Noah’s Ark:
Redesigning a Lost-Pet App So It Actually Feels Helpful in a Crisis
Look, when your dog goes missing, everything stops. I’ve got Sofi, my corgi, and just thinking about her disappearing makes my stomach drop. So when I first opened Noah’s Ark, I was hoping for something clear, fast, and kind, the kind of tool that says “we get it, we’re here.”
What I got instead was… a mess. Social contests. Wallet pop-ups. Swipe-to-match pets (??). Membership nudges. A whole store. Obituary sections right in the middle of everything. Endless forms. And honestly, some of the language felt cold and detached.
It was like the app was having an identity crisis, and unfortunately, that was making things harder for people who were already panicking.
That disconnect hit me hard. It made me ask myself: What does an app like this actually owe someone in the worst moment of their day?
Market research
I didn’t want to redesign in a vacuum, so I spent time with the tools people really turn to in these moments.
PawBoost
One of the most-used lost-pet platforms in the US and Canada.
Huge, obvious “Report Lost Pet” button front and center
Straightforward form: photo, description, last seen location, contact info
Instantly generates shareable flyers (print + digital)
Public map view of recent reports
Paid promotion/boost options exist, but they’re optional and don’t gate basic functionality
Key takeaway: They lead with urgency and action. Monetization is there, but never in the way.
Nextdoor (their lost-pet posts)
Not even a dedicated app, yet it’s where tons of people go first.
Hyper-local neighborhood feeds
One-tap posting with photo + location + phone
Comments and reshares happen almost instantly
Zero gamification, zero upsells, just neighbors helping neighbors
Key takeaway: In real life, community moves fast when it’s simple and personal.
Citizen (Safety Alerts App)
While not pet-specific, their lost-person/found-person flows are instructive.
Map-driven interface
Clear, timestamped cards
Minimal text, high signal
No fluff, no distractions
Key takeaway: When people are scared or in emergency mode, they crave clarity over features.
What I saw across the board:
No swipe-to-match mechanics for lost pets. No mixing of live searches with memorial content. No in-your-face stores or contests during reporting flows. No long mandatory forms.
The strongest tools do a few things extremely well:
One primary job (find/report)
Structured, scannable information
Helpful maps
Very low friction
Monetization kept far from the critical path
Noah’s Ark, by contrast, was trying to serve too many masters at once: social engagement, e-commerce, memorials, adoptions, and crisis support among other extra things. That diffusion of focus ended up burying the urgency that matters most.
Strategic Positioning Opportunity
If repositioned correctly, Noah’s Ark could differentiate by becoming: The most emotionally intelligent and ethically designed lost-pet recovery app. Not the most feature-rich. But the most focused.
Insights from Real Pet Owners & Community Observation
I moderate a corgi Facebook group, so I’ve seen and approved lost-pet posts go live. The pattern is always the same:
Photo + last known location + phone number
Immediate reshares, tags to local groups, people offering to drive around looking
Emotional, direct language “Please help, she’s my baby”
I saw the exact same energy repeated in other lost-pet groups across breeds and cities. People don’t want to “match” with pets or enter giveaways, they want eyes on the ground right now. They also offer word of encouragement.
Talking to Pet Owners
To go deeper, I did five semi-structured interviews with pet owners (some who’d lost pets before, some who hadn’t). I asked open questions:
What would you need in the first frantic hour?
How would a complicated app feel in that moment?
What’s your gut reaction to donation/membership asks during reporting?
How do you feel about swiping through pet cards like a dating app?
Their answers were heartbreakingly consistent:
Long forms feel like interrogation when you’re already falling apart
Printable/shareable flyers were universally loved, something tangible to do immediately, post at vet offices, tape to poles
The swipe-to-match mechanic felt tone-deaf (“This feels like social media,” “Why am I matching with pets right now?”, “I don’t want to date, I want my cat back”)
Tone made or broke trust, cold, transactional, or slightly judgy language killed motivation fast
Evaluating the Existing Experience
I also ran the current Noah’s Ark app through Nielsen’s 10 usability heuristics. Red flags included:
Duplicate navigation (Wallet / Profile / Store links repeating everywhere)
Fragmented reporting flow with unclear progress
No satisfying confirmation screen after submission
Obituaries appearing in the same feed as active lost/found posts, creating serious emotional whiplash
Memorializing a lost pet is important and beautiful. But surfacing those pages next to “Help! My dog is missing!” creates cognitive and emotional dissonance that most people aren’t equipped to handle in crisis.
Redesign North Star
My guiding principles became:
Ruthless prioritization of urgency and speed
Deep respect for the emotional state of someone in crisis
Mirroring real-world community behavior (fast, personal, neighborly)
Warmer, more human tone throughout
Drastically reduced cognitive load
Clear separation between recovery flows and memorial/community features
This wasn’t minimalism for minimalism’s sake. It was realignment around compassion and effectiveness.
Key Changes in the Redesign
Crisis-first home screen Immediate fork: “I Lost My Pet” vs “I Found a Pet” giant, unmistakable buttons. No scrolling past contests, wallets, stores.
Guided, dramatically shorter reporting flow Clear step indicators, required vs optional fields labeled plainly, progress bar, encouraging microcopy (“You’re doing great, just a couple more details to help bring them home”).
Map-centered lost/found search Scannable cards with big photo + key info (location, time last seen, breed, contact snippet). No gamified swiping — just clean, glanceable posts like a neighborhood bulletin board.
Simplified “My Pets” dashboard One clear place to manage your animals, toggle lost status, see reports. Removed duplicate fields and confusing overlaps between pet profiles and user profiles.
Monetization & membership moved off the critical path Wallet, store, donations, premium features still exist , they’re just never interrupting the main lost/found flows. They live in secondary nav or post-reunion thank-you screens.
Humanized, supportive tone everywhere Swapped bureaucratic labels for things like: “We’re here to help you bring them home” “Take a deep breath let’s do this together, one step at a time” “Your report is live, thank you for trusting us with this” Confirmation screens now include small emotional reassurances instead of just “Submission received.”
Expected Impact
Lower abandonment during reporting → faster time-to-live reports
Higher completion rates → more pets entered into the system
Increased trust → people actually remember and return to the app when they need it
Better community perception → less “this app feels off” feedback in lost-pet groups
Final Thoughts
This project reminded me why I care about UX in the first place.
When someone is hurting, really hurting “simple” isn’t just good design. It’s an act of kindness.
Noah’s Ark has huge potential because the mission is beautiful: help lost pets find their way home. But in moments that matter most, trying to be everything to everyone can accidentally get in the way of the one thing that matters.
Sometimes the strongest redesign isn’t adding polish or more features. It’s quietly removing whatever is making an already painful moment harder.
Thanks for reading all the way through. If you’ve ever lost (or almost lost) a pet, you know exactly why this kind of work feels personal.