Treating Your Dog Like a Human: Is It Really a Bad Thing?

I think we should anthropomorphize our dogs.

Yep. I said it.

Before all the dog trainers come for me, let me explain what I mean.

Anthropomorphizing simply means attributing human characteristics, emotions, thoughts, or motivations to an animal. And this is generally talked about like it is a bad thing.

You'll hear things like:

"Your dog isn't a human."

"Stop treating your dog like a child."

"You're anthropomorphizing your dog."

And usually, it's said as though that should end the conversation.

But I don't think it should.

Because while I absolutely agree that our dogs are not humans, I also believe there is an enormous amount of value in being able to relate to them through our own human experiences.

The problem isn't anthropomorphism.

The problem is when we stop thinking critically about it.

Your Dog Isn't Human.

Let's start there.

Your dog is a dog.

I am not suggesting that we should expect our dogs to behave like humans, understand the world exactly like humans do, or follow the same social rules that we do.

Dogs have their own communication system. Their own sensory experiences. Their own instincts, needs, preferences, and ways of processing the world.

But here's the thing:

There are also a lot of places where humans and dogs overlap.

Especially when we're talking about development, attachment, emotions, fear, stress, trauma, and the way our nervous systems respond to things happening around us.

Humans experience fight, flight, freeze, and fawn.

So do dogs.

Humans can experience fear, anxiety, excitement, frustration, grief, attachment, and distress.

So can dogs.

Humans can be deeply affected by traumatic experiences.

So can dogs.

And when we're talking about young children, there are even more interesting areas of overlap in terms of development, emotional regulation, communication, and how we learn about the world around us.

Does that mean a dog is a human child?

Absolutely not.

It means that we have more common ground than some people seem to want us to acknowledge.

And that common ground can be incredibly useful when we're trying to understand the animal living beside us.

What Happens When We Put Ourselves in Their Shoes?

Imagine that you walk into a doctor's office.

You don't know what's going to happen.

Someone you've never met starts touching you. They manipulate your body. They hold you down. They restrain you. Maybe they put something over your face or even sedate you because you're so frightened that they can't safely examine you. You don't understand what they're saying, and nobody can explain to you what's happening in a language you understand.

That would be pretty alarming, wouldn't it?

Now imagine being a dog.

You don't understand why you're there. You don't understand what the veterinarian is saying. You don't understand why this stranger is handling your body. You may already be sick or in pain, and suddenly you're being held down, muzzled, restrained, or sedated because you're afraid and trying to protect yourself.

And then we sometimes label that dog as difficult, aggressive, or bad at the vet.

But when we put ourselves in our dog's shoes, we can begin to understand why something that seems completely normal to us may be incredibly scary or overwhelming to them.

That doesn't mean I'm pretending my dog experiences the veterinary office exactly the way I would.

It means I'm using my own capacity for empathy to help me understand what this experience might be like for another living being who cannot explain it to me.

And that is where I think anthropomorphism can become incredibly valuable.

But What About Treating Your Dog Like a Human?

This is where the conversation gets more complicated.

Because I do think there is a difference between relating to your dog like a human and expecting your dog to function like a human.

For example, let's say someone shows me a video of their dog sitting at the dinner table with the family and eating their own food while everyone else eats.

I can already hear some dog trainers saying:

"Oh my God. Absolutely not!"

And honestly?

For some dogs, I would probably agree.

But why?

If that dog is sitting calmly in their own chair, eating their own food, not stealing from anyone's plate, not disrupting anyone else's meal, and everyone in the family is having a peaceful and enjoyable dinner...

What's the problem?

Is the dog being negatively affected?

Is the family being negatively affected?

Is someone else's safety or well-being being compromised?

If the answer is no, then why does it automatically have to be wrong?

In fact, there may be a benefit.

That dog is participating in a family activity.

They're not being isolated from the family simply because they're a dog.

And if that interaction is enjoyable, safe, and appropriate for everyone involved, I don't see a problem with it.

Now, if the dog is barking, begging, stealing food, jumping on people, becoming possessive, or making everyone miserable?

That's different.

Then we have a problem that needs to be addressed.

But the problem isn't that the dog is sitting at the table.

The problem is the behavior and its impact on the people and animals involved.

And that's an important distinction.

The Same Thing Applies to Freedom

This is also why I don't believe in blanket rules about things like being off leash.

I'm not saying every dog should be off leash.

Far from it.

But I also don't believe every dog needs to be on leash every second of their life simply because "dogs should always be leashed."

Instead, I want to know:

Is this particular dog capable of handling this particular freedom safely?

Does the dog have a reliable recall?

Can they come when called?

Can they stay with their person instead of immediately running off?

Can they disengage from something interesting?

Do they have good social skills?

Can they recognize when another dog doesn't want to interact with them?

Can they give another dog space?

Can they walk past people without feeling like every stranger is an invitation to say hello?

Do they have enough impulse control to make good decisions?

And perhaps most importantly:

What happens if they don't listen?

Because dogs are not robots.

And honestly, even robots malfunction.

Dogs have autonomy. They have preferences. They have competing motivations. Sometimes something happening in the environment is simply more exciting than what we're asking them to do.

So if we're going to give a dog freedom, we need to consider both ends of the equation.

We want the dog to be responsive when we call.

But we also need to understand that there is always a possibility that they won't.

What is the potential consequence if they don't?

Could they run into traffic?

Could they approach a dog who doesn't want to interact?

Could they frighten someone who is uncomfortable around dogs?

Could they get lost?

Could they put another animal or person in danger?

That's where judgment comes in.

It's not about whether dogs should or shouldn't have freedom. It's about whether this particular dog can safely handle this particular freedom in this particular environment.

That's a much more nuanced conversation.

The Problem With "Your Dog Knows Better"

This is where I think anthropomorphism can get us into trouble.

There is a difference between saying:

"My dog is upset."

and saying:

"My dog knows exactly what they did was wrong."

There is a difference between:

"My dog doesn't want to go into the crate."

and:

"My dog is refusing because they're trying to manipulate me."

There is a difference between:

"My dog seems jealous when I give another dog attention."

and:

"My dog is intentionally trying to punish me for loving another dog."

Those assumptions can completely change how we respond to our dogs.

And sometimes they lead us down a really unhealthy road.

If we believe our dog is being stubborn, spiteful, manipulative, dominant, disrespectful, or vindictive, we may feel justified in correcting or punishing them.

But what if there's something else going on?

What if they're scared?

Confused?

Overwhelmed?

In pain?

Frustrated?

Overstimulated?

What if they simply haven't learned what we're asking?

Or what if the behavior is working for them in some way?

That's why I don't want us to stop anthropomorphizing.

I want us to get better at it.

I want us to become better at recognizing where our human experience can help us understand our dogs and where it might cause us to make assumptions that aren't actually supported by what the dog is showing us.

Empathy Doesn't Mean Ignoring the Dog's Nature

I can look at my dog and think:

"If someone did that to me, I would be scared too."

That can be incredibly helpful.

But then I need to take the next step.

Instead of assuming, "My dog feels exactly what I would feel," I can ask:

What is my dog showing me?

What does their body language tell me?

What happened immediately before the behavior?

What is their environment like?

What are they capable of handling?

What have they learned from previous experiences?

Could pain or illness be contributing?

What are they communicating?

And what can I change to make this experience safer or easier for them?

That's where empathy and good observation come together.

Dogs Are Individuals

I think this is one of the biggest things we miss when we get caught up in rules about what dogs should or shouldn't be allowed to do.

There isn't one perfect way to live with a dog.

There isn't one perfect amount of freedom.

There isn't one perfect way to train.

And there certainly isn't one perfect way to love a dog.

One dog may thrive going everywhere with their family.

Another may become overwhelmed.

One dog may love sleeping in bed.

Another may prefer their own space.

One dog may be perfectly capable of being off leash in an appropriate environment.

Another may never be safe off leash.

One dog may happily sit beside you at the dinner table.

Another may become obsessed with your food and turn dinner into a disaster.

The individual dog matters.

The environment matters.

The people matter.

The other animals matter.

The dog's health matters.

The dog's emotional well-being matters.

And the impact of the dog's behavior on everyone else matters too.

That's where the boundaries come in.

The Balance

I'm not advocating for treating dogs exactly like humans.

I'm advocating for seeing them as individuals who deserve to be understood.

If we want to bring our dogs into more aspects of our lives, I'm all for it.

If your dog wants to sleep beside you, and everyone is happy and sleeping well, great.

If your dog wants to sit beside you while you eat, and they're calm and respectful, great.

If your dog can safely enjoy some off-leash freedom, great.

If your dog needs more structure, more boundaries, or more management, that's great too.

The question isn't:

"Are we treating the dog like a human?"

The better questions are:

Is this safe?

Is this healthy?

Is this emotionally supportive?

Is the dog able to handle it?

Is everyone sharing the space comfortable?

Is anyone being negatively affected?

And perhaps most importantly:

Is this relationship working for both ends of the leash?

Because that's the part that matters.

We shouldn't create a life that is completely centered around the human while expecting the dog to simply tolerate everything we ask of them.

But the opposite isn't healthy either.

Your dog shouldn't have to rule the entire household.

Your family shouldn't have to rearrange their entire lives around the dog. You shouldn't have to give up every boundary, every activity, every piece of furniture, every social interaction, or every moment of peace because your dog might be unhappy about it.

Being a good pet parent doesn't mean making sure your dog is never frustrated, never disappointed, or never told no.

Sometimes the answer is no.

Sometimes the dog needs to wait.

Sometimes they need to stay home.

Sometimes they need to give someone space.

Sometimes they need to be on a leash.

Sometimes they need to have a boundary because their behavior is affecting someone else.

And that's okay.

Dogs don't need to get everything they want in order to have a wonderful life.

Just like children, they need boundaries, guidance, consistency, and opportunities to learn how to navigate the world around them.

The goal isn't to create a life where the dog controls everything.

And the goal isn't to create a life where the human controls everything.

The goal is to create a relationship where both beings matter.

We shouldn't expect our dogs to completely conform to our world while ignoring their needs, but we also shouldn't expect the humans in the household to completely conform to the dog's world.

There is a middle ground.

And I think that middle ground is where really beautiful relationships with our dogs happen.

Maybe We Don't Need Less Anthropomorphism. Maybe We Need Better Anthropomorphism.

I believe our ability to relate to our dogs through our own human experiences can make us better pet parents, better trainers, better dog walkers, better veterinary professionals, and better advocates for animals.

It gives us a starting point for empathy.

It allows us to ask:

"How would this feel to me?"

"What would I need if I were scared?"

"What would make this experience easier?"

"Would I want someone to force me into this situation?"

"Would I feel safe if someone handled me this way?"

And then we can take that empathy and combine it with what we know about dogs.

Because our dogs don't need us to pretend they're human.

They need us to care enough to understand them.

They need us to recognize their individuality.

They need us to respect their autonomy while still providing appropriate boundaries.

They need us to consider their physical health, emotional well-being, safety, and quality of life.

And they need us to remember that this relationship goes both ways.

Yes, your dog lives in your human world.

But that doesn't mean their entire existence should be shaped around what is convenient for humans.

We share this space.

We share this life.

And if we're willing to meet our dogs somewhere in the middle — bringing our human capacity for empathy together with an understanding of who they are as dogs — I think we can create something pretty incredible.

So yes.

Anthropomorphize your dog.

Love them.

Relate to them.

Put yourself in their shoes.

Talk to them.

Include them.

Consider their feelings.

And then...

remember that they're still a dog.

That's not a contradiction.

That's the balance.