Let me tell you about Bonnie, a Golden Retriever I recently met. You know, people often tell me they don’t adopt from shelters because they’re looking for a specific breed. Well, let me stop you right there. Shelters have them all—German Shepherds, Huskies, Dalmatians, even Golden Retrievers like Bonnie. But when I walked into the shelter and met her, I was taken aback. This wasn’t the happy, tail-wagging Golden Retriever most people imagine. Bonnie was completely shut down, and that’s what makes her story so heartbreaking.

Golden Retrievers are, by nature, the definition of happiness. They’re the dogs you picture when you think about family, loyalty, and joy. They love treats, they smile, and they practically bounce with excitement. But Bonnie? Bonnie wasn’t doing any of that. She was curled up in the corner of her kennel, food untouched, refusing to even look at me. Her body language was screaming fear.

As I sat with her, I could feel how much she was holding inside. Her breathing was rapid and shallow, her eyes wouldn’t meet mine, and she didn’t even acknowledge the two treats that were sitting right in front of her nose. It was like she was trapped in her own world of fear, and no one could reach her.

Bonnie had been found wandering in a residential neighborhood, wearing a collar and a choke chain. The shelter scanned her and found a microchip, which gave us a bit of hope. Maybe, just maybe, her family was looking for her. But when the shelter reached out, the phone number tied to the microchip responded with, “wrong number.” Not exactly what you want to hear when you’re trying to reunite a dog with their family.

Still, the shelter sent a physical postcard to the address on file, hoping someone would claim her. But days went by with no response. It’s hard to say if her family even wants her back. The sad truth is, sometimes people drop off dogs at shelters under the guise of “finding them” rather than admitting they’re relinquishing their own pet. We don’t know for sure if that’s what happened here, but Bonnie’s condition makes me wonder.

Bonnie’s anxiety was palpable. I could see it in her body, especially her hips. A dog’s hips tell you a lot about how they’re feeling. In Bonnie’s case, her hips were tight, trembling slightly from anxiety. She wasn’t just nervous—she was petrified. When a dog is that scared, their basic instincts, like eating, completely shut down. The food bowl in her kennel was full, even though it was well past feeding time. That told me everything I needed to know: Bonnie was in survival mode, and fear had taken over.

Now, for Golden Retrievers, food is usually the key to their heart. I thought if I could just get her to take a treat, we’d have a chance to break through that wall of fear. But she wasn’t having it. I tried again and again, offering her my hand with a treat, but she didn’t budge. It was a first for me—seeing a Golden Retriever this shut down, refusing treats.

So, I switched tactics. I decided to focus on touch. Slowly, I reached out and gently touched her paw, hoping to make a connection. To my surprise, she didn’t pull away. It was a tiny victory, but in these moments, every little sign of trust matters. I started combining touch with treats, trying to associate my presence with something positive. Bonnie didn’t take the treat, but she let me stay close. That, in itself, was progress.

The longer I sat with Bonnie, the more I could see that what she needed wasn’t just time, but love and trust. There’s something I call “the scoop”—it’s when I gently pick up a dog who’s been through trauma and give them a sense of security by holding them close. It’s like a hug, but for dogs who’ve forgotten what it feels like to be loved.

With Bonnie, I wasn’t sure if she’d let me do the scoop. But I had to try. Slowly, I reached under her, making sure not to rush. She trembled at first, but then something incredible happened—she didn’t resist. I lifted her gently and cradled her in my arms, feeling her little body relax just a bit. Her eyes were still filled with fear, but there was a tiny flicker of trust starting to emerge.

As I held her, I whispered positive affirmations, telling her she was a good girl, that she was loved, and that everything was going to be okay. Sometimes, dogs just need to hear those words. They might not understand the specifics, but they can feel the love behind them. It’s amazing how much comfort they can find in simple human kindness.

The big question hanging over all of this is—where is Bonnie’s family? With her collar and clean ears, it’s clear someone cared for her at some point. But now, we’re left wondering if they’ll come for her. The shelter gave them 24 hours to claim her. If they don’t show up, Bonnie might be facing a new journey. And I’m seriously considering bringing her to Flip’s Farm.

Flip’s Farm is our rehabilitation farm, named after my late dog, Flip, who helped me rehabilitate so many dogs over the years. It’s a place of peace, healing, and second chances. Bonnie might just be the perfect candidate to join us there, alongside another dog we’re working with, Pumpkin. Pumpkin is also shut down, and the two of them could really help each other heal. Dogs like Bonnie and Pumpkin thrive when they have a quiet space to decompress and a friend by their side.

So, what do you think? Will Bonnie’s family come for her, or is she about to start a new chapter with us? Either way, she’s going to need your help. If you’re new here, we always encourage sharing these stories, because every share brings more attention to dogs like Bonnie who need a second chance. Let’s get her story out there and see what the future holds.