A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about the difference between watching our dogs and truly listening to them. Watching can tell us what our dog did. Listening asks us to become curious about what their response might be communicating. But there is another step after listening—one that may be the most important of all.
When our dog hesitates, slows down, turns away, becomes tense, or shows a clear preference for something other than what we planned, we rarely do nothing and simply continue as before. More often, we try harder to help our dog do the thing. We become happier and more encouraging. We brighten our voice, repeat the invitation, offer better treats, find a favorite ball, add more energy, or become firmer and more insistent. We notice that our dog isn’t joining us, but we interpret the hesitation as a sign that they need more motivation, clearer direction, or greater encouragement from us.
That response comes from a loving place. We want to help. We may believe our dog is uncertain and needs confidence from us, or that they are distracted and need a more compelling reason to reconnect. Sometimes a little more clarity or encouragement really is useful.
But sometimes our dog is not asking us to become more persuasive. Sometimes, they are asking to be heard, and they are giving us information that could change our understanding of the moment.
This is where listening becomes something more than noticing accurately.
Attentiveness becomes responsiveness when what we notice is allowed to influence what happens next.
Allowing our dog’s response to influence what happens next does not mean they should determine every outcome. Sometimes we genuinely need to leave for an appointment, come inside, move away from danger, complete necessary care, or continue through a transition that cannot be optional. Loving partnership does not ask us to give up our responsibility for safety, wellbeing, and shared life.
But even when the destination remains the same, our dog’s response can influence how we find our way there. It might change our timing, our pace, our position, the amount of space we create, the order in which something happens, or the kind of support we offer. It may help us recognize that our dog needs less pressure rather than more enthusiasm, a clearer pathway rather than a better treat, or a moment to gather information rather than another cue.
If your dog steps away when you reach for the harness, listening doesn’t necessarily mean abandoning the walk. It may mean pausing long enough to notice whether you are standing over your dog, moving more quickly than you realized, or presenting the harness in a way that feels uncomfortable.
If your dog hesitates at a doorway, the answer may not be, “I refuse to come inside.” It may be, “There isn’t enough room for me to move through comfortably.” If your dog slows down on a familiar route, they may not need louder encouragement or a more exciting reward. Perhaps something in the environment has changed. Perhaps they need more time to understand what they are sensing. Perhaps today’s dog is simply experiencing this familiar place differently than yesterday’s dog did.
The original plan may not be wrong. Partnership asks us to keep the conversation alive enough to include the other living being moving through it with us.
When a behavior is the primary goal, our dog’s response can quickly become something to overcome, redirect, reinforce, or persuade them through.
When the relationship is the main thing, their response becomes part of the conversation—not the only part, but a part that truly matters.
And sometimes, when we let our dog’s answer influence the plan, we discover that cooperation was never absent. It simply needed a pathway that made sense to both of us.
💖 Reflecting on Connection 💖
I’ve been thinking about something Raven taught me when she was about five or six months old, right in that wonderful “tween” stage when a young dog begins showing you more clearly who she is becoming.
Raven had already traveled around the country with me in our Sprinter Van, alongside the “big dogs”—my adult sheepdog competition partners. Loading into the van had never been a problem. She eagerly ran in with everyone else, ready for whatever adventure came next.
Then, one day, she didn’t.
When I called her to load, Raven hung back. Then she slipped behind a nearby tree. She knew how to get into the van. She had done it countless times. Nothing obvious had happened that would explain why something so familiar had suddenly become difficult.
It would have been easy to assume Raven needed more encouragement. I could have called her again in a brighter voice, become more animated, offered something more exciting, or become firmer because I knew she understood what I was asking. From the outside, it looked as though a dog who had always loaded happily had abruptly decided not to cooperate.
But instead of trying harder to get Raven into the van, I began paying closer attention to what happened around the moment of loading. As I watched, I came to understand that Raven wanted to be the last dog in. In her young border collie Organizer way, she had apparently assigned herself a job: she needed to see that the other dogs were safely loaded before her “work” was complete.
There was something else, too. Once the adult dogs were inside, Raven had to jump past me through the van doorway while several big dogs stared out toward her. The doorway had become crowded and pressured in a way I hadn’t recognized. Raven had grown and changed, and her experience of this familiar routine had changed with her.
So I stopped calling her. I loaded the adult dogs first and gave them time to settle. Then I stepped away from the doorway, leaving Raven a clear, spacious path into the van. From off to the side, I cheerfully asked, “Who wants a load-up cookie?” so the big dogs would turn their attention toward me instead of staring out at Raven.
Raven ran over, hopped inside, and we celebrated with load-up cookies for everyone.
And here is the part that could easily be misunderstood: Raven never hesitated to load again. That might sound like I performed some magical, one-try behavior fix. I didn’t. Raven’s hesitation disappeared because I finally understood what she needed – and from then on, I made room for it. I let the big dogs load first. I kept the doorway clear and gave her the space she needed to enter comfortably.
As she matured toward adulthood, her needs had changed, and she communicated that with her hesitation. Her communication changed my understanding, and my understanding changed our plan. That is what kind, loving leaders and partners do. We don’t simply listen long enough to find a more effective way to engineer the response we want. We allow what we learn about the dog beside us to become part of how we live together.
Attentiveness becomes responsiveness when what we notice is allowed to influence what happens next—not only once, but in the way we live together from then on.
I invite you to reflect with me: Where might your dog be answering you? And what might change if, instead of trying harder to encourage the response you expected, you allowed their answer to become part of the plan?
Maybe the destination stays the same. Maybe the way you travel there together becomes more spacious, more responsive, and more alive to the partner walking beside you.
💌 Leave a comment and tell me what you’re noticing. I’d love to hear what your dog may be helping you understand.
With love,
Kathy
PS: Raven still loves an adventure, and she eagerly runs to my now-much-smaller van anytime she sees that I’m getting ready to go somewhere. These days, she is hesitating to load again—but this time, it’s because she’s a 15yr old elder, and she wisely tells me she needs a boost. Her needs have changed again, so our plan has changed again. Of course, I’m happy to oblige. That’s the way we’ll do it from now on.
📸 “Take a break” is what I suggest before my sweet Raven gets too hot or tired when we’re playing fetch with her holler roller ball. ⚽
The flying disc got retired a couple of years ago, and this ball is perfect to toss for an old girl who still wants to play and her momma wants to make it easy on her not-quite-like-it-used-to-be athletic border collie body.
If you’d like to work with me and learn how to create a partnership lifestyle for you and your dog, you can request an invitation to join us in the Brilliant Partners Academy when the doors open for the next enrollment!
