What Can Replace Dog Obedience?

Batman was barking again. 

Even a block away, I could hear him over the rumble of my old truck’s diesel engine. Could he seriously have been doing this all day while I was at work? 

Anxiety and embarrassment twisted in my gut as I thought about how upset my neighbors must be. This had to stop or they were going to call animal control again. The last thing I needed in my life was another ticket. 

Once parked, I took a deep breath, attempting to calm down without much success. I opened the door of my truck and shouted, “Batman, no barking!” 

An all too welcome silence filled the evening air which gave me the slightest sense of victory and relief.

Before I could walk up to the porch another bark rang out from inside the house. Again I shouted, “Batman, no barking!” Upon opening the front door, my dog, a fifty-five pound, red-nosed pit bull leaped up and planted his two front paws right into my stomach. I pushed him off and said sternly, “Batman, down! No jumping.” which only seemed to intensify his wild excitement.

I put my work things aside and bent down to greet him. My hands found his neck slick with an oily substance, clotted with dirt, and smelling strongly of citrus. My stomach sank as I realized what had happened. 

In an attempt to cure Batman of his incessant barking, I’d recently purchased a collar that would spray citronella oil towards his face every time he barked. I took it off him and added it to the growing list of training tools that didn’t work on my unruly dog. Oh, and now he’d need another bath. 

“Bath” meaning a wrestling match in the tub. 

He continued to whine and jump with manic energy as I stood and grabbed his leash, knowing that it was time for his evening walk. I put the pinch-collar around his neck and opened the front door slowly, telling him to wait. As soon as there was an inch of clearance he shot outside, almost removing my arm from the shoulder socket.

Even with the metal barbs of his pinch-collar digging into his neck, treats in my hand, and my ongoing commands for him to heel, Batman pulled me around the neighborhood without seeming to notice I was attached to him. 

Once we’d made an exhausting lap around our neighborhood and returned home, it was time for his evening training session. I took the unused Milk Bones from our walk and began running Batman through the tricks he knew. 

As much as our time spent training was a source of pride and hope, it was also a source of deep confusion and frustration. Over the course of the last year I’d taught Batman well over twenty tricks, some of which were quite complex. 

He could army crawl around the house, dragging his belly and hind legs behind him. He could speak at three different volumes. He could also do all sorts of leaps onto, over, and under obstacles. I felt like he could have been in the circus. 

My confusion and frustration came from the fact that Batman was obviously smart enough to learn the behaviors I was teaching him. My training techniques worked great as long as we were alone inside the house and I had treats. However, if even one of these conditions was unmet, he would transform back into a wild animal. 

After practicing each of his tricks a few times I decided to give him dinner. As he ate I couldn’t help but feel that we were growing farther apart. There was a quiet voice in my mind that whispered, “He doesn’t care about you and he never will.” The thought felt like a weight inside my chest. All the feelings of pride I’d felt from his training, squashed beneath it.

Then the weight lifted slightly as I remembered the raw bone I’d brought home a few days ago. Perhaps giving him a special treat could help bring us a little closer together. I opened the freezer, pulled out the raw bone and presented it to him. 

Batman was overjoyed as he carried it off to his bed. I followed him, feeling some mild relief as I watched him begin to munch happily away. When I approached and bent down to pet him, something happened that would change our lives forever.

He erupted in a series of guttural, snarling barks, as his teeth chomped down repeatedly in the direction of my hand. I jumped away terrified. His lips were curled back and his eyes locked onto mine. A deep and threatening growl rumbled in his throat. 

I had never seen Batman be violent before. Even at the dog park when other dogs showed aggression towards him, he would simply run away. 

As we stood there my fear began to transform into anger and resentment. I’d just given him an amazing treat and this is how he repaid me?! All of my built-up frustration with him came boiling to the surface. I took a step in his direction and shouted, “NO! BAD BOY!”

His only response was to continue to snarl and stare threateningly at me.

I grabbed the edge of a nearby piece of furniture, picked it up and slammed it back down onto the ground, creating an immense crash that shook the room around us. 

This was enough to startle Batman out of his aggressive state. He backed away from the bone and I was able to scoop it up.

Again I shouted, “NO!” and “BAD BOY!” 

Batman retreated even further away from me, looking scared and sad that he’d lost his special treat.

I took a few deep breaths and tried to stop my body from shaking. Even though I felt mildly relieved to have “won” the battle, the feeling was quickly replaced by a deep sense of shame and defeat. My attempt to bond with my dog had instead become the worst moment of our lives together. 

I bent down to try to reconnect with him, but he grew stiff and withdrawn as I reached out. Seeing my boy like this filled me with sadness. I knew it wasn’t a good training practice to give him back his bone after such bad behavior, but my guilt got the better of me. I placed the bone on his bed and left the room so he could eat it in peace. 

I couldn’t understand why this was happening.  

That night as I lay in bed, trying to sleep, countless questions swarmed through my mind. 

I had spent the last three years learning and developing my skills as a dog trainer. I had read multiple books on dog obedience, watched online videos, and even learned from professional trainers. How could he master so many tricks and still be so disobedient and chaotic?  

Weren’t dogs supposed to be loyal and have unconditional love for their owners? Why was mine becoming such a stubborn and aggressive asshole? I had given Batman all the things dogs were supposed to need. A big backyard to play in, tons of toys, treats, and two walks a day. What else could he possibly want? 

Even though nothing about our situation seemed to make sense, I knew one thing for sure: Batman’s violent outburst was unacceptable behavior and needed to be fixed. 

Did I need him to start wearing a muzzle or shock collar? Did I need to send him off to a doggie boot camp to be trained by someone else? Was I going to have to put him on some sort of medication to calm him down? 

I didn’t want to resort to any of these methods, but I felt like I was running out of options.

Why couldn’t Batman just be a good dog?

For hours I mentally wrestled with these questions, trying to find any answers that might calm my growing fears. It wasn’t until after midnight that my anxious mind began to give in to the exhaustion of the day. 

As I drifted into that tranquil place between consciousness and sleep, a strange new question gently floated up into my awareness. 

What if Batman wasn’t misbehaving? 

Unlike the other thoughts I’d been exploring, this one didn’t feel stressful or frightening. On the contrary it felt calming and clear. Turning the question over in my mind, I found myself taking the thought one step further. 

If Batman’s vicious display over the bone wasn’t misbehavior, then what was it? 

As soon as I asked this question, the answer became obvious. 

It was honest communication. 

Batman was simply expressing how he felt. 

No, it was more than that.  He was expressing how he felt… about me.

My eyes opened and I suddenly felt wide awake. 

If he was telling me how he felt about me, then what was he saying? 

A deep stillness settled over me, the simple truth clearing away the fog of my earlier confusion. 

He didn’t trust me. 

There it was. The missing piece of the puzzle. 

As this realization sank in, the logical next question arose. 

Why didn’t Batman trust me?

Again the answer quickly presented itself, almost as if it had been patiently waiting for me. 

Laying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, a whole new dimension of our relationship came into focus. I began to see how all of the behavioral training I’d done with my dog had been in service to one unspoken desire.

The desire for control.

I hadn’t cared about Batman’s experience or the feedback he was giving me. 

I just wanted him to do what I wanted, when I wanted it. 

To always behave in a way that kept me from feeling anxious, angry, or embarrassed.

To live for my comfort and convenience, and never burden me with his needs or complaints.

To not distract me from my busy, self-absorbed lifestyle, but to always be available for me when I wanted to play or cuddle.

In this new light, all our struggles made perfect sense. 

I wasn’t treating Batman like a family member, or a friend, or even a teammate. I was treating him like an indentured servant who owed every moment of his life to me. 

It didn’t matter how technically skilled I was as a dog trainer if the underlying message from me was always the same. I have all the power. I’m bigger than you. Stronger than you. I control all the resources you need to survive. I have the tools to make you do what I want, and the willingness to punish you if you don’t. Therefore you need to do as I command, regardless of what you need, or how you think and feel. 

Ultimately, striving for obedience was the problem. It had eroded his trust in me. Of course it had. If anyone were to treat me the way I was treating him, I wouldn’t like or trust them either. 

The path forward was obvious. I had to find a new goal.

But what could replace obedience? 

Batman would get wildly excited around other people and dogs. He pulled like crazy on walks and barked non-stop when left alone. I couldn’t just stop his training and hope for the best. I still needed to give him guidance, but how could I do that without being a tyrant?   

Perhaps there were examples from my own life I could draw from. I began to consider the people who I looked to for guidance. Whose advice I would follow when offered. Whose choices inspired me to be more like them. 

How had they come to have this power over me? 

Looking at each of those relationships, I finally understood. 

I’d willingly given it. 

They hadn’t taken power through force or manipulation. None of them expected me to do what they said simply because they were bigger, stronger, older, smarter, or capable of punishing me. I’d grown to trust and admire them because of the way they had shown up in my life.

They’d earned my permission to influence my decisions. 

My new goal was clear. I had to become a leader my dog actually wanted to follow.

I had to earn Batman’s cooperation.    

I had to win his heart.  

Not by taking control, but by adding value to his life.

Even with all these new understandings, one big question remained.

How?

Even though the answers lay outside what I could see at that moment, I knew I needed to take a step towards my goal tonight.

At this point it was nearly 2 am, but I didn’t care. I got up and made my way over to where Batman was sleeping. 

Sitting on the floor next to his bed, I looked him in his barely opened eyes and said, “From now on I’m going to work on me getting better rather than trying to fix you. I’m going to stop blaming you for the problems I’m creating. I’m going to learn to listen to you and respect your feedback. I’m going to become a dad you can trust and want to be around.” 

I doubt he understood the words, but that didn’t matter. I needed to say them so that I could hear them.  

Making that first commitment to Batman was the beginning of the end of our struggles.

Even though I couldn’t see it at the time, my dog lashing out at me would end up being one of the most valuable experiences of my life. The overwhelming pain, fear, and sadness I felt that night were enough to finally shake me awake and set us on a new path. 

Two dogs off leash on a hike. Dog obedience isn't necessary if your dogs want to do what you ask.