17/11/2025
Oh please read this post. It’s a great one.
I often joke that raising a dog is a lot like raising a child—except my daughter has yet to destroy an entire roll of toilet paper for fun, and none of my dogs have ever demanded a rainbow-inspired birthday party… yet. But if you’ve ever watched a toddler and a puppy side-by-side, the similarities are uncanny. Both have zero impulse control, and both genuinely believe that anything in the environment is a potential invitation for exploration, adventure, or mild chaos—especially if you look away for half a second.
And here’s the thing: most of us would never dream of raising our children the way many people unintentionally raise their dogs. Let me explain.
When my daughter was two, imagine me handing her a multi-pack of permanent markers and saying, “Sweetie, you’re smart. I trust you. Don’t draw on anything important.” Then turning around to make a cup of tea. Thirty seconds later, she would have created a mural that Banksy himself would applaud—on the living room wall. Would my reaction have been: “She’s so stubborn!” “She’s over-aroused!” “She has a predisposition to artistic defiance!” Of course not. She was a child. Children need guidance, boundaries, and supervision (and ideally, washable markers).
And somewhere around this stage—whether with the child or the puppy—comes one of the biggest misunderstandings people have: the idea that the puppy actually “knows” something. People say, “But he knows sit,” or “She knows this at home,” but what they really mean is the puppy can do it when nothing else is going on. The second you add the real world—leaves blowing, birds flapping, kids laughing, smells wafting in from six miles away—the environment becomes the most fascinating thing on the planet. In the early stages, the environment will always win. Every. Single. Time. That’s not the puppy being naughty or stubborn—it’s simply nature. Our job is to help them navigate distractions, guide them through chaos, and gradually become the most interesting and safe place for them to anchor themselves. Without that support, the world becomes one giant, irresistible playground they are absolutely not equipped to handle on their own.
Fast forward to my daughter being older—if I gave her unrestricted access to desserts, let her stay up as late as she wanted, go out with friends whenever she felt like it, and make all her own decisions at a young age, we all know what would happen. Questionable judgment. Meltdowns. Sugar-fuelled chaos. A total disregard for structure. And we’d all agree that the issue wouldn’t be her personality… it would be my parenting approach.
Yet this is exactly what happens with dogs all the time. People bring home an adorable puppy with fluff, charm, and the cognitive ability of a damp sponge, and then give them free access to the entire house, let them rehearse chasing the cat “just once” (which turns into twice… and then twenty times), allow them to greet every stranger like an enthusiastic debt collector, expect them to magically “know better,” and then act surprised when the dog begins to make poor choices—daily, enthusiastically, and with full commitment. Suddenly the labels start flying: “He’s reactive.” “She’s over-aroused.” “He’s stubborn.” “She’s got no impulse control.”
But the reality is far simpler and far less dramatic: the dog is responding exactly how any young creature would respond—with the information, experiences, and freedoms they’ve been given.
Puppyhood is childhood, just with more fur. If a child grows up with intentional structure, healthy boundaries, and appropriate experiences, they develop into a confident, capable human. If instead they grow up with overwhelming freedom, chaotic environments, and zero guidance… well, the journey gets bumpy. Dogs are no different.
Before we label a dog as “difficult,” we should ask ourselves: What experiences have we exposed them to? What environments have we allowed them to rehearse behaviour in? Have we set them up to succeed? Have we actually taught them the skills to make good choices—or just hoped they’d somehow figure it out?
Dogs don’t magically absorb correct behaviour through osmosis. They’re not born understanding polite greetings, impulse control, or the nuanced art of “perhaps don’t launch yourself at the elderly neighbour holding shopping bags.” They learn from us—just as our children do. When we raise our dogs with the same intentionality we use to raise our children, we create dogs who are confident instead of chaotic, thoughtful instead of accidental, and able to navigate the world calmly rather than being overwhelmed. And we become owners who can confidently say, “Yes, my dog is brilliant,” instead of, “He’s just a bit… erm… enthusiastic… sorry… he’s friendly, I promise!”
Thoughtful upbringing leads to thoughtful behaviour—every single time. Puppyhood is not something to merely “survive.” It’s something to curate. Because when we invest in those early moments, we’re not just teaching our dog how to behave… we’re shaping who they’ll become. And trust me—wall art is a lot easier to avoid when you don’t hand the puppy the metaphorical permanent markers in the first place.
So tell me—what do you do to intentionally raise your puppy to be a great adult dog?
