Snout’s Origin: From Luna’s Anxiety to an Idea Worth Chasing

What really happens inside a PetTech startup from day one? The late nights, the big wins, the frustrating roadblocks, and the surprising realizations—we're pulling back the curtain on all of it.

Hi, I’m Emma Suarez-Berumen, and I’m the founder of Snout—a PetTech startup on a mission to make dog training more effective, accessible, and deeply connected to real-life moments with our pets. At Snout, we’re building a milestone-based training platform where science-backed techniques meet smart technology, helping dog parents train with confidence and purpose.

Our vision is simple but ambitious: empower every dog owner to build a strong, healthy relationship with their pup through better tools, better guidance, and better outcomes.

In this new blog series, Unleashing Snout, I’ll be sharing the behind-the-scenes story of how we’re building this company from the ground up. Expect honesty, lessons learned, and hopefully a few aha moments along the way. Whether you’re a fellow founder, dog lover, or just curious about what it takes to start something from scratch—we’re glad you’re here.

Let’s dive in.

Before Snout was even an idea, there was Chispita (Sparky)— my soul dog.
She was the kind of companion that changes you. Gentle, intuitive, and always one step ahead of how I was feeling, Chispita wasn’t just a pet — she was a quiet force that taught me what unconditional love really looks like. Losing her left a space I didn’t think I could ever fill.

But then came Luna.
Tiny. Fluffy. Adorable. And an absolute menace to society.

Adopting Luna felt like the responsible thing to do. I researched the breed, prepped my home, and convinced myself I was ready. I had dreams of getting a husky, but decided to go with something a little more “manageable” — an American Eskimo. The internet promised me they were eager to please, easy to train, and great for first-time dog owners. Perfect, I thought. What could go wrong?

Spoiler: everything.

From the moment I brought Luna home, it was clear: she was not going to be the easy, eager-to-please companion I had read about. She was beautiful, smart, and deeply willful — stubborn in ways that felt personal. Her separation anxiety wasn’t just a phase. It got worse over time, and I didn’t know where to turn.

I tried everything.

TikToks with 60-second “fixes” gave me hope — until they didn’t. YouTube videos would say, “If your dog does this, then do that.”
But what if Luna didn’t do this? What if she did something else entirely?
Boarding trainers told me she was “difficult” and quoted prices that made me want to cry. And still, I was desperate.

She shredded furniture. She tore at my door frames. I tried crate training — because that’s what they said to do.
She barked. And barked. And barked.
For hours.

My heart raced every time I left the house, terrified my neighbors would file a noise complaint. Or worse — that I’d get evicted. I feared I’d be forced to choose between my home and my dog. And in the pit of my stomach was an even darker fear: what if I had to give her up?

In my inexperience, I thought Luna just needed a friend — someone to keep her company while I was away. So I adopted Pancho, a scrappy little Chihuahua mix I rescued from the streets of Tijuana.

For a moment, it felt like everything was going to be okay.

Until it wasn’t.

Pancho, as it turned out, had his own trauma. He began showing signs of aggression toward other dogs — unprovoked. He got into a terrible fight with an Aussie at the park. (Yes, he started it.) It shook me to my core.

I dove headfirst into more TikToks, more YouTube tutorials — desperately searching for something that worked.
Nothing stuck. So I gave in and paid the boarding trainer fees.

It worked.
But only while he was there.

Back home, Pancho slowly returned to his old behaviors. The calm dog I picked up was a mirage — a product of the trainer, the environment.
Later, I learned that he had associated that behavior with that space and that handler.
But with me? In our apartment? He felt it was his job to protect. He had learned to survive by staying on guard — and now, he thought it was his job to protect me and Luna.

Luna? I failed her.
I never showed her that my leaving — for an hour or two — didn’t mean abandonment. That I would always come back.

And Pancho? I failed him by not showing him that he was safe now. That he didn’t have to be on high alert. That I was the one doing the protecting now — not him.

It broke me. I wasn’t trying to be that neighbor with the barking dogs and constant chaos. I was just trying to raise confident, happy pups — and love them the best way I knew how.

I was at my absolute limit. Exhausted. Defeated. I was majestically failing — like I had let down the very beings I promised to protect. Great. 

Luna, especially, drained every ounce of my energy. Her separation anxiety didn’t just fill the apartment — it spilled out into every corner of my life. The barking, the destruction, the constant dread of another complaint — there’s only so much a space, and a set of neighbors, can take.

I started to wonder if maybe… I wasn’t the right person for her.
Maybe someone with more experience, a bigger home, a backyard, a calmer life — maybe they could give her what she needed.

But then it happened.
In the middle of one of those draining, overwhelming days, Luna looked up at me.

And in her eyes, I saw it: pure, unwavering love.

That’s when it hit me — no one was going to give her the patience I already had. No one was going to fight for her the way I had. And I wasn’t going to risk her becoming another heartbreaking statistic — another misunderstood dog shuffled from one home to another, never truly seen, never truly safe.

So I made a decision.
Not the kind you whisper to yourself half-heartedly — the kind that lives in your bones.

I chose to rise.
To be the person they needed me to be. Not perfect. Not all-knowing. Just present. Committed. Theirs.

Luna and Pancho were my responsibility — not in the legal sense, but in the soul-deep, I-will-not-let-you-down sense.
I couldn’t guarantee what another family might do.
But I could guarantee this:
In my tiny, imperfect home, they would be loved. They would be safe. They would have a place where they belonged.

And slowly — so slowly it almost hurt — things began to shift.

It wasn’t linear. It wasn’t easy. In fact, it often looked like this:
Horrible. Horrible. Horrible.
Then something beautiful.
Then horrible. Horrible. Horrible.
Then something beautiful again.

But those beautiful moments? They were everything.
They were proof that love, patience, and persistence do move mountains — even if it’s one wag at a time.

For a long time, it felt like I was the only one going through this.
Was I just a bad dog parent? Was everyone else’s pup perfectly trained and emotionally balanced while mine tore through walls — literally and figuratively?

I searched for answers, for support, for someone who had been where I was. And every time I came up short, I thought:
Why isn’t there a space for people like us?
Why isn’t there a platform where we can talk honestly about what it’s like to raise dogs like Luna and Pancho — where we can share experiences specific to breeds, temperaments, traumas, and personalities?

That question — that need — became the seed for Snout.

Because if I hadn’t made the decision to keep my girl, to hold on to her when everything felt like it was falling apart, I would’ve never known the ride I was about to take.
I would’ve missed the meltdowns and breakthroughs.
The brutal lows — and the breathtaking highs.
I would’ve missed watching her choose me, again and again, in those small, quiet moments that reminded me why I stayed.

And I would’ve missed the opportunity to build something that could help others stay, too.

Snout isn’t just an app. It’s a support system. A learning hub. A place where dog parents can come as they are — frustrated, exhausted, hopeful — and get real, adaptive guidance that actually understands the dogs they’re raising.

We’re building a future where no pet parent has to feel alone.
Where training is tailored, compassionate, and based on the reality of life with dogs — not just the theory.
Where we grow together. One challenge, one milestone, one wag at a time.

This is just the beginning.
And if you’ve ever felt like the only one — I promise, you’re not.

🐾 Join the Journey — One Wag at a Time

If any part of this story felt familiar — if you’ve ever stared at your dog wondering what now? — you’re not alone. And we’d love to hear from you.

💌 Subscribe to our newsletter, The Snout Print, to stay updated on our dog training app, upcoming events, and behind-the-scenes stories. We’ll be posting once a month about the state of our startup and how it’s growing — sharing every milestone, challenge, and win along the way.

📣 Share your experience. What’s your Luna or Pancho story? What helped? What didn’t? Your voice could shape tools that help thousands of pet parents just like us.

🐶 Join our closed community to connect with other pet parents navigating the ups and downs of dog training, and get direct access to early features, advice, and support.

👂 Keep your ears up — there’s so much more to come.

🐕‍🦺 Follow us on Instagram and be part of a growing community that’s redefining what it means to raise emotionally healthy, well-supported dogs.

Because the future of pet parenting starts with us.
And it starts here.