The case for less control and more permission.

 

Modern dog ownership has become, in some quarters, quite serious. There are structured enrichment routines, sniff walks with prescribed durations, Instagram accounts dedicated to canine mental stimulation and long discussions in online forums about whether a particular breed is getting enough cognitive challenge in their daily life. Some of this is genuinely useful. Some of it has tipped into something else.

The dog who is allowed to roll in something unidentifiable in the long grass and come back looking extremely pleased with himself is having a very good time. The dog who stops dead at a lamp post for four full minutes while you stand there is not wasting your time. He is reading. The dog who finds a puddle of unclear origin and wades into it with complete commitment is not being difficult. He is being a dog.

We are quite good at overcomplicating things that are straightforward. Dogs want to move, sniff, rest, eat something good and be near the people they belong to. The hierarchy of their needs is not particularly elaborate. The elaboration tends to come from us.

There is a version of dog ownership that is so concerned with doing it correctly that the dog becomes a project rather than a companion. Optimised rather than enjoyed. And the irony is that the dog, who has no interest in being optimised, usually just wants you to sit on the floor with them for a bit.

None of this is an argument against training or structure or good nutrition or vet care. All of those things matter and they are expressions of how much you value the animal in your care. But they are the scaffolding not the building.

The building is the dog asleep across your feet on a Tuesday night. The walk where nothing remarkable happened. The completely unexplained zoomies at nine in the evening that make you laugh even though you have seen it a hundred times.

Let them be dogs. It turns out that is usually enough.