That your dog sometimes feels more like a burden, and you catch yourself imagining tying them to the nearest tree and just walking away? Have you ever had those moments where you need all your self-control not to completely lose it with them?
You know what? You’re not alone.
Living with dogs always brings moments where we are pushed to our limits. Maybe your dog has issues with other dogs and completely loses it every time he sees one. Especially rescue dogs often show a lot of fear, get startled at the tiniest sound, and refuse to move forward in certain places—and you just can’t understand why. Some chase not only birds but also bark furiously at balloons or helicopters, almost pulling your arm out of its socket.
Along with the physical pain in arms, shoulders, and elbows, comes huge frustration and deep self-doubt. And when other people are watching—maybe even people we know—while we’re clearly “not in control” of our dog, the feeling of shame can become overwhelming, making us want to disappear into the ground.
On top of that, there are the comments during walks. People approach us, sometimes even confront us, and of course, they always “know better” (dog owner or not) how to raise or handle a dog. We’re given wonderful pieces of advice and the suggestion to finally see a “good dog trainer.”
Right now, we have a rescue dog ourselves. He explodes the moment he sees another dog in the distance, he chases birds, wants to attack balloons and helicopters, and sometimes goes after men. Most of the time he’s dragging me through the world like there’s no tomorrow and is completely unreachable. Training outside is tough. And yet—even though I feel like I’ve never loved a dog as much as him—I often need enormous patience and impulse control. Honestly? Sometimes I wish I could beam myself to Australia, or that the nearest tree had a hole I could just disappear into.
But still—I try, in every moment, to understand why he behaves the way he does. Behavior ALWAYS has a reason.
We don’t know his story. We don’t know what he’s been through. He spent more than a year in two different shelters—right in the middle of the difficult adolescent phase. I’m sure he was exposed to many things (people, cars, noises, etc.), but we can only guess what he might have experienced. He can’t tell us—though, of course, those passersby with their “helpful” advice always seem to know best.
In the meantime, I’ve found my own way of coping. When I see dogs or men, I try to breathe in and out and remind myself: “Great, here’s a chance to work on his behavior.” When passersby make their “funny” comments, I usually just respond with, “Ah, you’re absolutely right, thank you,” and keep walking. On difficult days, I choose walking routes my dog knows well, where I can expect fewer triggers.
Of course, that all sounds easier said than done—because I’m a trainer. BUT—when it comes to our own dogs, being a trainer isn’t always an advantage. Our own dogs trigger us just like anyone else’s do. They can annoy us just as much—and sometimes even more—because there’s extra pressure: the whole world expects me to “fix” my „crazy“ dog quickly, because I should know how. Everyone tells me, “Luckily he ended up with you,” and yes, maybe that’s true… but he’s still a real challenge for me too.
My conclusion? Rise above what others say, think, or comment. Work on your dog’s behavior at your pace—step by step. Celebrate the small successes and the little changes in behavior. LOTS of patience and letting go of expectations are the keys to success. Dogs never want to misbehave, be “bad,” or get back at us. Sometimes they just can’t help it. Give your dog a chance—and always, always try to see the POSITIVE.
