take it slow.”
I watched Ronan as he calmly continued to sit there in the water, not rushing Millie, not pushing her. He was patient, almost as if he understood exactly what she needed. After a few minutes, he turned to me and said, “Has she had any traumatic experiences before? Anything that might’ve happened to her before you adopted her?”
I blinked at him. It wasn’t something I had ever thought to ask. I had adopted Millie from a local shelter just six months earlier. She had been an unclaimed stray who was found wandering the streets, and they’d told me she was about two years old. The shelter said she was sweet but a little timid around loud noises and new people. Nothing too unusual for a rescue dog.
“I don’t think so,” I replied. “I mean, I don’t know much about her past. The shelter didn’t really give me any specifics, just that she had been on her own for a while. Maybe that’s why she’s so nervous around new things.”
Ronan seemed to consider this for a moment, his gaze softening. “It could be more than just the water. She might be associating something from her past with it.”
I looked down at Millie, who was now crouched on the edge of the pool, her eyes locked on the water, her body frozen in place. “What do you mean?”
Ronan paused, his voice gentle. “Dogs, especially rescues, sometimes carry memories from their past that we can’t always see. Fear, anxiety—it can show up in ways we don’t expect. But, with the right guidance, they can work through it.”
Something in his words hit me deeply, and I realized I had been so focused on Millie’s little quirks and dramatic reactions that I hadn’t considered the deeper reasons behind them. Was it possible that she had experienced something traumatic in her past that was making her so terrified? What if she had been hurt by someone or something she trusted?
Ronan’s patience and insight made me rethink everything. As Millie continued to stare at the water, I could feel the weight of his words settle over me. I wanted to help her—really help her—but how could I get her to trust me enough to take that first step?
We spent the rest of the session working on getting Millie more comfortable with the water, even though she was still reluctant. Ronan suggested I try bringing her in at home, maybe with a kiddie pool, to start slow. That way, it wouldn’t feel so overwhelming for her.
As we wrapped up, I thanked Ronan, but before I could leave, he asked something unexpected.
“Do you know her other name?” he asked, his tone a little more serious now.
I raised an eyebrow, confused. “Her other name? What do you mean? She’s just Millie.”
Ronan seemed to hesitate before continuing. “You might want to check. Sometimes, dogs carry their old names with them. It’s not uncommon for rescues to have that connection, a name tied to something bad or scary.”
I felt a chill run down my spine. What did he mean by that? Was it possible that Millie had a name before that somehow triggered her fear?
I left the lesson with more questions than answers, but I knew I needed to try to find out. That night, I called the shelter, hoping they might have some information I didn’t know about Millie’s past. The person on the other end of the line was kind but didn’t have much to offer.
“We didn’t know a lot about her previous life,” the shelter worker told me. “She was a stray for a while, and when we found her, she was really skittish. She wasn’t responding to her old name anymore, so we started calling her Millie. Sorry, we don’t have anything more specific than that.”
I hung up, disappointed but not surprised. Still, something felt off. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Ronan might be onto something. If Millie’s fear of water was deeper than just a natural aversion, there had to be a reason for it.
The next day, I decided to do something I never would have thought to do before. I reached out to a pet psychic. Yes, it sounded strange, but at that point, I was willing to try anything. I was desperate to help Millie, and I felt like I needed to understand more about her past.
The psychic was kind and understanding, and after a few questions about Millie’s behavior and personality, she told me something unexpected.
“She’s carrying the weight of something,” the psychic said. “There was a time when she felt abandoned. She’s not just afraid of the water—she’s afraid of being left alone. I don’t know why, but there’s something about water that triggers those feelings.”
I felt my heart sink. Could it be that Millie had been abandoned by someone she trusted before? Had the water been a symbol of being left behind, of drowning in loneliness?
The psychic continued, “Her name before Millie was Riley. And there’s a memory tied to that name. I don’t know what happened to her before, but she associates Riley with pain. Maybe if you can make her feel safe, truly safe, she might start letting go of that fear.”
Riley. The name felt heavy in my chest. It was almost like a jolt of recognition, even though I had never heard it before. I wasn’t sure how I could make Millie feel safe again, but I knew I had to try.
The next morning, I sat with Millie and called her “Riley,” just to see how she would react. At first, nothing happened. But then she looked at me, and for the first time, there was a flicker of recognition in her eyes. Her tail wagged, cautiously at first, then faster. She jumped up and licked my face, as if she were finally ready to trust me.
I realized then that Ronan and the psychic had been right—Millie wasn’t just a scared little dog; she was carrying the weight of a past she couldn’t fully understand. But with patience, with love, and with trust, we could work through it together.
Over the next few weeks, we slowly began to rebuild her confidence, both in the water and in herself. I kept calling her “Riley” as we worked through the lessons, and each time, I saw her grow more comfortable. She no longer froze at the pool’s edge. She began to paddle, to enjoy the water, to trust that she wouldn’t be abandoned again.
One day, as she swam happily around the pool, I smiled, realizing just how far we had come. Millie was no longer the scared, trembling dog I had first met. She was a confident, brave dog who had faced her past and was ready to embrace the future.
And the lesson? Sometimes, the scars we carry aren’t visible. They are hidden in our hearts and minds, tied to the past in ways we can’t always explain. But with patience, understanding, and a little love, we can begin to heal.
So, if you’re struggling with something—whether it’s a fear, a relationship, or an old wound—remember that healing takes time, but it’s always possible. Sometimes, you just need to take that first step.
Please share this story if it resonates with you, and remember that we’re all capable of growth, no matter where we’ve come from. Let’s continue to heal together.
