Two Sides of the Same Coin

Earlier this month, we returned from another staycation, this time in Norfolk.

Woodland walks. Wildlife. Off-lead beach time. A cabin in the trees. New smells, new routines, and a lot of change for all of us.

I chose to take the dogs because this holiday suited them. Quiet surroundings. Space. Time together.

That matters.

Sometimes I take my dogs away. Sometimes I choose not to. Dog Listening is not about forcing dogs into every experience possible. It is about understanding what they are being asked to manage.

Elsie, watching the world change from a safe place.

This week was full on for all of us, humans included.

And by the end of it, I was more relaxed too.

One afternoon, we visited friends and spent time in a secure paddock area while we chatted.

The dogs wandered calmly. There were various items around the space, including a ball. At first, it meant absolutely nothing to either of them. Elsie even sat beside it at one point without a second glance.

I noticed it early on.

Part of me considered removing it. Another part of me wondered whether maybe things had changed enough now that the old rules no longer mattered.

For a long time, I have managed toys carefully at home. When Elsie first joined us, I removed a lot of shared toys and unmanaged items to reduce tension and responsibility between the dogs. Even now, if they find sticks or twigs in the garden, I calmly claim my items before excitement builds.

But the ball felt different.

Then Charlie started playing with it.

And honestly, human me enjoyed seeing that.

Before Elsie, Charlie and I used to play with tennis balls a lot. He loves that type of interaction.

We have not really done it for a long time.

Watching him enjoy himself softened me.

Nothing felt tense. Nothing felt wrong.

Then my attention shifted fully into conversation and enjoying the company around me. My leadership drifted quietly into the background while the dogs continued their own interaction.

And their view of the ball was different to mine.

Elsie would not back down.

Charlie was equally determined to stand his ground.

The fight itself was short, but it was enough. Enough to remind me how quickly responsibility can shift between dogs when humans stop carrying it clearly.

I felt awful afterwards.

Not because the dogs are “bad.” Not because the holiday was ruined. But because my instincts had spoken to me early on, and I had chosen to test whether the structure still mattered.

A few days later, we found ourselves in a very different situation.

Our clutch failed on a smart motorway.

We were lucky. Very lucky.

We managed to get out of the live lane and into an emergency area while traffic continued to pass at high speed beside us. I understood exactly how dangerous the situation was.

The outside world had suddenly shifted.

For over an hour, we waited behind the barrier for recovery to attend. For safety, we had to remain behind the barriers while the dogs stayed inside the car.

It was warm, and we had already been travelling for several hours.

We were almost home.

Once recovery arrived, the dogs had to be removed from the car while checks and tests were carried out.

Charlie and Elsie sat quietly beside me while traffic rushed past.

No lunging. No barking. No panic.

Calm is not the absence of danger. It is the presence of trust.

The photo captures the stillness.

The video captures the trust.

https://video.wixstatic.com/video/1a6025_4a3734f1599c47a4ba5138082b5e5316/480p/mp4/file.mp4

The world around them was loud, but they chose to follow calm instead.

After the checks, the recovery driver gave them both a gentle pat on the head as he explained we would need to be towed away. Neither became overexcited. Elsie softened immediately. Charlie simply observed calmly.

Later, once the car had been attached for towing, the dogs had to go back inside our vehicle alone while we travelled separately in the recovery truck. At one stop, the driver checked the tow and looked in at the dogs.

“The white one looks asleep,” he laughed. “And the brown one is just taking it all in calmly.”

And that stayed with me.

The same dogs who had challenged each other over a ball sat calmly beside live motorway traffic and trusted me completely in a genuinely dangerous situation. They were now alone in our car, in a completely unfamiliar situation, and neither flinched nor reacted.

Two sides of the same coin.

One moment reminded me how easily leadership can drift when life feels relaxed and safe.

The other reminded me what dogs are capable of when they trust someone else to carry responsibility completely.

Leadership is not perfection.

It is attention.

Dogs notice when we stop carrying responsibility.

And they notice when we take it back.

Russ