Just past 6 pm on a recent Wednesday night, half a dozen pet owners logged into a Zoom meeting to confess something they’re afraid to talk about in public: They’re fed up with their dogs.
Before discussion began, Louise Crane, the president and cofounder of Dogs Anonymous, the organization hosting the meeting, recited the seven acknowledgements participants must agree to, the first being, “I admit that life with my dog is not what I imagined.” Crane wore a black T-shirt exclaiming “Abolish ICE” in thick white lettering.
“I may need to be talked off a ledge,” one attendee said as conversation kicked off, mentioning that she wasn’t sure how to handle her dog’s mood swings. Her family had been through a series of new changes: Their other dog died and they were also fostering one, and now their boxer was “unsettled” and “grumpy” to the point he was doing more “demand barking, which has never been like him.”
Other attendees confessed their private shames: a shepherd mix had started engaging in more intense “resource guarding” when around other dogs—the term for when dogs aggressively protect something they value. “He got into it with my sister’s little weiner dog the other day because they both were begging for food.” One woman, who lives in a busy apartment complex, needed advice on how to better handle her dachshund’s constant barking at strangers. (In the spirit of anonymity, Dogs Anonymous asked WIRED to leave out the names and identifying characteristics of its participants.)
Shame is the emotion attendees struggle with the most in these meetings. “The embarrassment of having a dog that’s losing its shit, especially as a woman,” is difficult for some people, Crane tells me when we speak a few days before.
Crane launched Dogs Anonymous, a nonprofit focused on training and emotional support by animal behavior experts, in 2025 in an attempt to help people vocalize their shame.
“We wanted to give people not just a space they could trust for advice on behavior issues or if they are having a crisis with their dog, but also a place where they don’t feel judged to ask questions and admit that maybe it’s a little bit too much for them,” Daphne Mendoza-Tervanis, a cofounder, says.
Sessions are held weekly and span first-time and experienced dog owners, adopters, foster caregivers, and occasionally trainers seeking tips on how to work aggression cases. The meetings are primarily attended by US residents, though previous sessions have attracted dog owners from Singapore, Costa Rica, and beyond.
Jerri Scherff, a cofounder who is 13 years sober, had first-hand experience with recovery programs, and it was important to her that Dogs Anonymous also include some of the same traditions as Alcoholics Anonymous. “We wanted to create something that was repeatable, sustainable, and eventually autonomous, which is the way that recovery groups work,” she says. The most important one was anonymity—what is discussed in the group stays in the group.
The founders say the effectiveness of the group doesn’t necessarily stem from the advice they impart during meetings but comes from members bonding over shared struggles. “The magic of AA the community is that you are going through something that somebody else has either been through or they’re going through the same thing,” Crane adds. This approach, called “sharing your experience, strength and hope,” is a core part of the 12-step recovery program and encourages members to analyze their experience in a way that makes them feel less alone.
According to a survey published in the scientific journal Pets in June examining guilt, burden, and wellbeing among owners of dogs with behavior problems, 53 percent of respondents reported feeling alone, and 78 percent reported “elevated caregiver burden,” a term for the emotional and financial strain of being a caregiver.
During a meeting in August, the group took a beat to dig into the particulars of why shame was the first emotion owners often experience when their dog reacts aggressively. One attendee said it threatened their sense of belonging in a neighborhood they already felt out of place in. Another mentioned how it made them feel judged because others wouldn’t think they were a capable owner. “There’s so much shame when you don’t get Lassie,” Crane says of the fictional TV dog that, for many Gen Xers and millennials, represented the ideal companion.
“I just broke down crying on the way home from my dog’s reactivity training,” one owner in New Orleans posted on Threads last month, writing that she signed up for classes after a woman threw coffee at her “anxious pit” for reacting badly. Dog reactivity is the number one issue most owners deal with. A 2026 study by researchers at the University of Lincoln shows that behaviors group into three main categories—oral attacks, frustration, and posturing—with lunging and barking reported as the most frequent symptoms.
“After three sessions it seems like the main lessons are to avoid triggers and anticipate my dog’s reactions,” the New Orleans owner continued. “As someone who has spent my entire life anticipating human volatility, I’m exhausted. Is there no other way?”
Another Threads user suggested she attend Dogs Anonymous, replying, “Part of what you’ll do here is grieve the dog you thought you would have as you grow closer to the one you have.”
No Dogs Anonymous meeting is the same. Some weeks attendees might discuss what it’s like dealing with their dog’s anxiety issues or ask for advice about going through the euthanasia process. Other weeks, they might vent about life. “The other day we were talking about random things that our dogs had pooped,” Mendoza-Tervanis says. “It was a lot of money and tampons.”
Unlike other support groups for owners of dogs with behavioral challenges, DA prioritizes the owner first. “Why we’re in the problem that we are right now is because we are putting dogs before people,” says Mendoza-Tervanis, who has worked in pet care for 15 years. According to the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, 2 million dogs were adopted from shelters in 2025, but Mendoza-Tervanis believes the problem is that most owners do not have the actual support they need, especially when the dog doesn’t meet their expectations. “A lot of services are becoming financially inaccessible”—hourly rates for private dog trainers in Los Angeles, for example, can cost up to $300 an hour—“so when someone comes to us the question is not, how much can you pay, but how are you feeling about what happened.”
Social media has also warped the expectations people have around dogs, where colorfully-curated pages of petfluencers @_violasnow, the Husky with 5.8 million Instagram followers, and @tikatheiggy, the Italian greyhound Vogue once called “a new fashion it girl,” can often make owners feel like they are not doing enough. It’s why organizations like DA have become a refuge.
In March, after Scherff’s American bulldog passed, weekly meetings became her safe space to process what happened away from the judgments of social media. Scherff has 283,000 Instagram followers “but with the group, I knew that whatever I said, it was going to stay there and they weren’t going to think anything of me.”
Before Wednesday’s session wrapped, one attendee in Puerto Rico expressed gratitude for the gathering. “I’m just glad we all ended up here through the magic of the internet. It can be such a dark place sometimes. It’s just nice to hear these conversations.”
More than anything, the founders want the weekly Zoom meetings to be a forum that keeps the “toxic outside noise out,” Crane says. “This is a place where you can come and say, I fucking hate my dog today. And there are people who are going to be like, yeah, that was me last Tuesday. Sometimes they drive us crazy and that’s OK.”
