animals

I got Tate, a highly trained German Shepherd, to help with my social anxiety as a service dog. He was perfect—smart, protective, and so in tune with me. Tate guided me through panic-inducing situations, nudging me when I needed space, making the world feel a little less overwhelming.

But then, Tate got too protective. He’d growl at anyone who came too close, even when they were just trying to be friendly. It became harder to manage.

The organization that trained him saw it as a problem. They said he wasn’t performing as he should, that he was too territorial, and they took him away. Just like that. I fought, I begged, but it didn’t matter. Tate was gone.

They didn’t offer me another dog. So, I scoured the internet until I found another German Shepherd that looked like Tate. I named her Gypsy. But instead of calming my anxiety, she had worse anxiety than me. She was a mess—shaking, nervous, constantly on edge. But somehow, she and I muddled through it together, two anxious souls trying to navigate the chaos of life.