I wanted a girl. I even had a name already: Lilly. Lilly the dog – that was always clear, somehow. If I ever got a dog, it would be a female, and her name would be Lilly.
In this article, you will learn:
How Ezra came to us – and why he was actually supposed to be named Lilly · The two weeks on the floor · Once in a lifetime called Lockdown · What was chewed · Steffi and the two fingers · The children with the hoodies · The watering can · How Ezra changed our lives · And what no guide in the world tells you beforehand 🐾🧡
It was never the right time. Either all the puppies were already taken, or we were traveling so much, or life just had other plans. Until spring 2020. Then everything changed anyway.
The lockdown. The world stood still. And suddenly we were always at home – Andreas and I, strangely precious and together with a lot of learning and new things. I switched my workshops and coaching to online, and suddenly we had a dog.
Because: The breeder had called us the Saturday before. She still had a male. One of her puppies was supposed to go to England for breeding – a nice plan, until the lockdown came and the dog couldn't go to England anymore. She called in the evening. And we had to decide quickly. She already knew us, and we knew the puppies because we had already looked at the reserved girls. And so Ezra came to us. Not Lilly. Ezra. A male. Our male.
Ezra means "help through God" – in Hebrew. I only found that out later when I looked up the name. Because we found it fitting for this uncertain time. Because that is exactly the right name for our little boy. 🧡 For a short time, I wanted to call him Poldi, but everyone was against it then. Even those who shouldn't have cared.
Eight Weeks and a Day – and Two Weeks on the Floor
We picked him up at eight weeks and one day old. The breeder had tears in her eyes – not dramatic, not loud, just the way you cry when you let go of something you love and have brought into the world well. She gave us a blanket, a red one with her scent, with the scent of his siblings, with everything Ezra knew and would soon no longer have. So that he wouldn't be completely alone with the new things on the first night. That was her way of saying: I trust you. Take care of him. We promised her. On the way home, I wrapped him in the blanket like a baby and was terribly excited.
What he could already do at eight weeks and one day: love small cucumbers. And sheep yogurt. The vacuum cleaner – he was already used to it, the breeder had done an excellent job. He knew the humming, he knew the chaos, he knew life in a house with many people and noises. And he was house-trained.
What he then experienced: everything changed. New smells. New people. New home. No more siblings. No mother. Only the blanket with the familiar smell – and Andreas.
Andreas slept on the floor and the sofa for two weeks. Next to the crate. Yes, on the floor too. Not one night, not three – for two weeks, every night, without ifs or buts. If Ezra whimpered, Andreas was there. Immediately. Always. Every time.
That sounds self-sacrificing – and it was. But it was something else too: It was the foundation. In those two weeks, Ezra learned the most important thing a young dog can learn: If I call, someone comes. If I'm scared, I'm not alone. If I need to pee at night, we go outside. The world is new and strange and sometimes loud – but there is someone who stays.
What no one tells you beforehand: These first nights are not just important for the puppy. They are important for the relationship. For the trust that develops in those quiet hours, when no one is watching and no one notices, except a little dog and a human on the floor who is just there.
Andreas never talked much about it. He just did it. That's his way. And Ezra – help through God – never forgot it. 🧡 And by the way, they still lie next to each other today. Being at the same height is important to both of them now.
A Childhood That Only Happens Once – Once in a Lifetime Called Lockdown
Ezra had a special childhood. One that can only happen once – because the circumstances that made it possible will never repeat themselves. At least that's what I think.
We were always there. Around the clock. Not because we had planned it, not because we were particularly disciplined or had a perfect training plan – but because the world stood still for a short, strange, precious time, and thus gave us something that cannot be bought: time. An infinite amount of time with a little dog who had just arrived.
And we used it. Due to the lockdown, there was no puppy school, but there was Steffi, who came to our house. At least a hundred "sit" commands every day. A hundred "stay" commands. Not because we wanted to break records – but because we had understood that a dog that learns is a happy dog. Dog trainer Steffi – our Hundeflo-Steffi. She not only trained, but explained, not only corrected, but showed and explained everything very precisely to us from the beginning. How to practice. When to stop. How to celebrate successes. And we trusted her and did exactly that.
What happened was one of the most beautiful things I have ever observed: Ezra's joy in learning. He rejoiced with us when he could do something. You could see it – in his body, in his gaze, in that special lightness that arises when a creature realizes: I understood something. I can do this. I belong. I know what you want from me.
Learning was not a duty for Ezra. It was connection.
And then there were the children – visitors, neighborhood kids, the little people who wanted to lead him on a leash. Ezra always looked at us. That look that says everything without a word: Do I really have to? Really with them? Without you?
And we looked back and said: Yes. You can do this. We are here. That's part of it. Part of our lives.
He managed it every time. And afterwards, he always came back to us proudly – in his calm, clear Ezra way, without drama, simply: here I am again. Did you see? 🐾
Looking back, we are very happy about this time. About the discipline we had, the hundred times a day, the patience, the close observation. Not every dog gets that. Not every person has the opportunity to give it that way. Once in a lifetime called Lockdown. And we made good use of it. 🧡
The Bad Conscience – Did Anyone Tell You Beforehand?
Not me. This permanent quiet feeling that settles in like an uninvited guest: Am I doing enough? Am I present enough? Should I do more with him, go for more walks, play more, just sit and be with him more?
Ezra quickly learned to endure 90 minutes. A coaching session – that's my unit of work, that's how it settled – and then there's a break with him. That was our agreement, unspoken, just happened, like many good things in life just happen if you're attentive enough. After 85 minutes, he reminds me by stretching and doing yoga next to me. Alright. Time to finish up.
He often lies next to me while I work. Sleeps. Breathes calmly. Is simply there – and that, as I slowly understood, is already enough. He doesn't reproach me. He looks at me when the 90 minutes are up – calmly, attentively, waiting. Not demanding, not dramatic. Just ready.
You don't have to be a psychologist to guess that a bad conscience is one of the most common companions of dog people, especially at the beginning, especially when you have a dog for the first time, especially when you work and can't always be there. And I tell you what I told myself: He doesn't need all your time. He needs your attention when you are there. That's a difference.
What Was Chewed – And What That Actually Means
A Labrador Retriever puppy in lockdown, in a house where someone was always present, where everything was accessible and interesting and potentially chewable. Charger unplugged. Not funny. Every new plush toy shredded. Then Andreas bought him one made of very, very sturdy faux leather. Survived 2 hours. My new hiking boots - he enjoyed the insole. He chewed up the muzzle several times – again and again, with great consistency and impressive thoroughness. At some point, we stopped buying new ones. 😄
What no one tells you beforehand: chewing is not defiance or bad training. Chewing is development – a puppy that chews explores the world, it learns what things are, how they feel, whether they give way or stand firm. In this phase, teeth are its most important tool, its laboratory, its way of understanding the world.
Of course, that doesn't help much when your favorite shoe is being destroyed. But it helps with understanding, and understanding helps with reacting – more calmly, more serenely, with less drama than you might wish for at the moment.
Steffi, Two Fingers, and Why We Are All Allowed to Be Different
Andreas and I don't do it the same way. Andreas is calmer, more structured, has had dogs all his life, and sometimes knows what to do without thinking. I'm a psychologist – I analyze, I question, I sometimes doubt in the moment when certainty would be more helpful. I do it differently than Andreas, with different words, a different tone, a different reaction. Even "heel" is on the other side for me.
And then there's Marika, who has her own way of dealing with Ezra – and whom he loves so much, in his calm, clear Ezra way.
Steffi, our dog trainer, told us something that really relieved me, so much so that I wrote it down: Everyone is allowed to have their own style. Andreas, Michaela, Marika. And Grandma and Grandpa do it differently again. Ezra has to learn that people are individual. That's not confusion for him – that's socialization. That's the world.
A dog that only interacts with one person in one way is not a well-socialized dog. A dog that learns: Steffi does it this way, Andreas does it that way, Michaela does it differently – and I know how to deal with everyone – that's a dog that understands the world and finds its way in it. And he loves playing fetch.
What Steffi specifically taught us: two fingers, a gentle but firm nudge, if he does something you don't want. Don't shout, don't dramatize, don't explain endlessly. Two fingers. And redirect. Again and again, patiently, consistently – each in their own way. And if he has something in his mouth that we don't want him to carry, distract and replace it with something else. That works 1000 times better than a hysterical GET OUT.
The Children with the Hoodies – Ezra's Biggest Lesson About the Brain
Children teased him through the garden gate with sticks. Children in hoodies, of a certain size, with a certain silhouette. Since then, Ezra growls at all hoodie wearers of that size – calmly, clearly, unmistakably.
This is not malice or bad training. This is classical conditioning – the same principle Pavlov discovered with his dogs, only this time with hoodies instead of bells. The brain has made a connection: beings of this size with this hood equal caution, possible danger. And it has never forgotten that connection, because that's how the brain works – it stores what was important, what required protection, what was once unpleasant.
What no one tells you beforehand: dogs learn from a single experience. Once is enough. What happens as a puppy often shapes them forever – not because dogs hold grudges, but because their nervous system is particularly receptive during this phase. It quickly decides: safe or not safe. And that decision runs deep.
This is an invitation, not an accusation: create as many positive experiences as possible in the first months of life. With people in hoodies. With bicycles. With children. With noises. With everything the world has to offer – because the brain decides during this phase what is normal and what is not.
The Watering Can – and why some things run deeper than words can express
Once, Ezra was sprayed with the garden hose – with anger, with disappointment, in a moment when someone, it was Andreas, was overwhelmed. Ezra had jumped into a super dirty puddle in the vineyards – of course, with the other dogs who also love it – and Andreas was incredibly annoyed. He held the little muddy rascal up and showered him all over. Just once. The brain decided: water from above with negative energy equals danger. And it never reversed that decision. Ezra is a water lover. He'll swim in any stream, in any temperature. But if I show up with the watering can, he quietly moves away. Far away.
No conversation changed it, no explanation, no matter how loving the repetition with the watering can afterwards, when everything was nice and calm. Once was once too much – and that is both fascinating and instructive, because it shows us something we sometimes forget: some things run deeper than words can express. In the nervous system. In the body. Beyond reason and explanation. And I have no chance to talk to him about it. About him perhaps understanding Andreas' perspective and empathizing a little with his human.
A Harvard University study showed that stressful experiences in the first months of life influence a dog's behavior just as strongly as sex, age, or neutering – sometimes even more so. Dogs that had negative experiences early on showed significantly more fear and caution in adulthood, regardless of how loving their subsequent lives were.
We have words, we have therapy, we have the ability to say, that was then, that's not me anymore. Dogs don't have that. They carry what they've experienced – in their bodies, in their behavior, in the reactions that sometimes appear and leave us puzzled. That doesn't make them weaker. It makes them somehow more primal.
When Work Started Again
The first period was unlike anything that came after. We were always there; Ezra knew nothing but people at home, a world that revolved around him and in which he was never alone.
Then the lockdown ended. Mr. Herrli had to drive back to Germany, I was often on the road, life returned to its normality. And Ezra had to learn what he hadn't had to know before: now only one of us is here.
Ezra learned it – with time, with routine, with Marika, with the reliable knowledge that people always come back, without exception.
When Andreas puts the suitcases in the hallway, Ezra lies down next to them. Guards them. Offended. Sad. As if he could prevent them from leaving if he just paid attention long enough and guarded them well enough. He can't, we both know that, but he tries anyway – every time, with the same quiet determination. That is love. Without words, without explanation, simply: I don't want you to go. And I'll show you as best I can.
How Ezra changed our lives – quietly and fundamentally
There are changes you plan and changes that just happen because another being enters your life and you realize you see the world with different eyes.
We don't fly away anymore. We bought a bus – a proper one, with a huge box inside, where Ezra can travel comfortably, where he has his place, where he knows he's coming along and won't be left behind. It wasn't a difficult decision. It wasn't really a decision at all – it was a matter of course that simply came about.
We only go to restaurants where dogs are welcome. We only visit friends where dogs are welcome. Sounds like a restriction – feels like freedom. Because suddenly you know what's really important and what isn't, because you stop making compromises that don't feel right, because a dog reminds you in a very direct way that life with beings you love is richer than any restaurant without them.
The first New Year's Eve, we were very careful. Not out of fear – out of responsibility. We were invited to Anna and Heinz's, and Ezra lay on a soft blanket – all prepared by Anna. We made sure he wasn't afraid, that he could handle the fireworks well, that he knew: it's loud, but you're safe, we're here. That's one of the most beautiful lessons a dog teaches you – that sometimes you just have to be there. Quiet. Present. Without saying much.
Perhaps that's the most beautiful thing a dog teaches you: to think ahead. Not for yourself – for someone else. 🐾
Zeolite – from the beginning, because care starts early
Ezra has been getting zeolite since he came to us. Not because something was wrong, not because he was sick or we were worried – but because a puppy in a city daily ingests things that are invisible and yet end up in the body. Heavy metals from tire abrasion on the asphalt. Germs from the soil in parks where other dogs have been. Residues that accumulate over time, silently and unnoticed.
Zeolite binds these substances in the intestine – before they enter the bloodstream. This is not an indulgence or a luxury; it is a form of daily care that costs little and means a lot. Simply mix it into the food, and you're done.
And if he had diarrhea after a vaccination, for example, or an unknown treat – a little more zeolite, and calm, and the confidence that the body knows what it's doing when given support.
The vet looks into Ezra's mouth at every check-up and is thrilled. About his teeth, about his condition, about this dog who, at six years old, still looks like he's just arrived. Is it the zeolite? Partially, perhaps. Is it the love and attention? Definitely also. Both together make the difference – as always, when accompanying another being.
What Ezra taught us – what no guide book writes
A dog moving in changes everything, and that sounds like an exaggeration until you've experienced it yourself. The rhythm of the day. The question of whether you still go out in the evening or prefer to drive home because someone is waiting. The priorities that quietly shift without you noticing until you eventually realize that these were the best shifts you ever allowed.
Ezra teaches responsibility without theory, patience without explanation, presence – because he is always in the now and reminds us daily that the now is the only place where life truly happens. He doesn't think about yesterday, he doesn't worry about tomorrow. He thinks: Ball. Mom. Dad. Marika. Now.
Andreas sleeps on the floor. Michaela drags him into the crate. Marika brushes him lovingly, sees all his aches first, and Steffi says: two fingers, calm, clear. Everyone different, all right, and Ezra – help through God – has learned to deal with everyone, to read everyone, to give everyone what the encounter needs. Of course, he loves the children who play carrot street with him, practice self-efficacy, and are happy to see impulse control externally. A carrot on each paw and a piece on his head. Ezra Bravo! And if he gets cuddled too much, he comes to me and tells me everything. Mom, did you see that? Yes, I did. That's part of it, my dear.
Perhaps that's the biggest lesson of all: There isn't one right way to love or accompany a dog. There's only effort, attention, observation. And a being that starts fresh every morning – without resentment, without blame, without the burden of yesterday – and simply asks: When do we start? 🐾🧡
References
| No. | Author / Year | Topic | Source |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | Alexandra Horowitz (2009) | The "guilty look" – not remorse, but reaction | Behavioural Processes, 74(3) |
| 2 | Harvard University (2020) | Early experiences & adult behavior | Applied Animal Behaviour Science |
| 3 | Pavlov, I.P. (1927) | Classical conditioning | Conditioned Reflexes, Oxford University Press |
| 4 | Song & Yoon et al. (2026) | Cortisol & Stress in dogs | PLoS ONE |
| 5 | Bergström et al. (2022) | Domestication of the dog | Nature |
This article does not replace advice from a dog trainer or veterinary recommendations. It is meant to accompany – not replace.
Read more:
👉 What dogs really feel – and why we often misinterpret it
👉 Dog in the city – Ezra & the escalator
👉 What we can learn from dogs
👉Zeolite for dogs – effects, application & experiences
