I’m Sarah Jones, a dog mum, advocate, and the founder of My Anxious Dog, a brand created from personal experience and a desire to make life safer and more understandable for my anxious dog, Bella.
I’m not a dog trainer or a pet professional and I’ve never worked with dogs. I’m someone who, like many of you, found themselves living with a dog who struggled with the world and had to figure out what to do next. My journey began with Bella, my beautiful Cocker Spaniel, whose life and mine changed after she was attacked.
Bella was full of life, playful, loving, sometimes a little sensitive, but always up for an adventure. She was my shadow, my walking buddy, my everything. We had a strong bond and enjoyed a calm, happy life together. While she was never the most confident dog, she was shy and gentle, and I never imagined that one moment could change so much.
Thirteen years ago, Bella was attacked.
We were at our local park taking part in a flyball training session, something we both really enjoyed. She’d just finished her run, and as a reward, I threw her toy. She ran after it, just as she always did. That’s when it happened. Out of nowhere, a dog came charging across the park at full speed. It slammed into her side, sending her rolling over and over across the grass. I remember the sound: the growling, Bella squealing in panic. The dog had to be pulled off her. I rushed over and picked Bella up. She was trembling, wide-eyed, and in shock. I checked her over as best I could. There was no blood. No visible injury.
But from that moment on, I began to notice her behaviour changing. Gradually, she became reactive to other dogs running up to her. I knew something wasn’t right. Her reactions escalated. She’d stiffen the moment she saw another dog approaching, her body tense and eyes locked. If a dog came too close or tried to sniff her, she’d lunge.
Bella also grew increasingly intolerant of touch, especially from strangers. She hated people looking directly at her, and if they spoke to her, she’d brace herself, anticipating that they might reach out to stroke her. That anticipation alone was enough to put her on high alert.
I noticed how hyper-aware she had become of her surroundings, always scanning for dogs. When off lead, she’d still do her usual spaniel things mainly sniffing, exploring, and enjoying herself but she deliberately kept her distance. She avoided contact, gave people and dogs a wide berth, and positioned herself so she could observe safely from afar.
She wasn’t frantic, she was just managing.
Worried and scared for Bella, I reached out for help and was advised to see a vet first to rule out pain. A behaviourist can’t work with behavioural problems without ruling out a medical cause. So I did what I thought was the right thing. The vet carried out a general check-up: feeling her body, moving her joints and legs, checking her range of motion. I was told she was fine there were no concerns, no signs of pain. At the time, it was a relief. It meant I could focus on behaviour work.
But deep down, there was a niggle in the back of my mind. Was she really fine?
I went on to work with a behaviourist who helped me put supportive strategies in place. We used positive reinforcement, taught Bella to disengage from triggers, and focused on creating a safe, predictable environment. We introduced distraction techniques when visitors came to the house, gave her a designated safe space to retreat to, and added enrichment like “find it” games to help her decompress. And it helped. We made progress, and those tools gave us both more confidence.
But it didn’t fix everything.
Her reactivity never completely went away. And even now, years later, there are moments that make me wonder: is something still going on underneath it all?
At the time, if you’d asked me about pain in dogs, I would have said I associated pain with limping, yelping, or obvious discomfort. Bella wasn’t doing any of those things. She loved her walks, got excited for training, and never refused to join in.
We continued flyball during the summer months, something we both enjoyed. And to keep her engaged year-round, I signed us up for agility training at a local indoor centre. Bella loved it. She threw herself over and around the obstacles with enthusiasm, navigating jumps and tunnels with energy.
Looking back, it’s easy to see why I believed she was physically fine. But that’s the thing about hidden pain — dogs are masters at masking it.
Even now, I still find myself questioning: is this behaviour learned, shaped by years of needing to protect herself? Or is there hidden pain still influencing how she feels in her body? I’ll never know for certain and that uncertainty stays with you as a dog owner.
Looking deeper: pain, stress, and the whole dog
As the years have passed, more layers have slowly come into focus. Nothing dramatic. No single diagnosis that explains everything. But a collection of factors that help paint a fuller picture of Bella’s experience.
Bella has struggled with recurrent ear problems and anal gland discomfort both painful, irritating issues that are easy to underestimate. She tolerated them quietly, but they undoubtedly added to her overall stress.
We worked with a physiotherapist which highlighted areas of tightness and imbalance that weren’t obvious during routine vet checks. Nothing acute. Nothing that screamed pain. But enough to suggest her body had been compensating for a long time.
We also introduced ACE Free Work, which offered a completely different way of observing Bella not through training or correction, but through quiet, respectful observation of how she moves and interacts with her environment.
What became apparent were subtle asymmetries. There were small details —
A question mark over the coat pattern on her right hip, where the fur appeared to curve in a reverse “C” shape, despite Bella being short-clipped. These kinds of patterns can sometimes reflect long-term tension or compensation within the body.
There were also observations around movement, particularly through her pelvis.
At times, there appeared to be a lack of ease or flow, and Bella often rotated her left hind leg outward more than her right, although this wasn’t fixed and could change from session to session. She also seemed more mobile through her right ear than her left, another small but telling asymmetry.
Differences in shading through the left side of her tail and hindquarters were noted too — subtle signs that may reflect how balance, connection, and weight travel through her body. These observations weren’t about diagnosing a problem, but about noticing patterns — clues that Bella’s body may have been protecting or compensating for certain areas over time.
ACE Free Work helped me see Bella not as a dog with a “behaviour problem”, but as a dog whose body and nervous system were constantly communicating. It reinforced the idea that behaviour doesn’t exist in isolation; it is shaped by how safe, balanced, and comfortable a dog feels within their own body.
More recently, we’ve begun exploring gut health as another piece of the puzzle.
We carried out a stool test to assess Bella’s gut microbiome profile. The results showed signs of ongoing, long-term gut stress. What stood out was the reminder that when the gut is under pressure for extended periods, it doesn’t just affect digestion — it impacts both the immune system and the nervous system.
The report by Biome4Pets explained how closely the gut and brain are connected.
When the microbiome is unbalanced, inflammatory signals can increase, and the nervous system can remain stuck in a ‘fight or flight’ state. For dogs like Bella, this can mean heightened anxiety, quicker reactions, and difficulty relaxing, even in calm, familiar environments.
This doesn’t mean the gut is the cause of her behaviour. But it may be one of many layers influencing how safe her body feels in the world.
Bella has always been fed a good-quality diet, but this journey has reminded me that “good” doesn’t always mean optimised for the individual dog. Sometimes it takes curiosity, time, and a willingness to look deeper to understand what our dogs truly need.
The power of yellow
What I do know and what I advocate for every single day is the power of yellow and the importance of giving dogs like Bella space.
Yellow isn’t just for anxious dogs. It’s for dogs whose anxiety may be rooted in pain, for dogs whose behaviour has changed with age, and for dogs managing trauma, discomfort, or a nervous system that has spent too long on high alert.
Everything I’ve built since then with the yellow awareness products, the campaigns, the community began with one simple truth: I was a dog owner doing her best, but I didn’t know what I didn’t know.
Yellow is a gentle, visible signal that says, “Please give me space.” And that small act of understanding can mean the difference between a peaceful walk and another setback.
Bella didn’t want dogs rushing up to her. She didn’t want strangers reaching out to touch her. Whether it was pain, fear, trauma, or a combination of all three, what she needed most was space to feel safe.
Yellow gave us that space. It allowed others to see what Bella couldn’t say out loud but what her body had been quietly communicating all along.
What walks look like now
Walks look very different now. They’re slower, more intentional, and built around Bella’s needs rather than expectations. She wears yellow, and that signal gives us breathing room emotionally as much as physically.
I no longer feel like I have to explain or apologise. I don’t brace myself for every interaction. Instead, I focus on reading Bella, supporting her, and protecting the calm moments because calm is something we nurture, not something we push through.
My journey with Bella is why I created My Anxious Dog, to help other owners who are doing their best but need more tools, more understanding, and more support.
It’s why I’ve designed products like our CAUTION IN PAIN lead slip. Dogs experiencing pain visible or hidden shouldn’t have to defend themselves. With yellow, we can speak for them.
If I could share a few things I wish I’d known at the start of our journey, they would be these:
Behaviour is communication, not defiance
Pain doesn’t always look like limping or crying
Work with the dog as a whole being, not just the behaviour you see
Find professionals who listen, use reward-based methods, and understand the pain and behaviour link
Advocate for your dog, you know them best
What this journey with Bella has taught me is to look beyond appearances. Behaviour is often the final signal of something deeper, and our dogs rely on us to notice when they’re struggling.
Sometimes, the most powerful thing we can do is slow things down, create space, and listen to what they’re telling us, even when they can’t put it into words.