Mini Series
Meet Freya – Part 1
10
Jan
Jan
How a Rescue Dog Labeled “Too Aggressive” Became the Heart of Canine Brain Games
If you’ve been following our journey, you know we’ve been riding some rough waves with Freya lately. Back in December 2024, we braced ourselves for a final goodbye after what we thought was a stroke or seizure. Fast forward to 2026, and while we had a ton of good moments, the bad have increased 10 fold—Freya likely has a brain tumor, and we’re running out of options to keep her comfortable, aside from steroids. So, we’re doing what we can, and I’m doing what helps me process: writing about my soul dog.
Let’s rewind to Easter 2014. The day started out like any other holiday. My best friend was visiting her boyfriend’s family in Georgia when she spotted something in the backyard that would change all of our lives.
There, chained to a tree with no shade, no shelter, and no water, was a dog. She was painfully thin, her fur patchy and sunburned, her paws raw, and a long scar ran the length of her spine. Everything about her looked broken—except her eyes. When my friend looked into them, she saw a spark, a glimmer of hope and fight that refused to be snuffed out.
The family told her the dog was “too aggressive” to be around their kids. That’s why she’d been banished outside, left alone to survive in the heat. My friend didn’t buy it. Even if there was some truth to the label, she knew—deep down—that no dog deserves to be written off or left to suffer like that.
The label didn’t match reality
My friend was determined to get her out.
She called animal control. But here’s where it got complicated: animal control would only release her to a rescue, and if no rescue came forward, she’d be euthanized. To further complicate things, it was not cost effective for a rescue to pull just one dog.
My friend and I spent days searching for a rescue willing to pull just one dog. It was harder than it should have been. But eventually, she found one that said yes.
The rescue spayed her, got her up to date on shots, and my friend adopted her. Showing Freya, the first signs of what it meant to be loved and part of a family.
But Freya’s aggression showed up in a different way. Within weeks of coming home, she attacked my friend’s own dog—multiple times, causing real damage.
It wasn’t people she struggled with; it was other animals. My friend loved her, but she knew she needed help.
May 2014: I Meet Freya
I flew into Georgia for work that month. I of course wanted me to meet Freya, the dog I was already emotionally invested in from another state.
And I’ll never forget the moment I did.
I got in late so I did not meet her until the next morning. I had just gotten out of the shower. She startled me… and I startled her. She stopped in the hall and barked at me, just one bark to say “hey, I’m here”. She came up to me with a wiggly butt and jumping up and down.
I remember when she was checking me out, her tooth snagged my ring. The contact made me pull back quickly as I said “ouch”. She immediately ran downstairs, aware that something had shifted. She wasn’t trying to hurt me; she was investigating. And when she sensed my fear, she retreated.
She was rambunctious, didn’t know how to play properly, would jump and head-butt you instead of cuddling. But underneath all that chaos was the sweetest soul I’d ever encountered. As long as you were human, anyway.
I fell in love with her immediately.
Over the next few months, we tried to figure out what was happening with Freya. Was she aggressive because of her environment—the chain, the isolation, the neglect? Was it genetics—terrier blood, a natural prey drive that went beyond typical? Was it both?
The truth is, we didn’t know. But we knew one thing: she couldn’t stay there and the ability to find her the right home was slim.
July 2014: Freya Comes Home
By August, Freya flew north to Vermont to live with me. She joined my household of two other dogs, two cats, our 10-year-old son, and my boyfriend. It was chaotic. It was risky. But I believed she deserved a chance and I told myself I was up for the work.
And let’s be honest, I was young, naive, and my favorite breed was the American Staffordshire Terrier. I had dreamed of having a “blue pitty” and this was my chance. All the wrong reasons at that time, but worth every moment.
That first night, we stayed in a hotel. The next morning, a trainer met us to help with the initial introduction into the home. We had no idea what we were walking into.
What happened next—the struggles, the breakthroughs, the lessons Freya taught me—would fundamentally change how I understand dog behavior, training, and the human-dog relationship.
And it’s the reason Canine Brain Games exists today.
Read the next chapter January 18th