For the Ones Who Are “Something Special”

Introduction: Welcome to Lessons from Lupin. This is a blog series that weaves together the story of one extraordinary dog with insights into canine behaviour, veterinary care, and the deep bonds we share with the animals in our lives. Each post is a chapter in progress, offering a personal lens on professional lessons learned through love, loss, and Lupin's unwavering loyalty. This is both a tribute and a toolkit for dog lovers, trainers, and anyone who’s ever been changed by a four-legged friend.

From the moment he was seen, he was known. Not by what he could do, but by who he was.

At just three weeks old, Lupin—then named Gatsby—stood out.

Not for the usual reasons. He wasn’t the biggest or boldest. He didn’t shine for his drive or temperament in a way that screamed “working dog material.” But to two of the most experienced canine professionals in the country, he was different.

Rachel Birt, his exceptional breeder, trainer, and TTouch practitioner, had already recognised there was something “special” about him. But not in the fluffy, Instagrammable sense. Special in the way that professionals quietly note to one another: this one will need something else. Something more. Someone different.

Rachel wasn’t alone in her observation. A colleague and friend—Sarah Fisher, someone I deeply admire—came to visit the litter of four not long after. Sarah, founder of Animal Centred Education (ACE), is widely respected for her work supporting animals with complex emotional and physical needs. She has an extraordinary eye for nuance—reading the subtle language of posture, breath, and stillness in a way few can.

And Sarah picked him out too.

The moment she saw him, she shared the same quiet note. The same knowing glance. He needed someone who could meet him where he was—and stay there, no matter where the road led. Sarah agreed: Gatsby was different. Not suited to a typical pet home. Certainly not a candidate for a traditional working role. He would need someone willing to listen more than lead. Someone able to stay present with him, even when the path got hard to follow.

And somewhere in the middle of a brickwork museum in Hampshire—during a scent workshop with my Labrador, Lula Mae, my Cavalier, and a toddler waiting at home—Rachel shared photos of this incredible puppy. She gently suggested that we might be a good match.

I’d said I wanted a challenge. I was flattered, if a little overwhelmed, to be considered the right person for such a special pup.

My husband and stepfather were off in the Alps, playing music. My mother-in-law had my daughter. I was exploring a brick factory with dogs, scented articles, and the kind of half-joking optimism that only dog trainers truly understand.

Then came the call.

My husband agreed I could go and meet the puppy. My mother-in-law gave me the nudge I needed: go—Lorelai will be just fine for a little longer.

And by that same evening, I had fallen in love. And put down the deposit.

I didn’t know then what Lupin would come to mean to me.

I didn’t know the depth of the lessons he would teach me—not just about behaviour or pain or advocacy—but about myself. About love. About showing up. About building bridges between disciplines, people, and possibilities.

This is about him. And it’s about all the dogs like him—the ones who don’t “fit.” The ones who make us rethink everything we thought we knew. The ones who bring together a village.

It’s a story told in chapters—some joyful, some painful—but each one threaded with the belief that every dog deserves to be understood. And that, as professionals, the more we learn, collaborate, and stay open, the better we can serve those dogs who need us most.