To say animals don’t feel deep emotion means you have simply never met Miller and Modela. Seeing how differently they act forces me to ask the deeper question: Do rescue dogs think differently than purebred dogs that were custom-made just for us?
We rarely think about the canine surrogate—how a mother’s third litter is taken and sold, leaving her body ready to nurture babies that are already gone. Her milk dries up; her purpose is cut short.
But what about the rescue pup? Do they remember the street, the cold kennel, or the mother they lost? When we leave the house, do they worry if we will return, rather than when?
Sometimes I wonder if a rescue dog carries a quiet, permanent anxiety. Do they fear that one wrong bark, an accident on the rug, or too much hair on the couch will send them packing right back behind a shelter door?
Conversely, does a dog lose its survival instinct entirely if it only knows luxury? Picture it: two perfect meals a day, endless affection, a plumped bed, and safe walks through a gated community. To them, survival isn’t a question.
It makes me wonder how much of a dog’s behavior is learned, and from whom. Do they learn from us, or from each other?
What Science Says vs. What We Feel
Science actually backs up a lot of what we observe as pet parents. Researchers note that dogs possess the emotional capacity of a two-year-old human child. They experience basic emotions like joy, fear, anger, disgust, love, and distress.
Neurologically, they share identical brain structures with us, powered by the exact same hormones like oxytocin—the chemical of love and bonding. MRI studies even show that a dog’s brain lights up with positive feelings just from the smell of their owner. They also experience emotional contagion, meaning they actively absorb and mirror our stress, our sadness, and our joy.
Yet, science also claims dogs lack the complex cognitive structures for abstract social emotions like guilt, shame, or pride.
I believe animals show their emotions far more purely than humans ever could. There are no words to complicate things, and no masks to disguise their pain. They are simply the purest form of sadness, joy, grief, love, and kindness.
Do dogs suffer loss like humans?
According to insights shared by organizations like the American Kennel Club and VCA Animal Hospitals, grieving dogs frequently display:
- Loss of appetite or refusing to eat.
- Lethargy, depression, or sleeping much more than usual.
- Vocalizing such as whimpering, whining, or howling.
- Clinginess or heightened separation anxiety.
- Searching behavior, wandering through the house, or lying in the favorite spot of the missing person or pet.
Time and time again, we hear about the dog that sits faithfully at the front door for months after their owner passes away, willing and wanting to see that beloved face just one more time.
They feel it all.
Lessons from an Absolute Warrior
Through my dogs, I have learned grace, patience, how to love with my whole heart, and most importantly, that life is short. We felt that fragility acutely when Miller had a major health scare.
As a senior dog, Miller is covered in fatty deposits that have grown over the years. Because of his age, we get him a full “executive scan” every year to check if any of those bumps are abnormal, cancerous, or if for any reason they need to be removed. During his routine ultrasound, the vet found a quarter-inch “something” on his spleen, which immediately prompted a nerve-wracking CT scan and deep blood work.
I watched him go through it all, wondering if he knew what the tests were for. Was he thinking about a doggy bucket list? Every needle, uncomfortable scan, and groggy wake-up from the anesthetic, he was an absolute warrior. He gave us strength even when his own body was weak.
I have never felt a more profound sense of relief and gratitude than when his tests came back negative. Miller, completely unfazed, was happy just to get an extra cookie for being a good boy. To him, life was exactly the same as yesterday, just with a little more sugar.
But I wonder if he saw our tears of joy. Did he feel our emotional frequency shift from utter terror to sudden, beautiful relief? One thing I hope he knows above all else is how deeply, fiercely, and unconditionally he is loved.
Two Different Minds, Two Different Actions
I know exactly when Modela is terrified. When people cheer loudly at a sports game on TV, when voices get raised, or when a day of fun turns into a long day without Mom and Dad, she reacts physically:
- She shakes.
- She hides in the back of the bedroom closet.
- She refuses to eat, drink, or relieve herself—unless, of course, it’s a tiny protest on the bathroom rug.
The extreme opposite is true when she is happy and her pack is together. She radiates pure joy. She is always the first to greet you at the door with her favorite toy in her mouth, following you from room to room, just grateful to share the moment. Her smile can light up a room on the darkest days. Her entire passion is just to live, happy to go anywhere with anyone.
Miller, on the other hand, is our rock. He shows a quiet acceptance and a masterclass in adaptability. Travelling through nine countries will do that to a guy. Nothing phases him. He moves through the world like the song “I’m Still Standing”—a cheerful, resilient reminder that despite everything thrown your way, nothing can knock you down.
Preparing for Tomorrow
Because dogs feel so deeply, I do my best to help them navigate our complicated human world.
Whenever we start packing for our next adventure, I sit down and talk to Modela. She needs to know whether she is coming along or where she is staying. Miller, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to worry. He is completely confident that any separation is temporary and that he’ll be in a safe, caring place until we return. But Modela worries and wonders. She simply needs that extra reassurance.
I think Modela likes to know the future. Although she spent only a few short months alone before finding us, she has been by our side most days since. And yet, she is still terrified of the past—of ending up alone without her pack. She is always looking to do right, striving to be absolutely perfect. If only she could take comfort in knowing we will always be here for her. If only she knew that our world is truly hers.
Miller, on the other hand, has made peace with his past. He is entirely comfortable in the present and only thinks about the future in one-hour increments revolving entirely around food. He doesn’t wonder where he is going, how long we’ll be gone, or if we will return. He just wants to know when the clock strikes cookie time.
Two completely different minds, shaped by two completely different pasts, sharing the exact same home. They may not have the human words for it, but our dogs feel every single frequency we emit—and they teach us how to live purely in return.
Did you love this story? Check out Part One: Two Dogs, Two Realities to see how Miller and Modela navigate their daily routines, diets, and opposite worldviews.
💬 Over to you: Do you have a routine for keeping your dogs’ anxieties at ease when routines change? How do you help them navigate their worries? Let’s talk in the comments below!
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