Big Girl Panties Diaries - Entry #4 Sit, Stay, Panic: Leadership Lessons from My Rescue Dog Ash

Big Girl Panties Diaries Entry #4 Sit, Stay, Panic: Leadership Lessons from My Rescue Dog

Let me start by saying: I was not a dog person.

In fact, I was the opposite of a dog person. When I was five, I watched my best friend get attacked by a German Shepherd. That fear rooted itself deep—and it stayed.

Fast-forward to a different kind of fear: watching your child go through an unexplainable, chronic illness. Hailey was sick for two years. She didn’t leave the house much, and her spirit—once bright—dimmed. Anna, her little sister, watched quietly from the sidelines, absorbing more than I realized. I wanted to fix something. Anything.

A few friends suggested a dog. One even sent a photo of them cuddling their pup, hand-feeding it gummy worms before it passed. That image stuck. It tugged on something primal and motherly in me. And on July 2, over breakfast, I cracked.

“Let’s go get a dog!” I blurted.

We hit the local SPCA—no luck. Then we drove a bit farther and walked into a wall of barking pit bulls. All that intense barking scared me. I was ready to turn around and run, fear bubbling up fast.

But then I saw her.

At the end of the kennel line was a tiny Australian Shepherd mix with soulful brown eyes and a black-and-white coat like smoke and snow. She looked just as terrified as I felt.

Her name? Ash.

She didn’t bark, didn’t growl—just stared with this quiet desperation. We asked to meet her. She was shy. Gentle. Sweet. Within an hour, she was ours.

And for 48 hours, I thought we adopted an actual angel.

I was wrong.

Ash unleashed absolute chaos:

• She ate everything—including my underwear, my retainer, and nearly my sanity

• Nipped everyone—ankles, hands

• Resource guarded us from each other

• Wouldn’t let me near the girls

• Made family meals impossible

• Walked in frantic circles whenever we tried to take her on a walk

• And drove me to hide in my bedroom for an entire month

• Oh—and I broke my toe chasing her, not paying attention, and running into furniture

If this were a new hire, I’d say her résumé was… creatively written. She came with anxiety, control issues, and a strong sense of ownership over things that weren’t actually hers. I didn’t onboard her—I accidentally threw her into a culture clash without the tools, structure, or support she needed.

She also wouldn’t let any strangers in the house. At the slightest sound, her ears perk up and she’s on full alert—scrappy, suspicious, and ready to fight to the death. We even tried a “visitor simulation”—Anna threw on a Barbie wig, rang the doorbell, and… let’s just say it was an epic failure.

Ash loves belly rubs, pupsicles, and bully sticks. She’ll do anything for treats—sit pretty, settle, roll. She may be a little monster sometimes, but she’s our monster.

Luckily, my husband grew up with dogs and now serves as Ash’s primary caregiver. They spend a lot of time together—so much, in fact, that they occasionally need a little space from one another. He’s done an impressive amount of research on how to support her—her breed, her quirks, her anxiety.

But my favorite moment? When Ash went into heat, he sat me down and sincerely explained: “She might be moody… and testy… and extra tired during her cycle.” I burst out laughing. “You live in a house with three other females and this is the first time you’ve thought about that concept?!”

She gave my husband a hobby. She gave Hailey comfort. She gave Anna a purpose. And she gave me a crash course in trauma-informed leadership—how to create safety, set boundaries, and give second chances even when it’s messy.

My girls absolutely adore her. They snuggle her like a baby, sneak her snacks when I’m not looking, and whisper their secrets into her fur. Despite everything, she’s their dog—and the bond they share runs deep.

I like to think I’m her calming presence. I can feel her anxiety sometimes and I just want her to know: she’s safe now. She has a family. She’s loved. We don’t know much about her background, but we suspect she was mistreated. She’s not just learning how to behave—she’s learning how to trust.

And while I may not have grown up with dogs (my parents are as clueless as I was—at one point my mom asked, “What have you done? Maybe you should get rid of her.”), I knew one thing for sure: Ash wasn’t going anywhere.

Even our trainer, after hearing the backstory of Hailey’s illness and our decision to adopt, looked at me sideways and said, “And you thought getting a dog would help this?” My answer was a resounding: YES.

Because sometimes chaos is exactly what shakes things loose. Sometimes healing doesn’t look like stillness—it looks like barking, breaking, chasing, and starting over.

Ash still has her quirks—loud noises, unexpected guests, the occasional nip during a belly rub—but she’s making progress. She’ll be two soon, and we recently gave her a middle name: Leigh. You know, like when you’re yelling at a child in serious trouble: “Ash. Leigh. Whitten. Get over here right now!” (It weirdly works.)

I even considered throwing her a birthday party… until I remembered she doesn’t have any friends. (Unless you count the bunnies she screams at daily.)

But friendless or not, she’s part of our family. Forever. She may have flipped our world upside down—but maybe that’s exactly what we needed.

Big Girl Panties Rule: Sometimes leadership doesn’t look like command and control. Sometimes it looks like patience, persistence, and a pocket full of treats.

#BigGirlPanties #LeadershipLessons #TraumaInformedLeadership #RescueDog #LifeLessonsFromADog #LeadWithHeart #SitStaySurvive