The Big Dog Lesson – Patience, Trust, and Sticking It Out
We have a dog. A big, 90-pound White Swiss Shepherd.
We got her for a couple of reasons. First, protection. I’m on the road a lot and having this four-legged “weapon” to alert, react, and warn others was a priority. Second, we wanted a great family dog. Shepherds can be both.
It took me a while to find her, but when I did, I flew across the country, grabbed a rental car, scooped the pup at 8 weeks old, and she sat on my lap for the 1,500 miles home. It was love at first sight—at least for me.
When we pulled into the driveway, my daughter went crazy for this little, adorable, living stuffed animal. What 6-year-old wouldn’t have? For a while, everything was cute: puppy kisses, playful tumbles, and oversized paws skidding across the hardwood floors. But within a few months, the “pup” had become a dog; a big, loud, intimidating dog.
And my daughter? She was terrified.
When Good Plans Don’t Go as Planned
At about 9 months old, we sent the beast off to training (as planned). When she came back, she was a single-word commanded soldier—disciplined, sharp, impressive.
But to my daughter, she was still terrifying.
The bark rattled the windows. The claws clicked on the hardwood like tap shoes from a horror movie. And when she charged across the yard, she looked less like “family pet” and more like a special ops unit engaging on a target.
Meanwhile, my daughter was so intimidated that she once asked if we could “trade the dog in for a hamster.” Not exactly the family bonding moment I’d envisioned.
Patience, Time, and Small Steps
But we didn’t give up.
We worked at it. Slowly. Patiently. Small steps.
We had the dog sit calmly in the room while my daughter read a book.
We encouraged her to give the dog a treat (from a safe distance at first, then closer).
We showed her how the dog would listen to commands—even hers. “Sit.” “Down.” And “Break!” to release her. With every successful command, trust grew a little.
There were plenty of funny misfires too. Like the time my daughter whispered “stay” and the dog tilted her head as if to say, “Kid, you’re going to have to speak up. I’m 90 pounds, not a stuffed animal.” Or when the dog licked her entire ice cream cone in one pass—tears for one, triumph for the other.
Over time, though, my daughter stopped seeing the dog as a monster in the living room and started seeing her as part of the team.
Now, Four Years Later
The same dog that once made my daughter cry now curls up next to her bed at night. The bark that once sent her running now makes her feel safe when I’m away. The size that once intimidated her is the same size she brags about to her friends: “She’s huge! Nobody’s messing with us.”
It didn’t happen overnight. It took patience, consistency, and a lot of reassurance. But now? They’re a team.
The Military Parallel
In the military, I learned that trust isn’t automatic. You can’t throw people together, slap the word “team” on them, and expect cohesion. It takes time, repetition, shared experiences, and sometimes friction before trust is built.
I’ve seen soldiers who didn’t get along at first—different backgrounds, different temperaments—but after months of training side by side, relying on each other, they became brothers.
That’s what happened in my living room. A six-year-old little girl and a 90-pound shepherd didn’t start off as best friends. But over time, through consistency and patience, trust grew. And once it grew, it stuck.
A Dad’s Reflection
The temptation in life is to give up when something doesn’t work right away. To say, “This was a mistake. Let’s cut our losses.” But sometimes, the things worth keeping take time to grow.
My daughter and our dog taught me that.
If we had given up early, my daughter would’ve missed out on one of her best protectors, companions, and friends. And I would’ve missed out on watching her courage catch up with her fear.
And truth be told, I would’ve missed out on the comic relief too. Like the time the dog barked at the Amazon driver and my daughter shouted, “At ease, soldier!” as if she was giving orders. Or the way she now proudly parades the dog down the street like she’s walking a lion.
A Challenge for Other Dads
Maybe you don’t have a 90-pound shepherd in your living room. But chances are, you’ve got something else in your home that’s intimidating, frustrating, or not going according to plan.
Here’s my challenge: before you give up on it—slow down. Try patience. Take small steps.
If your child is afraid of something new, break it down into manageable pieces.
If a skill isn’t clicking, slow the pace and celebrate small wins.
If a relationship is strained, keep showing up with consistency.
Because the greatest rewards often come on the other side of patience.
Closing Thought
Today, when I see my daughter and our shepherd side by side, I smile. Not because it was easy—but because it wasn’t.
We didn’t quit. We stayed the course. And in the end, they found not just coexistence, but companionship.
The dog that once scared her now guards her. And the girl who once avoided her now loves her fiercely.
That’s the big dog lesson: trust takes time, patience, and sometimes a little humor. And the things that start off hardest can sometimes become the very things we treasure most.