Dogs Do Not Live in a World of Commands

We often say that a dog “doesn’t listen”. He does not respond when called, pulls toward a scent, stops by a bush, tries to eat something off the ground, looks toward another dog, or fails to perform a cue even though “he knows it”.

From a human perspective, the situation seems simple: the human said something, so the dog should do it. But dogs do not live in a world of commands.

They live in a world of scents, movement, tension, sounds, distances, traces left by other animals, human gestures, tone of voice, their own arousal, and very concrete possibilities for action. Human words are only one element of that world. They are not always the most important one.

For a human, an alley between apartment blocks may simply be a way of getting from one place to another. For a dog, it may be a dense map of events: food scraps near a bin, another dog’s urine on a lamppost, the trace of a cat under a bush, movement around the corner, wind carrying scent from far away, and the tension of a human who has just shortened the leash.

Imagine you are a dog.

If a human wants to guide a dog through an environment full of stimuli, they need to learn to anticipate what will matter to the dog — not only what seems important to the human.

Humans often react too late because they see the situation in human terms. The dog has already smelled something, noticed something, tensed, hesitated, or made a decision, and only then does the human say: “leave it”, “come on”, “no”, “come here”. Then they say: “he’s ignoring me”.

But the dog is not necessarily ignoring anyone. Sometimes he is simply already in a different world of events than the human.

Training is not only about teaching the dog

For a long time, dog training was described mainly as the process of teaching dogs behaviours expected by humans. The dog should sit, stay, not pull, not jump, not bark, not pick things up from the ground, and come back when called.

And of course, these skills can be necessary. Dogs live in a human world and need to function in it somehow. Sometimes the safety of the dog, the guardian, other dogs, and other people depends on this.

But if we look only in this direction, we miss the other half of the process.

In good communication, it is not only the dog who learns the human. The human also learns the dog: his pace, his way of moving, his responses to tension, his micro-signals of uncertainty, what distracts him, what reinforces him, when he is still thinking and when he is already only reacting.

In this sense, training is not one-sided instruction-giving. It is the building of a shared language. Unequal, because the human has more power and more responsibility. But still shared.

The dog learns that a particular gesture, word, or human movement means something. The human learns that the dog responds not only by performing or not performing a cue, but with the whole body: tension, stopping, turning the head away, speeding up, looking, sniffing, avoiding, a sudden rise in arousal, or relaxation.

If the human only sees “did it / didn’t do it”, they miss most of the conversation.

The body speaks before the command

Dogs read our bodies very carefully. They notice whether we are walking stiffly or softly, whether we lean over them, tighten the leash, speed up, hold our breath, or look toward something we have already decided is a threat.

We may say in a calm voice, “nothing is happening”, but if our body says something else, the dog will usually believe the body more than the words.

It works the other way too. A dog communicates with his body all the time; humans simply do not always recognise this as communication. Slowing down, turning the head away, stopping, sniffing more intensely, tension in the muzzle, a change in tail position, lowering the body, faster breathing, refusing food, or being unable to look away from a stimulus — these are not additions to behaviour. They are behaviour. They are information about what is happening with the dog.

The problem is that humans often notice the dog only when the message becomes loud: barking, lunging, jumping, fleeing, refusing, exploding.

But the dog was speaking earlier. Just more quietly.

A reward has to be rewarding for the dog

One of the most practical issues here concerns rewards.

In one scene, a dog is practising recall in a room where different temptations have been placed on the floor: toys, food, interesting objects. The guardian calls the dog, but the dog chooses whatever is more valuable to him at that moment. Only when the trainer suggests strongly scented food does the dog begin to genuinely choose the human over the environment.

This sounds obvious, but in practice it often is not.

Humans often say: “but I have treats”. The real question is: is this actually a reward for this dog, in this situation, at this level of arousal, and with this level of environmental competition?

A dry treat may work in the kitchen. It may not work in the park. It may work when the dog is calm. It may cease to exist when the dog smells an animal trail, sees another dog, or is already too highly aroused.

A reward is not what the human considers a reward. A reward is what has value for the dog.

And it does not always have to be food. For one dog, it may be scent. For another, movement. For another, a toy. For another, the possibility of approaching. For yet another, the possibility of moving away. For many dogs, the greatest reward is access to the environment, not another piece of food from a human hand.

If we do not understand this, it is easy to call the dog “stubborn” or “ungrateful”. But he may simply be choosing what makes more sense in his world.

Sometimes the dog is not refusing. Sometimes he is choosing differently

Training. The dog is supposed to complete an agility course, which from the human perspective is a “fun activity”. But at that moment, the dog chooses something else: jumping up at the guardian, seeking social contact, having his own idea of the situation.

The human says: “we’re doing something fun”. The dog says with his body: “yes, but I have a different definition of fun”.

People often assume that if something is supposed to be enjoyable for a dog, the dog should experience it according to the human script. A walk should be a walk, play should be play, training should be training, agility should be exciting, contact with another dog should be rewarding, and petting should feel pleasant.

But the dog may feel otherwise. He may not want that game. He may not be ready for that contact. He may need sniffing more than running. He may need distance more than petting. In that moment, he may not be “disobedient”, but simply occupied with his own way of coping with the situation.

This does not mean that the human should always follow the dog and give up all boundaries. But if we fail to notice that the dog has his own perspective, we will start calling every difference between the human plan and the dog’s action a problem.

“He doesn’t listen” is sometimes too simple an explanation

Of course dogs learn behaviours. Of course they can respond to cues. Of course it is worth building communication that allows them to live safely in a human world.

But “he doesn’t listen” is very often too small a phrase for too large a situation.

Maybe the dog is too aroused to process the cue. Maybe he does not understand what the human wants. Maybe he has received conflicting information from the human’s body and voice. Maybe the stimulus in front of him is stronger than the reward. Maybe he is in an environment that overwhelms him. Maybe he has not had the chance to learn the behaviour in that context. Maybe he is trying to cope in his own way. Maybe he is communicating discomfort, but the human is not reading it.

Then the problem is not a lack of obedience. The problem is a lack of shared communicative ground.

Dogs do not live in a world of commands. Commands can be part of the relationship, but they cannot replace understanding the dog.

Seeing the world a little more like a dog

The most important conclusion is simple: before we judge a dog’s behaviour, it is worth trying, even for a moment, to see the situation from his perspective.

What smells here? What is moving? What did the dog notice before I did? Does my reward really have value? Is my body helping the dog, or making him more tense? Am I asking the dog for something he is ready for in this moment?

This is not a romantic “step into the dog’s skin”. It is a practical skill.

Good communication with a dog begins when the human stops assuming that the dog should primarily understand the human world. And starts asking what the world the dog actually lives in looks like.

If we want the dog to hear our signals, we first need to notice what is louder for him than our words.

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Źródło:Fox, R., Charles, N., Smith, H., & Miele, M. (2022). “Imagine you are a Dog”: embodied learning in multi-species research. Cultural Geographies. https://doi.org/10.1177/14744740221102907