Introduction

Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read.

Groucho Marks

While there is no way to climb inside a dog to perceive their experience of existence, it is in our human nature to try to understand the world around us. Copious scientific studies, past and present, seek to illuminate dog cognition, and endless books and movies fantasize about a dog’s inner world.

Perhaps more significant, however, is our uniquely first-world drive to change a dog’s mind, the pursuit of which absolutely eclipses our drive to understand it. Type “dog training” into any web browser and receive an overwhelming avalanche of contradictions, opinions, and absolutism about how to properly rewire a dog’s brain. 

Our human hubris in seeking to change that which we do not understand is as boundless as the sea. And while the outdated and disproven ideas behind “pack theory” have finally begun their (glacially) slow retreat, the more recent discourse about ethical behavior modification also falls short, as the conversation presumes that certain behavior must be, should be, and/or can be changed in the first place. Furthermore, it presumes that if a particular behavior does not change, the fault lies with the handler or the dog itself.  

What if, instead, we first sought to genuinely understand the unique biological and environmental context in which behavior occurs? And then (and only then!) move forward with discussions about behavior change? 

Here’s the thing: all dogs are actually really, really good at being dogs. In fact, they nail it, continuously, on a daily basis. Dogs do not make great humans, however, which is usually what we are asking of them when we pursue behavior modification. 

As domesticated animals, dogs live in close association with humans, but that’s where it ends. Domestication does not mean captivity. In fact, approximately 80% of the dogs on our planet live in and around human settlements, foraging and scavenging for food, forming and disbanding social groups as needed, and reproducing at will. It is largely only first-world countries that have engaged in captivity and artificial selection, first to serve a specific function (hunting, herding, guarding, etc) and then to serve our invented physical breed “standards.” Through this selective breeding, humans have attempted to suppress various biological needs of our four-legged canid companions. Further still, we have reframed these needs as “problems,” essentially pathologizing the elements of a dog's natural behavior that have been inherited from primitive ancestors, as well as their artificial behavior inherited from their recent task-oriented forebears. 

To put this simply: we are asking our dogs to stop expressing their biological needs. 

And… it's not going well. For anyone. 

All hope is not lost, however. There is a way to make it work. We can meet our dogs in the middle. "Hey, can you follow human rules sometimes?" we can ask. "If you do, we'll make it worth your while. We’ll promise to remember your biological imperatives (some of which we humans have created through artificial selection!), and give you the freedom to express these behaviors as a fundamental part of your welfare."

At this moment, you may not know how to fulfill this promise to your dog, and that’s A-OK. That’s why you’re here! So, first of all: kudos. You have taken perhaps the biggest step toward ethical dog guardianship by approaching your dog with curiosity instead of commands.

Second of all: you are not engaged in this pursuit alone. I’m here with you, as well as the entire Dog Adventures Northwest team. I started my dog training journey in 2003, became a Certified Professional Dog Trainer (CPDT-KA) in 2005, and a Family Dog Mediator (FDM) in 2023. I live, breathe, and dream all things Dog. I am not here to give you all of the answers—anyone who promises this only proves that they do not, in fact, have all of the answers—but I do know a heck of a lot about dogs, as well as how to build strong and communicative relationships between dogs and their people. And I am learning more every single day. 

Thirdly: by working through these resources, your pup will be the beneficiary of cutting edge scientific research and discourse. Applied ethology and behavioral science have come a long way since the days when we used to hit our dogs to teach them lessons. When we know better, we do better. And holy smokes, do we know better. 

Welcome to the better side of dog training.

From Automaton to L.E.G.S. 

While modern psychology and its associated social sciences have been a part of the human zeitgeist for over a century, it’s only relatively recently that we have applied these fields to the study of canine cognition. There is such a strong resolve in the scientific community to steer clear of anthropomorphism that we have forgotten that we, too, are animals. Several of the things that may make us feel special—emotions, memory, theory of mind, communication—are not actually markers of our humanness, but instead signify that we are a highly social mammal. 

We so strongly set our species apart from “animals,” in fact, that discourse is often at the mercy of a kind of reverse-anthropomorphization, where we regard non-human animals as a kind of automata. While we have come a long way from Descartes’ notion of the “animal machine”— in which he posited that animals are merely an assembly of mechanical pieces and do not have consciousness or thought—we still get rather stuck in thinking humans are overwhelmingly unique and special. Humans have always had extreme difficulty acknowledging that we are a part of a global community, and not the sole species of importance.

The truth is, though, that while we are a highly unique species because of our large brains and nuanced verbal communication, we are not unique for possessing the capability for advanced cognition or for inhabiting a rich emotional landscape.

In 1936, psychologist Karl Lewin, regarded as the founder of social psychology, argued that behavior never operates in a vacuum. Instead, he said, behavior is contextual, with the behavior as a function of personal characteristics and environment. Nature vs. nurture misses the mark, Lewin said. Instead, behavior is the changeable interplay between the two. 

But it wasn’t until social scientists Raymond and Lorna Coppinger came along with their 2002 book, Dog: A New Understanding of Canine Origin, Behavior, and Evolution, that dogs were really included in the conversation. The Coppingers argued that the “personal characteristics” of Lewin’s formula could be further divided into two parts: a genetic component (a dog’s evolutionary ancestry and its breed-specific genetic coding) and an individualistic component (or the unique characteristics of a specific individual). 

Still, though, while the Coppingers’ book made a splash in the relevant scientific fields, it wasn’t until dog trainer and applied ethologist Kim Brophey introduced the L.E.G.S model in 2018—through her book Meet Your Dog—that these ideas coalesced into a resource for the average pet owner. Brophey suggests that dog behavior is actually shaped by four equal components: experiences that have led to specific learning (Learning), a dog’s environment (Environment), a dog’s breed-specific and species-specific genetic coding (Genetics), and the specific details about a dog that make the dog a unique individual (Self). These four components (using the acronym of L.E.G.S.) come together to provide vital context for a dog’s behavior. 

In order to truly understand a dog’s behavior, Brophey says, it is essential to examine this context. Only then can we determine if and how a behavior can be modified, often by altering the dog’s environment and learning, and also by providing alternate environmental affordances for the dog to express biological imperatives.

As a companion to the book, Brophey also debuted a full certification course for dog training professionals, at the end of which trainers are credentialed as a “Family Dog Mediator” (FDM), helping restore harmony in the human-dog relationship. I became an FDM in June of 2023 and attended the third annual L.E.G.S. in Motion Conference in Asheville, NC in December of 2023, attaining advanced licensure in the spring of 2024 within the Training Division. 

All of this brings us up to the present, but allow me to jump back in time once more to tell you about Obie and Timber.

My heart dog, Obie, was a Chinook. He was my first dog as both an adult and a professional dog trainer, coming into my life in 2006. Obie was a delight to love and to train. He was smart, sensitive, serious, silly, and so very gentle. We hiked many, many miles together and slept side-by-side every night, Obie either curled into the space behind my knees or lying right next to me, his head on my shoulder. Our relationship was built on love, trust, and mutual admiration. He taught me what it was to be a true dog guardian. He gave me the greatest gift, that of being loved with a simple and straight-forward abandon.

By the time Timber came along, Obie was about four. I wasn’t planning on getting another dog… but then we stopped at a farm stand on the side of Highway 26 and a rakish puppy gamboled up, his bright blue eyes dancing. I delightedly asked, “Is this your puppy?” to the woman behind the table, and she said, “No, you want him?”

This tawny, floppy, angelic, spitzy boy had been dumped out of a car that had only slowed down long enough to push him out of it.

And that’s how I became Timber’s guardian, and how Obie got a little brother.

Up until that point, I thought that I was a pretty damn good dog trainer, channeling the confidence of many 20-somethings at the beginning of their career. Obie had dozens of cues, listened to me intently at all times, and trusted me to always have his back. He came everywhere with me, consistently earning the respect of the people and dogs in his orbit. He was a gentle, tender-hearted ambassador of the canine world. And I was honestly happy to accept praise for his behavior. I had put so much time into training him, and it showed. I was proud of the work I had done.

Then this Husky baby came along, and all that changed.

Dear reader, saying that Timber was a handful is…………an understatement. On the very first day I had him, he chewed a 3’x3’x3’ crater into my bed. I’m not kidding. He shredded his way through my bedding, mattress topper, and multiple feet of foam in the thirty minutes it took me to run to the pet store for supplies. He regularly opened the storm windows on the second floor of our house, busted out the screens, and ran around on the steeply raked roof, surveying the neighborhood for cats. He destroyed television remotes, iPhones, and any book he could get his teeth on. No upholstery was safe around this dog. 

Timber was also gifted at escaping the backyard for joy runs; to this day, I still don’t know how he did it. (Though I can tell you that the task involved disassembling a metal baby gate, opening a door, jumping off of the deck, and then…scaling?… a smooth, wooden, six foot fence.) He received a direct hit by a skunk, an evisceration by a nutria, and a mouthful of porcupine quills, twice. He once swam a full mile in pursuit of a river otter, and he successfully dispatched several squirrels, a gopher, and a chicken. He bit cats. He could climb trees. He once ran across a busy four-lane highway, only to turn around and run right back, completely unscathed. He pulled me down and dragged me across the pavement on more than one occasion. He had incredible range and unlimited focus, sometimes finding a way to disappear for several hours at a time. He always came back to me, but he only did so when he was ready, a giant smile on his face, running so wildly that his own tongue would smack him repeatedly in the eyes.

I felt like a fraud. I had a professional secret, and his name was Timber. I thought I must not be giving him as much of my behavior modification time as he needed. I thought that I lacked the skills to actually build a strong enough reinforcement history for important behaviors. And poor Obie… he would always complete every task impeccably, and then cast his long-suffering gaze over me and his idiot little brother.

Whenever I would share my trials with others, my friends were quick to come to my defense. Timber was the problematic one, they would say, not me. Timber was “stubborn” or “unfocused” or “naughty.” I blamed myself and others blamed the dog. 

Timber died of cancer in 2016, at seven years of age. He lit the candle at both ends and burned twice as bright for half as long. And though it’s still hard for me to actually admit, I can honestly say that he lived his life without ever, EVER, having a successful emergency recall while in the presence of prey.

I lost Obie in March of 2020, right before his fourteenth birthday. Obie had been by my side as I learned to Adult, started my own business, got married, bought a house, and had a child; losing him was impossibly hard, pandemic aside. I lived a few weird months without a dog, and then we adopted JoJo, a tiny, scrappy Havanese puppy. By that point in my career, I knew that a companion breed was the right fit for my family, and I daily marveled at this weird little mini-dog that had instantly captured my heart.

JoJo was sitting on my lap when I virtually attended Kim Brophey’s presentation at the Association for Professional Dog Trainers Conference in 2021. For a long time now, she said, the training industry has been in disservice to clients by promising a check we cannot reliably cash. We have argued that if we can just be smart enough, anything is possible. And that when we are not successful in behavior modification, we should blame the dog, in essence pathologizing pervasive behaviors that just won’t quit.

By the end of her talk, I was already an evangelist. Because she didn’t really have to convince me of anything. She only had to call attention to what I already knew was true, but was not previously accessible to me. 

Just about every trainer knows that some dogs are not the right fit for some people. We are all aware of the square-peg-round-hole analogy, specifically when it comes to working breeds. We have all listened knowingly and ruefully to the case studies of Border Collies nipping the heels of their human siblings. Of course a household containing erratic mammals wasn’t an ideal home for a breed that was literally created to control the movements of erratic mammals.

Through taking the full L.E.G.S. certification course, however, I was finally able to more implicitly understand how the square-peg-round-hole analogy falls short. Viewing the human-dog relationship through that particular idiomatic lens means that the situation is… hopeless. There is no way to make the damn peg fit. Everyone—human and canine alike—can only fail. What kind of message is that to give to the Border Collie guardians, who genuinely love their dog and are trying to do right by them? How does that help us be in service to the people we serve? Sure, maybe that family should have adopted a Toy breed, but hindsight is 20/20 and it certainly does not help the people or the dog living together now. 

As an alternative, the L.E.G.S model uses a key-and-lock analogy, wherein the key is the dog’s niche (their genetically crafted role in their environment), and the lock is the dog’s environment. Through this frame, it’s much easier to see that a dog is the way they are because thousands of years of natural selection and hundreds of years of artificial selection have shaped them to be the absolute perfect fit for their environment. And that if we truly want to change a dog’s behavior, then we must provide them with either their intended environment (less likely for American pet dogs) or with comparable environmental affordances that still allow them to fulfill their role (much more likely for American pet dogs). 

Right now, as with the case of the Border Collie nipping the children and a vast majority of other American pet dogs, we are trying to reshape the key, the dog itself. When, actually, it is far more effective to provide a new lock, or an environment in which the dog can thrive. Dogs are highly evolved social animals, suffering greatly from captivity without environmental enrichment. Dogs living in captivity do not, can not, and should not naturally fit perfectly into our human lives without intentionally devised environmental opportunities.

Even though we are both social mammals and have a heck of a lot in common, dogs are separate species from Homo sapiens, with biological imperatives that often fail to align with the environment we humans provide for our dogs. Timber wasn’t a bad dog. I wasn’t a bad trainer. Instead, Timber was just an exuberant and unique member of the Natural Dog category, doing the things that Natural Dogs and Timber Dogs do best in the environment they are given.

As humans, we simply must accept that we do not have all of the answers. We must commit to doing our very, very best to find the breathtakingly beautiful pulse of what makes us excellent at being human, what makes dogs excellent at being dogs, and how we can provide an environment in which everyone can succeed. And to keep learning, to keep learning, to keep learning. Our brains are at once magnificent and feeble, and that’s ok.