5 People Who Found Lasting Love With So-Called ‘Difficult’ Dogs Who Survived Trauma

Trigger warning: this article contains descriptions of abuse.

My husband and I are sitting cross-legged on the floor, tossing sausages over to this nervous creature who has no idea who we are; we patiently wait for her to come to us. She seems intrigued but that’s probably the food and not us. There wasn’t a sign or some bolt of lightning, we didn’t fall in love in that second. But we took this former stray dog back to our home anyway, our little flat in south London that would become her home, too. The drive home felt like years, her anxiety filling the car. I was overwhelmed and unsure about what the future held – we all were – I wondered if we’d feel this way forever...

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As I type this from my desk, almost five years later, Lucy sprawled on the bed behind me, I’d love to go back to myself in that moment and whisper into my ear that it doesn’t matter what I feel about this dog right now… it will take time, but you’ll fall madly in love with each other – you’ll become each other’s safe spaces.

And so I set out to meet other people who adopted rescue pups and quizzed them about the moment they met their dog. Was it instant? Or did it take time to cultivate a bond? How are they doing now? These stories will take you on an emotional rollercoaster that‘ll convince you that with a little bit of faith, a whole bunch of work and a lot of patience, the bond you two will eventually share is nothing short of magical.

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At so many points in those first hours, weeks, months, I screamed, internally: what have we done? 

Marty and Elsa

The first time Marty saw Elsa she was being loaded out of a van and into kennels. Marty had come to pick up another dog –  a male French Mastiff from All Dogs Matter – but there was Elsa. “She’d just been to the vets and was angry – she’d had a really hard time,” says Marty. The charity asked Marty if she’d take Elsa home instead – “just for the weekend” – she was howling so much that she wouldn’t cope in kennels. Marty wasn’t supposed to keep her...

“There was nothing in me that thought this is the dog for me,” says Marty, “she was so scraggy and fluffy.” After two days, Marty’s house was filled with fur: “Elsa was shedding everywhere.” A self-proclaimed “neat freak”, Marty, a woman who only wears black, couldn’t keep a dog like Elsa, could she? Plus, Elsa kept snapping at Marty. “I did everything with oven gloves on,” says Marty. “I was desperate for her to leave, I thought: I can’t deal with this.”

Marty had worried that keeping Elsa would make her own mental health deteriorate, but something flicked in her brain. Their histories could connect them: Marty has been abused and so has Elsa. “She had a broken leg and nose, cigarette burns, bruising around her hips where she’d been kicked,” says Marty, “it wasn’t surprising that she had an attitude.” As Elsa had a bite history, Marty knew that if she went back to the kennels, she’d be put to sleep. “After spending a weekend with that dog, I couldn’t let it happen.”

That fateful meeting back in 2016 has evolved into what Marty describes as the most “symbiotic” relationship of her life. “She’s my soulmate,” says Marty, “we’ve helped each other heal from our traumas.” Since adopting Elsa, Marty has learnt that her capacity for love is greater than she ever anticipated. Now, Marty couldn’t be without Elsa. “She senses my needs like I sense hers. She’s the most incredible matronly, queenly lady,” says Marty, “and I don’t know who I am without her.”

Corinne and River

Corinne knew not to approach; so as River made his way – “wiggly but nervous” – over to her, she knelt down, avoiding his gaze. They’d been warned by his foster parents that he’d likely be territorial so Corinne and her husband had come armed with cheese. As he got comfortable, Corinne tentatively fed him some. In that moment, there was an “instant connection”, says Corinne, and after 15 minutes, her husband gave her a look: “we knew we were taking him home.”

For the first year of his life, River was a street dog in Qatar. He was attacked by a group of dogs, brought to a rescue – Qatar Animal Welfare Society – to get medical help, then adopted by a family in Canada. “But he didn’t do well with kids and so the rescue began looking for a better placement for him,” explains Corinne. “At the time, our dog through this same rescue had died and we let them know we were looking again. They knew we weren’t going to have kids and loved running and River is a dog who loves to run.” And that’s how they’d found themselves bringing River home.

Sadly that instant connection was quickly lost and difficult to find again Corinne explains. “I realised I didn’t know the real River at that first meeting,” says Corinne. River wouldn’t let Corinne sit next to him, let alone touch him – “he’d growl or run off”. When they went out on a walk, he’d snarl and lunge at other dogs. “It felt so unpredictable when he’d react,” she says, “his reactions triggered fear and other scary emotions in me.” Corinne struggled so much in that first year that she considered rehoming him. But she couldn’t do it. So began many trainers, online courses, supplements and pure hope that it would get easier. 

Three years in and Corinne describes their connection now as “hard fought” – with that comes a depth of bond that Corinne finds hard to describe. She’s learnt to regulate her own nervous system and delved into dog body language – “trying to understand what’s going on in River’s head.” Rather than fight his reactivity – “he’s wary because he was a street dog who had to survive” – Corinne works with them, listening out for what he needs. She realised all River wanted was a safe space and so Corinne vowed to be that for him.

You can follow River’s journey @riverthestreetdog

Lisa and Jack

It was Sunday, 18 August 2024 when Lisa, her partner David and teenage son Max drove for two hours to meet Jack the Jack Russell terrier at Woodgreen Pets Charity. “We could tell he was incredibly nervous, so didn’t attempt to touch him,” says Lisa, “he spent most of the time sniffing around the office.” Although Jack showed no interest in Lisa and her family, she’d been ready for that – they wanted a dog they could help. A bond would grow when Jack was ready.

Lisa knew that Jack hadn’t had a good start in life. “He was petrified,” says Lisa. He’d come into Woodgreen after being found on the hottest day of the year in a cardboard box covered in dirt. “He didn’t want to be touched, he was spooked by everything, and wouldn’t even go through doors,” says Lisa.

For Lisa, shedding expectations has meant that things that might seem trivial to others have become “lovely milestones” that make her heart melt. “Like the first time he allowed us to touch him, the first time he rolled over for a belly rub, the first time he ran with a ball in his mouth and the first time he ate a meal with us in the room,” says Lisa, “things that other dog owners take for granted mean a great deal to us.”

Five months in, with support from Woodgreen and a behaviourist, and Lisa has learned to go at Jack’s pace. “Two weeks ago we managed to get him into the car for the first time for a walk on the beach,” beams Lisa. “We just want him to be the happy dog he deserves to be.”

Lola and Atlas

Atlas crawled into Lola’s lap. She was supposed to be picking up a little old Whippet, but here was Atlas: a puppy with bald patches who looked like he’d been living outside. “I was told the Whippet had found a home. Atlas was the accidental outcome of two Whippets mating and he needed a home.” Lola felt like she’d been guilted into taking him, this wasn’t what she’d wanted.

And yet, two days later, Lola found herself back there to pick him up. “Someone was dangling Atlas in the air like he was something awful,” says Lola. “I was told he’d not been fed that day as they didn’t want him to be sick in the car. He cried the whole way back to mine, hungrily scoffing the treats I’d brought with me. How could I have left him?”

Four months old at the time, Lola knew nothing about his past. In the first few months, Lola wrestled with conflicting emotions of “both intense love and resentment.” She hadn’t felt ready, but she also knew it wasn’t his fault. And so the months passed, and Atlas grew much bigger than the Whippet Lola was expecting – turns out he’s a Greyhound x Staffie mix. “He was demanding and strong and had so much energy, he was hard to walk,” explains Lola, “and then he started showing reactivity.”

Fast forward five years, and Lola and Atlas have been on a huge journey. She struggled during the toughest times, when his anxiety got so bad it was difficult to manage, but now he is her favourite person – “it’s the two of us,” she says. “Dogs deserve the same level of understanding humans do. We all have our own heavy experiences, and our animals are the same.” Atlas has taught Lola about the reality of dogs and how much their trauma and experiences affect them. “The idea of the ‘perfect’ dog is problematic, and we can’t expect them to fit into a preconceived mold.” Lola says that Atlas has transformed her life, she’s gained so much from him and adores the “funny little life” they’ve created together.

Orla and Luna

For Kinship.co.uk’s senior editor, Orla Pentelow, and her partner, Will, 2020 finally felt like the right time to welcome a dog into their lives. With their jobs no longer requiring them to be in the office full-time, they knew they could provide the time and stability a rescue dog needed. For Orla, there was never a question – it had to be a rescue. Why spend thousands on a puppy when so many dogs were desperate for homes?

Luna (then Harriet) had already endured more in her short four-month life than most dogs ever do. Found on the side of a road in Romania, stuffed in a bag with her siblings – no mum in sight – she was taken to a foster centre. That was all they knew of her past, other than that she was “lucky she’d never been to a kill shelter”, they were told. 

Covid-19 restrictions meant that when Luna and her siblings – each given an ‘H’ name – arrived from Romania, there was no foster handover or slow introduction. Instead, she was quite literally dropped at their door from a van of crates. She weed herself on arrival, shaking so hard she could barely stand. Orla and Will often describe it as the start of a sad Disney movie – her siblings watching, one by one, as they were handed over to strangers. They knew the road ahead would be rocky, but nothing could have prepared them for just how hard those first few months would be.

It took three days for Luna to come out of her crate. She clung to the sides, frozen in fear, cowering whenever they tried to clean up her accidents. “The hardest part was ignoring her, allowing her to take things at her own pace,” says Orla. “Eventually, she ate. A week in, she stepped into the living room (only a metre away, but still, progress is progress).” And almost two weeks later, when she finally came in for a cuddle? “That feeling of being ‘chosen’ was like nothing else.”

A second (and third, and fourth…) lockdown meant Luna’s world remained small – just Orla, Will, their flat and the park. It did wonders for recall and training, but socialisation was another story. Fear and separation anxiety became their biggest challenges.

“There was no grand breakthrough, no cinematic moment of realisation,” admits Orla, but four years later, their bond is greater than they ever could have imagined. “Luna is still anxious and sensitive (aren’t we all?), but she trusts us in a way that feels almost sacred,” she adds. “Yes, leaving her with other people is hard, but the joy on her face when she’s curled up between us on the sofa (we caved pretty early on that rule…) makes it all worth it.”

Whenever possible, they take her along on domestic trips, watching the moment she realises she’s coming too. “That quiet excitement, the trust, the happiness – it’s the best feeling in the world.” Their dog trainer friend, who looks after her when they do venture abroad, says she’s never seen anything like it when they return. “Luna doesn’t just greet us; she melts into us, overwhelmed with relief that we’re back,” says Orla. “I really do feel like we’re her ‘people’.” 

The journey hasn’t been easy, but it has taught Orla more about herself than she ever expected – especially a level of patience she didn’t know she had. “It has changed Will and I, too,” she adds. “Being gentler with her has made us gentler with ourselves, and with each other. Learning to navigate her fears has meant learning to slow down, to listen more, to sit with discomfort rather than rush to fix it (trust me, there is no quick fix).” Luna has shaped not just how they approach training, but how they approach life.

“Advocating for her has also changed the way I see dogs, training, and relationships – both dog-to-dog and dog-to-human,” says Orla. “People assume they have a right to touch your dog or let their own dog bound over without a second thought. But every dog is different, just like people. A relationship with a dog isn’t a right; it’s a privilege. It’s earned.”