10/12/2025
Something I explain to my clients but not as eloquently as Simon. A great read explaining layers of stress and how it effects your dog.
Through My Eyes: A Day in the Life of an Over-Aroused Dog
By your faithful (and slightly frazzled) canine companion
You think I’m relaxed, don’t you? Curled up in my bed, paws twitching, snoring softly, looking like the very picture of serenity. But here’s a secret: even when I’m asleep, there’s still a trickle of arousal humming away under the surface. My body never fully shuts off. My ears are finely tuned, my nose forever sampling the air. I might look peaceful, but I’m still alert to the world, because that’s what dogs do.
Then it happens.
The Wake-Up Surge
You get up. Kettle on. Toaster pops. The bin lid clangs. You call my name. The house comes alive and so do I. Arousal level: rising. Heart rate picks up, muscles twitch, tail starts wagging. Dopamine drips into my system. Anticipation. Movement. Energy. Life!
You say, “Good morning, boy!” and I’m instantly at 50% excitement and I haven’t even left the kitchen yet. Then, bang, a noise outside! The post lands on the mat. My arousal spikes again. I’m up, on alert, scanning, listening, because in my world, every sound could mean something. And that something might be exciting, worrying, or both.
The Garden Escapade
Out into the garden for a wee. Bliss! Freedom! Fresh air! My arousal dips… for about two seconds. Then I hear him, the dog two doors down. The one who treats his fence like a boxing ring. He’s already shouting, “GET OFF MY TERRITORY!” before I’ve even lifted my leg.
Now my heart’s racing again. My body’s primed. Adrenaline’s flowing. My hackles lift just a touch, not because I’m mean, but because his energy has infected mine. It’s called social facilitation, when one dog’s arousal triggers another’s. It’s contagious, you see. I finish my business, tail stiff, mind buzzing.
The Lead Comes Out
You reach for the lead. Oh, I know what that means. WALKIES! But here’s the problem, you move at about two and a half miles an hour. I’m built for six and a half. My legs want to move, my brain’s saying “GO!” but the lead says “NO.” Frustration builds like steam in a kettle. My arousal level’s gone from warm cup of tea to boiling espresso.
Out the Gate and BOOM — Reality Hits
Just as we step out, a lorry hisses past and releases its air brakes. PSSHHHHT! Instant shockwave through my nervous system. You might flinch; I nearly levitate. My heart’s racing again. My adrenaline’s up. You probably don’t even notice, but I do. Every cell in my body does.
As we set off, I try to settle. Sniff, walk, breathe. Then it happens again, the dog from the garden is now in the front window, still shouting insults through the glass. My arousal spikes again. And we’ve only gone thirty yards.
The Onslaught Continues
We pass another dog across the road, barking, pulling, lunging. You tighten my lead (I feel it), your tone changes (I hear it), and suddenly I’m not sure if that barking dog’s the problem or if I’ve just become one. My cortisol’s now mingling with adrenaline. I’m living in a cocktail of chemistry I didn’t order.
Finally, we reach the park, paradise, right? Wrong. Because freedom for me is tethered to a lead, and freedom for everyone else’s dog apparently isn’t. A bouncy Labrador barrels over. I don’t know if it’s friendly, rude, or somewhere in between. Either way, it’s in my face before I can blink. I try to cope, I really do, but my arousal tank’s overflowing.
So I bark. Maybe I lunge. Maybe I spin, or even nip at the air. You pull me away, maybe frustrated, maybe embarrassed. I hear you sigh. You mutter something about “bloody reactive dogs.” But I’m not being bad, I’m just saturated.
The Crash After the Storm
We head home. You’re cross. I’m confused. On the way, a child runs past. Quick movement, flash of colour, my nervous system fires like a gun again. I snap at the air, a reflex more than a choice. You scold me, but my brain’s already three steps behind my body.
By the time we get home, I’m drained but wired. My system’s overloaded. My muscles ache, my brain’s foggy, and I flop into bed. You think I’m calm again, but really, I’m just exhausted. My body’s still pumping cortisol. It can take days for those stress hormones to fully clear out.
Tomorrow morning, when I wake up, I’ll already start the day a few notches higher on the arousal scale than yesterday. My threshold will be lower. It won’t take much to tip me over again. Maybe a bin lorry. Maybe that same barking dog. Maybe just the energy in your voice.
And so the cycle repeats.
From My Perspective
I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m not broken or naughty. I’m a dog, built to react, to notice, to respond to my world. But my world is noisy, fast, unpredictable, and full of triggers. My arousal system isn’t the enemy, it’s my survival gear. I just need your help to manage it.
How You Can Help Me
Let me decompress. Give me structure, rest, and calm. Don’t rush me into chaos the second I wake up. Don’t mistake motion for enrichment, I don’t need more doing, I need more being. Teach me that quiet is safe, and slow is good.
If you help me bring my arousal down, not by suppressing me, but by teaching me how to cope, you’ll find a calmer, happier, more connected version of me waiting on the other side.
Because under all that noise, energy, and chaos… I’m just trying to be a good dog in a very stimulating world.
www.k9manhuntscotland.co.uk
