– What your dog’s “bad behaviour” is really showing you about yourself! –
A client once called me in despair saying her dog pulled on the leash like a freight train on every walk! She’d already been to see a communicator, who told her the reason: her dog pulled because he believed he was Salman Khan – entitled, adored, and not about to walk two steps behind anyone. When she came to me, she said, quite seriously, “You have to help me teach my Salman Khan how to walk properly on a leash!”
I’ll admit, I was a little taken aback. In my experience, dogs don’t generally believe themselves to be Bollywood superstars. But when I walked with her and her dog, the truth came out – she was holding the leash taut, tension running straight down the lead into the dog, and he was pulling right back. He wasn’t channelling a movie star. He’d simply never been taught how to walk politely!
But it got me thinking. We are a nation of storytellers, and nowhere do we tell better stories than about our dogs (Bollywood delusions, betrayal, jealousy, guilt, even romance). We hand our dogs an entire inner life, usually one that’s more about us than it’s about them! And in doing so, we do them a disservice.
The thing about dogs is – they don’t lie. A dog doesn’t perform, or protect an image of himself, or spin an explanation for his own behaviour. He pulls because he pulls. We’re the ones who choose anthropomorphic reasons for their behaviour. So, when a client sits across from me utterly convinced her dog is secretly a film star, or vengeful, or born aggressive, I’ve learned the question isn’t: “What’s wrong with the dog.”
Here’s a polished, tighter version in approximately 200 words, while retaining the wit, humour and underlying message:
Take the idea of the “alpha dog”, the fearless leader who must dominate before being dominated. People still quote it as gospel, despite it originating from a flawed study of captive wolves that was debunked years ago. Facts may have moved on, but the myth clearly didn’t get the memo.
I once met the sweetest beagle whose owner complained he turned aggressive whenever she hosted parties. My advice was simple: during the festivities, keep him in a quiet bedroom away from the increasingly merry guests. At the very next party, someone wandered into the bedroom anyway, annoyed the dog, got nipped, and the verdict was immediate: “He’s aggressive!”
As I demonstrated a few basic commands, the owner’s friend stared at me in amazement. “He listens to you because you’ve got alpha dog blood,” she declared. I assured her that if my blood contained anything unusual, it was probably a touch of anaemia. Unconvinced, she insisted dogs could smell this mysterious “alpha blood”, adding that her boyfriend had it too.
She was a couple of tequilas into the afternoon, so I let it go. But the episode perfectly illustrated how readily we embrace comforting myths. If it’s “alpha blood”, nobody has to admit the real problem was inconsistent training… or guests who should probably have stopped after their third margarita!
Sometimes the story isn’t about escaping blame. Sometimes it’s about enjoying the compliment. A few years ago, an actress consulted me because her German Shepherd kept lunging at her boyfriend whenever they sat together on the sofa. She was convinced it was jealousy. The more she believed it, the more determined she became to include the dog in their cosy moments. Before long, the boyfriend was feeling more excluded than the dog, and the relationship began to suffer.
As she recounted the saga, I sensed she secretly enjoyed the narrative. After all, who wouldn’t be flattered by the idea of a dog hopelessly devoted to them? I suggested a few simple training exercises and clear boundaries for both the dog and the boyfriend. She nodded politely, but I don’t think she intended to follow them. She insisted the dog “hated all my boyfriends.” He didn’t. He simply hadn’t been taught how to behave around them.
Not every story is a flattering one, though. Sometimes, what we hand the dog isn’t ego, but our own unease and we ask him to carry it for us. One client called to tell me her dog had seen a ghost. She’d woken at three in the morning to find him standing on the bed, staring fixedly into a corner of the room. “My hair stood on end,” she said. “There was nothing there. I asked who it was. Nobody answered. And my dog just kept staring.” She was convinced there was a presence in the room, and that her dog could see it. She wanted to know if I could have it removed, because, apparently, her dog didn’t like it. I had to break it to her, I’m a canine behaviourist, not a ghostbuster!
When I suggested she distract the dog out of it next time, she refused. She wanted the ghost gone instead. But as long as she needed a ghost in the room, the much simpler explanation: a bored dog, a dark corner, a bad night’s sleep, never stood a chance.
All of this is undeniably entertaining, until it isn’t. More often, when pet parents tell me these elaborate tales, I’m tempted to say, “Your dog doesn’t need therapy. Your thinking does!” We’ve humanised perfectly normal canine behaviour into stories that flatter us, excuse us or simply make life more dramatic. The truth is usually far less glamorous. Go back through every story here and the dog was telling the truth the entire time. It wasn’t ego, it was a tight leash. It wasn’t alpha blood, it was consistency. It wasn’t jealousy, it was a boundary nobody set. It wasn’t a ghost, it was a shadow in a corner.
So, the next time your dog does something ‘not normal’, don’t immediately blame jealousy, trauma, ghosts, bad karma or Mercury being in retrograde. First, look in the mirror. Dogs are refreshingly uncomplicated. We’re the ones who deserve the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay!
[Shirin Dhabhar is a canine behaviourist who has spent 30 years watching humans, not just dogs!]
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