Ad copy

Last April I drove to the shelter to surrender my dog. I sat in the parking lot for forty minutes. This is what happened next. April 14th. I have the surrender paperwork on the passenger seat. Bear is in the back with his chin on my shoulder and his tail going because he thinks we're going somewhere fun. He has no idea. I sit in that parking lot for forty minutes with the engine running and my hands on the steering wheel and I cannot get out of the car. He's been returned twice before I got him. If I walk through those doors today it will be three times. Three times this dog watches someone he loves walk away. I wipe my face and get out. I walk inside. The intake coordinator's name is Diane. She looks at the paperwork. Looks at Bear. Looks at me. She puts the paperwork down. "Can I ask you to do one thing before I process this?" She reaches under the counter and pulls out a collar. "I've been running intake here for fifteen years. Separation anxiety and destruction is the number one reason people surrender. Before you tell me you've tried calming products, let me explain why none of them worked." She explains the science. Dogs respond to a specific pheromone that mother dogs produce at birth. The first message a dog's nervous system ever receives. You are safe. Nothing is wrong. You can stop. Bear's nervous system had been running on alarm for eight months because it never received that message. The treats make dogs drowsy. Drowsy isn't calm. A diffuser only works in the room it's plugged into. The moment he walks away the effect stays behind. A collar travels with him. Everywhere. All day. She looks at me. "Give me seven days. Go to work, live your life, seven days. If nothing changes bring him back and I'll process the surrender myself." I look at Bear asleep at my feet. I take the collar. Day one. I clip it on. He sniffs it for ten seconds and forgets about it. I check the webcam from my desk. He's pacing. Same as always. I close the app and tell myself this is just another thing that doesn't work. I get home. The apartment is not destroyed. Day three. I open the webcam at lunch. Bear is lying on the couch. He lifts his head when a car horn honks and puts it back down. In eight months of checking that webcam I have never once seen him lying down during the day. Something is happening. Day five. I get home and Bear is at the door. Tail wagging. Not frantic. Not panting. Not covered in drool. Just happy to see me. I walk through the apartment. No chewing. No scratching. No destruction. I stand in my living room and look around at my clean undamaged apartment and feel this weird disorientation like I walked into the wrong unit. Day seven. I open the webcam at work. Bear is asleep on the couch. Just a dog sleeping on a couch in a quiet apartment in the middle of a Tuesday. I sit at my desk and cry so hard my coworker asks if I am okay. I call Diane. "I'm not bringing him back." She laughs softly. "I know you're not." Week two. My neighbor in 4B stops me in the hallway. "I don't know what you did but I haven't heard a thing in weeks." I almost hug him. Week four. I realize I haven't checked the webcam in four days. Not because I was busy. Because I forgot. Because for the first time in almost a year I wasn't afraid of what I'd see. Eleven months later. Bear is on the couch with his chin on the armrest and his eyes closed. No pacing. No drool. No destruction. No complaints. No landlord emails. No shaking hands in a shelter parking lot. Just a dog on a couch. The collar is called PawLax. It's free right now for their anniversary, just cover shipping. 60 day money back guarantee. Buy 1 Get 2 Free so you are covered for six months. Not everyone gets a Diane. But everyone can get the collar. 👉 trypawlax.com/products/pawlax-collar Free collar, Buy 1 Get 2 Free, just cover shipping 60 day money back guarantee Seven days is all Diane asked for. That's all I'm asking too.