A Paw to Hold: One Family’s Story of Healing with a Service Dog

Sometimes healing comes on four paws with kind eyes and soft ears. For one family in our community, a three-year-old German Shepherd has brought peace and comfort that words can hardly capture. Adopted from a shelter and trained as a service dog, she has become so much more than a companion—she has become a lifeline.

Her presence has calmed the household in ways that nothing else could. When stress rises or emotions run high, she has an uncanny ability to sense it. With a gentle nudge and an intent gaze, she reminds her humans to take a breath. Her small acts of awareness—her quiet, steady presence—have helped ease tension in moments when words or traditional support fall short.

The parents say that she’s watching over the entire family. “She is very cued to us as adults,” one caregiver shared. “When stress levels are high, she nudges us. It’s like she knows when we’re at the breaking point.”

These moments, though simple, have made all the difference. The family describes a “calming down effect” that ripples through their home because of her. What once felt overwhelming now feels just a little more manageable, thanks to their loyal service dog.

That’s why programs like A Paw to Hold matter so deeply. Service dogs can change everything, but the cost of training one can feel impossible for many families. This program exists to bridge that gap—to ease the financial burden and open the door for more children and parents to experience the healing a dog can bring.

As this family puts it: “Allow our organization to come alongside your family. We want to help. We know the benefits and difference a service dog can be.”

Because sometimes, the right dog can do what no one else can.

When Well-Meaning Words Make Things Worse

“Adopted children just need love and permanency,” and “they just need more time to adjust” are two phrases that foster parents and new adoptive parents hear over and over (and over and over). On the surface, they sound warm and hopeful—kind of like something you’d embroider on a pillow. But in reality, they are patently false and incredibly unhelpful.

These statements are prime examples of adoption-specific thought-terminating clichés. They’re tidy little phrases that end the conversation before it starts. And in this case, they both essentially translate to:  “This kid is your problem now! Buh bye!”

People who understand attachment disorders know the truth: love and permanency can actually trigger a child with attachment-injuries. The very things we assume will bring safety and stability often stir up the deepest fears and defenses in these children. And time alone? Time fixes nothing. Without active, intentional intervention, time simply allows the patterns to deepen. The reality of what adopted children need is far more complex than a greeting-card sentiment.

Another category of unhelpful comments are the ones that brush off the behaviors of attachment-injured kids as if they were just part of typical childhood. These often come wrapped in the warm fuzziness of “relatability” and start with lines like:

• “Biological children do that too.”

• “My kid was like that; they’ll grow out of it.”

• “There is no way that child could do that! They are so sweet to me!”

• “They don’t have behavioral issues at school.”

• “This is just sibling rivalry; every kid does it.”

  
  

Every parent of an attachment injured child has heard at least one of these, usually more. And what they actually translate to is: “This is normal. You’re overreacting. Stop complaining about your kid acting like a kid.”

Here’s the thing—these behaviors are not the same.

 Let me share with you a story a friend and fellow parent of an attachment-injured child told me a while back. It was a normal school morning - some arguing and fighting about brushing hair and teeth and wearing weather appropriate clothing - but nothing out of the ordinary for them. Moments before the child needed to leave for the bus stop, she slipped into the kitchen, dumped an entire gallon of milk on the floor, and told her mom with a grin, “Now you have to clean it up because you’re the mom.” That wasn’t a childish accident or a moment of clumsy rebellion. It was deliberate sabotage, designed to push her mom away. And if my friend had told anyone who’d only ever seen her angelic public side, they’d probably have said, “Oh, kids do silly things sometimes.”

No. This is different.

When you’re met with disbelief or dismissal every time you open up, you stop talking. You stop sharing the reality of what’s happening in your home. And isolation is a dangerous place for a parent dealing with the exhausting, relentless challenges of raising a child with an attachment disorder.

Perhaps the most damaging comments are the ones that suggest the problem isn’t the child’s trauma—it’s the parents. These little gems sound like:

• “Maybe you need better parenting skills.”

• “If that was my kid, I would…”

• “Maybe if you weren’t so strict…”

• “They’ve had a hard life, so maybe you just need more patience.”

  
  

These statements are more than just hurtful; they’re dangerous. They shift the blame entirely onto the adoptive parents, erasing the reality of early trauma and the neurobiological impact it has on a child.

Once that seed of doubt about the parents is planted, it can grow fast. Suddenly, people start believing whatever the child says—without ever hearing the other side or understanding the full picture. This creates a perfect storm for false allegations, which have the power to devastate families.

If you want to support a parent of an adopted child—especially one navigating the rocky waters of attachment-injuries—start here:

• Believe them. If they tell you their child is doing something alarming at home, trust their words even if you’ve never seen it.

• Resist the clichés. It’s not comforting to hear a feel-good phrase that minimizes the problem.

• Don’t compare experiences. Your child’s defiance at bedtime is not the same as trauma-driven oppositional behavior.

• Keep your advice to yourself—unless it’s requested. Unsolicited advice, no matter how well-meaning, often lands as criticism.

• 
  

Above all, remember: your words can either be a lifeline or a weight. Parents raising kids with attachment disorders already carry enough. Choose words that lighten the load, not ones that make it heavier.

And for the record, that gallon of milk on my friend’s kitchen floor? It wasn’t about the milk.. It was about control, fear, and testing whether she would respond in anger or stability. If you can understand that moment for what it truly was, then you understand why phrases like “all kids do that” aren’t just wrong—they’re harmful. And if you can’t, then maybe the best thing you can say is nothing at all, and simply believe the parent who’s living it.

The Cuteness Has Arrived: How Pancake the Service Dog Supports Our Whole Family

“The cuteness has arrived!” shouts my youngest as Pancake trots into the room, her ears flopping with each step. Pancake is technically my middle child’s service dog, but to the rest of the family, she’s also a treasured emotional support system, a furry therapist, a bedtime buddy, and apparently, “The Cuteness.” Her presence alone changes the atmosphere. It's as if the room exhales the moment she enters.

While Pancake was trained specifically to meet the unique needs of one child, her impact has rippled far beyond her original assignment. From the very start, it was clear that she had a calming presence that everyone could benefit from—especially in a home where trauma, anxiety, and emotional dysregulation are frequent visitors.

The most noticeable impact Pancake has is in helping my kids regulate their emotions. I often hear cries of “I want Pancake to make me feel better!”—and it’s not just about comfort; it’s a strategy that works. Whether they’re feeling hurt, angry, overwhelmed, or just having one of those “blah” days, Pancake steps in as a gentle helper to reset their nervous systems.

All it takes is someone sitting down with their legs stretched out and saying “lay.” Pancake responds immediately, lying across them like a warm, breathing weighted blanket. Her body offers deep pressure input, her heartbeat offers calm consistency, and her eyes—those endlessly gentle eyes—offer unconditional presence. She’s grounding, calming, and ever-patient. Honestly, there are days when her co-regulation works faster than anything I can offer as a mom.

Pancake has even found a role in our bedtime routine. Each night, she follows me from room to room, curling up next to whichever child is ready for sleep. Her soft body against theirs, her steady breathing in sync with their own, it’s like she casts a spell of calm. Falling asleep is no longer a lonely task or an anxiety-ridden process. With Pancake beside them, my kids feel safe—and safety, for trauma-impacted kids, is often the missing piece that makes rest possible.

Because Pancake is a fully trained service dog, she goes where we go. If we’re at the dentist for a stressful tooth cleaning, she’s in the chair with my child providing distraction and deep pressure therapy. During a tough occupational therapy session, she’s a quiet, reassuring presence. At emotionally challenging meetings or appointments, she becomes a lap-weight and emotional reset button. At counseling, she is the one being hugged when words are too hard, when human connection feels too risky.

What amazes me most is that Pancake never needs to be asked twice. Her loyalty is quiet but fierce. She senses discomfort or distress and just knows—sometimes before the kids can even name what they’re feeling.

Perhaps one of her most powerful roles is also the most subtle: Pancake is a safe attachment figure. For children with attachment injuries, connecting with people can be terrifying. Trust has been broken too many times. Love feels dangerous. But dogs? Dogs are different.

Pancake has never hurt them, never lied to them, never failed to show up. She asks nothing and gives everything. That makes her a safe place to practice connection—one that doesn’t come with the baggage that human relationships sometimes carry for trauma-impacted kids. Hugging her is safe. Looking into her eyes is soothing. Letting her close doesn’t trigger the same fear that intimacy with people can. She models connection in its purest form.

Pancake frequently helps me too. Parenting children with trauma histories is exhausting. Sometimes, when I feel like I’m running on empty, she’ll come lay her head on my lap or just sit quietly nearby. It’s as if she knows I need someone too. Her presence reminds me to slow down, to breathe, to ground myself—before jumping back into the chaos of parenting. She's not just a service dog for my child—she’s become an emotional support for me too.

It’s not all serious work—Pancake brings joy, humor, and playfulness into our home. She has a silly side that makes everyone laugh, whether she’s zooming around the backyard with her favorite stick or flopping dramatically onto the floor for belly rubs. These little moments of lightness are such a gift. In a home where stress can run high, Pancake reminds us to smile, to laugh, and to enjoy the moment. She brings fun back into a family dynamic that often feels too heavy.

In our home, Pancake might officially be a service dog for one child, but she’s become something much bigger: a healing presence for the whole family. Her tail wags are therapy. Her cuddles are comfort. Her very being is a bridge between chaos and calm.

And every time someone shouts “The cuteness has arrived!”—they’re absolutely right.

If any of this resonates with you, consider applying for our service dog scholarship here. I believe every family can benefit from a dog like Pancake, and AAIF would love to help make that a reality for as many families as we can.