No Bones About It: Naomi - The Soft Rebel in Fur

A Little Chat About My Soul Dog, Naomi

When I first got Otis, he was my first dog and basically the love of my life. He showed me what it meant to have a true companion, steady, warm, and heart-first. And then came Naomi. The tiny maniac. The wild card. The mirror I didn’t know I needed. Where Otis is my heart, Naomi became my soul dog - the one who holds up all my contradictions right back at me. Fun but chaotic. Anxious but fierce. Bossy and tender all at once.

Naomi’s personality is way bigger than her eleven pounds. She “talks” in her own little language - squeaks, groans, and huffs whenever she wants to go outside or when she’s annoyed I’m not moving fast enough. She’s dramatic. She’s hilarious. She’s a diva. But she’s also sensitive, and (like me) anxiety follows her around like a shadow.

She’s a COVID pup, which means her early world was quiet and safe, and then suddenly, bam - the world opened and everything was loud and overwhelming. Vet visits, crowded sidewalks, unexpected noises? Cue the freak-outs. She’s takes medication as needed, and for a long time I felt guilty about that. But I’ve come to see it differently: it’s not weakness. It’s support. It’s care. And honestly? It’s a kind of rebellion against the idea that we (or our dogs) are supposed to just “tough it out.”

Those First Days

I still remember picking her up - two pounds of fluff with shark teeth. I held her on my chest in the car, thinking she was trembling because she was scared. Nope. Car sick. Poor baby. At home, I had her little setup ready: pen with pee pads, fluffy bed, tiny bowls. I thought I knew what I was doing after Otis. Ha. Naomi quickly showed me every dog writes their own rulebook.

Otis outweighed her by forty-five pounds, yet he was so careful with her. Still, I hovered like a hawk those first weeks - she was so fragile, so needy. Potty training? Not her strong suit. Nights were brutal: teeth on everything, Tasmanian devil energy, me crying into the shredded remains of whatever she found. More than once, I wondered if I’d made a mistake.

But then I found a trainer. A few sessions later, Naomi showed me she was wicked smart. Smart enough to learn fast… and stubborn enough to ignore me when it suited her. She wasn’t going to be the dog who followed every rule. She was going to be the dog who did things her way.

The Escape Artist

And wow, did she ever. Naomi can escape anything. She’s scaled pens, chewed through zip ties, worked latches until they popped open. More than once I came home to find her waiting outside her “safe space,” tail wagging like, Nice try, Mom.

Really, she just wanted to be with Otis. I have so many photos of them curled up together, tugging at the same toy, sharing blankets. That’s Naomi in a nutshell: she pushes boundaries, but it’s never about running away. It’s about connection - but always on her terms.

Growing Into Herself

Naomi turns five this November, and in those years she’s grown into herself in ways I couldn’t have imagined. She’s like the little workhorse of our family pack - policing playtime, keeping everyone in check, enforcing her own rules. But her anxiety never fully left. It’s just something she’s learned to live with.

What amazes me is how much she models the life I’m trying to live. She plays when she wants to. She retreats when she needs to. She asks for comfort when she can’t handle it alone. She doesn’t force herself into spaces that feel wrong - she takes a break, then comes back when she’s ready. That, to me, is soft rebellion at its finest.

And she’s woven into my brand because she embodies this truth: rebellion doesn’t always mean shouting or defiance. Sometimes it’s the quiet courage of saying, No, this doesn’t work for me. I need to do it differently.

Naomi as a Mirror

The more I watch her, the more I see myself. I get anxious. I need to step back sometimes. I also throw myself headlong into the things I love. I laugh too loud, love too big, and somehow still get things done even when it’s messy.

Naomi is my daily reminder: we don’t have to be tidy or consistent to be real. We can be anxious and brave, stubborn and loyal, loud and in need of retreat. She refuses to perform for anyone. She lives life exactly on her terms. And that’s the most radical thing of all.

Yes, she still pees a little when she’s too excited (I mean, who doesn’t??). Yes, she still has those Tasmanian devil moments. But she also curls into cozy corners, keeps watch over her brother, and insists that being yourself is enough.

Why Naomi Belongs Here

When I talk about my brand - soft rebellion, intentional living, cozy spaces where hustle culture can’t reach - Naomi is part of the DNA. She proves that anxious doesn’t mean weak, stubborn doesn’t mean unloving, and small doesn’t mean invisible.

She gets things done, but in her own way. She keeps boundaries, but she never isolates. She’s complicated, imperfect, and completely herself. A little workhorse with a whole lot of heart.

So, here’s to Naomi: my soul dog, my escape artist, my mirror, my accidental mascot. She reminds me daily that the most powerful rebellion isn’t the loudest one - it’s the soft, steady insistence on being exactly who you are.

What Naomi Taught Me (and What I Learned as a Small Dog Mom)

Naomi isn’t just my dog - she’s a teacher disguised as an eleven-pound gremlin. Living with her has shaped how I work, and how I see myself.

1. Anxiety doesn’t make you weak.
Naomi still goes to the vet. She still shows up for her pack. She just needs help along the way. Support isn’t failure - it’s strength.

2. Boundaries are healthy.
She’ll play, cuddle, follow - but she also walks away when she’s done. She taught me stepping back isn’t selfish; it’s necessary.

3. Rebellion can be quiet.
Her escape-artist stunts aren’t about destruction - they’re about doing things her way. That’s soft rebellion in action.

And then there are the small-dog lessons no one told me about:

• Small dogs need special setups. Two pounds of fluff required pee pads, pens, and constant eyes on her.

• Training matters (especially for tiny tornadoes). Size doesn’t equal harmless. A clever brain plus sharp teeth can create chaos.

• Gear makes a difference. Harnesses that fit, crates that comfort, bowls that don’t tip - every detail mattered.

Naomi gave me the soulful lessons and the nitty-gritty ones. Proof that sometimes the smallest creatures hold the biggest truths.