"Will Everyone Just Calm Down?" – A Dog's Take on Pressure
Hello, human. Yes, you. The one with the lead, the treats, the voice that goes all squeaky when you say, "Who's a good boy?" (It's me. I am. But let's not get distracted.)
I wanted to have a word. A proper, no-nonsense chat about something that's quietly messing with our heads and no, it's not the squirrel that lives behind the fence (though I will get him one day). I'm talking about pressure.
Not the sort of pressure that makes your head hurt after too much coffee or when your phone won't load. I mean the invisible stuff you pile on us dogs every time we leave the house.
You might not notice it. But we do.
Pressure? What Pressure?
Let me paint you a picture. You clip on my lead, shout something about a "walkies" (I know it means excitement, my tail told me so), and off we go. But the moment we step out that door, it's like walking into a world of ticking time bombs.
I don't just mean traffic and flappy plastic bags (both terrifying in their own way), but all the things you expect of me.
• Walk nicely.
• Don't bark at the other dog.
• Don't sniff the bin.
• Don't jump up.
• Don't pull.
• Don't poo there.
• Don't eat that.
• Don't growl at Dave's Dachshund (he started it).
You see where I'm going with this?
To you, it's just a nice stroll. To me, it's a constant mental juggling act. If I get it wrong? You sigh. Or tighten the lead. Or call me "naughty". The pressure builds.
But Why Do We Crumble?
Here's the thing: some of us dogs are born ready for anything. Bombproof, confident, breezy. Labradors with the emotional stability of a yoga teacher. But others? Not so much.
Some of us are worriers. We're hyper-aware, a bit sensitive, maybe even a touch dramatic (I prefer "emotionally tuned-in," thank you very much).
And when we're not taught how to cope, how to deal with pressure, it starts to leak out. It might show up as:
• Barking, lunging, or spinning like a washing machine.
• Completely ignoring you and pretending we're deaf.
• Shutting down and refusing to move, yes, the dramatic pancake pose.
• Growling or snapping (which, by the way, is us saying, "I've had enough!").
None of these mean we're bad dogs. It just means we've hit our limit. We weren't trained to handle pressure. We were just expected to get on with it.
So What Can You Do About It, Human?
I'm glad you asked. Here's what we dogs need from you (yes, I made a list, I'm organised like that):
1. Build Resilience, Not Just Obedience
Sit, down, stay, lovely stuff. But if I can't cope with the world around me, what good is a perfect "heel"? Train me to handle novelty, stress, and change. Gradually. Kindly. Consistently.
2. Don't Throw Me in at the Deep End
You wouldn't take a nervous swimmer to a wave pool on day one, would you? So don't drag me into dog-packed parks or crowded cafés until I've got the tools to cope. Start small. Build up. Let me win.
3. Recognise the Signs
Watch my body. My ears, my eyes, my tail. If I'm tense, panting, yawning, looking away, or licking my lips, I'm not being cute. I'm stressed. Do something before I have to shout about it.
4. Let Me Succeed
Set me up for wins. Let me sniff. Let me explore. Let me have a bit of agency. Give me choices. (But maybe not about dinner, I'd choose sausage every time.)
5. Praise Progress, Not Perfection
If I tried my best not to bark at the spaniel in the ridiculous jumper, but I did a little growl, maybe that's a win for me today. Recognise it. Celebrate it. Don't expect perfection, I'm not a robot.
Pressure's Not Always Bad, But It Must Be Taught
Look, I'm not saying wrap me in cotton wool and carry me round in a buggy (seriously, stop doing that to Pomeranians, they've got legs too).
Some pressure is good. It shapes us. Teaches us. Builds grit. But like your own stress, it has to be manageable. It has to be supported. It has to be something I learn to handle, not just survive.
So next time you take me out and I stop to sniff the same bush for the fifth time, just give me a moment. Maybe I'm not being awkward. Maybe I'm just regulating my own stress.
And if you're patient and kind and actually listen to what I'm trying to say, I promise I'll try my best to be brave.
Now… can we go back to that squirrel thing?
Final Woof
Pressure is inevitable, in life, in training, in everyday outings. But resilience isn't inherited; it's built. So build it with us. One calm, thoughtful, tail-wagging step at a time.
Because if we learn how to cope when the world gets noisy, smelly, unpredictable, and weird, we'll both be better for it.
And who knows? Maybe next time, I won't bark at Dave's Dachshund.
(But I probably still will.)
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