She was digging in the back seat of the car. Trying to make a hole in the cushion so she could lay down in it.

"Anieko, honey" I said, hoping she would hear me and quit digging at the seat without me having to look up from my phone. I couldn't figure out how to make a tag work in the post I was writing.

We were in the parking lot at the hardware store waiting for Chris to come back.

Dig-dig-dig-dig-dig. She was still doing it. I talked to her again, this time with a stronger voice, more bossy. "Anieko. Stop it please. Can you please stop doing that?”

No response. Nothing but the continued scratch-scratch-scratch-scratch.

I decided to get more intimidating. To really use the tone of my voice to make a point.

So she would stop and I didn't have to put too much more energy into dealing with her.

But I caught myself. I didn't want to intimidate her. I didn't want to harm our friendship that way.

She digs like this a lot - on the couch, in the carpet, the bedspread. I like to let her go for a while and then quietly slow her to a stop.

That day I was feeling impatient, intolerant, irritable. It was the damn phone.

I turned to look at her. She was cutely perched on her hind end with her paws bopping up and down with the digging.

I instinctively reached out and touched her.

When my skin made contact with her fur, she instantly stopped. She became still. Then she plopped down, and we resumed waiting for Chris to come back with the thermostat he needed.

I was gobsmacked. The way she stopped abruptly when I touched her - why couldn't she have stopped like that when I was talking to her?

Was the touch better than the words? I was wildly curious. I opened to the knowledge I hoped to receive.

The understanding shown to me was that it had to do with connection.

Whether it was the talking or the touching, it only mattered if it was done with presence. It had to be with your whole self, showing up in the moment.

We learn this in shamanic dog training as part of the foundational exercises. Its kind of simple and it can be missed. Especially when we're looking for something that has more flare. We think there is a special trick, some secret key.

But it's so small and we trip right over it sometimes.

Being present with your dog. It says I'm here. I'm with you. I see you.

When we really look, in that moment we are present, all the things we need are revealed to us.

It felt like magic that day. It was the smallest thing, and I noticed it. I was gifted with a deeper understanding.

Maybe you can feel it. Maybe you can't. I share it with you now because I want to tell you about the gift I received that day in the hardware store parking lot.

And because I want you to receive that gift too.

The post And Then I Touched Her appeared first on Tamryn Fudge.

They said “we’re doing some dog training” as we approached them on the trail. It was two women and their dogs. One dog was on leash and being held back. The other was greeting our dog Anieko and had already started a chase game.

While that dog played and ran with Anieko, his woman called “come!” “come!”.

Her friend said “It’s down. You’re supposed to say down.”

She said “down!”

Her friend said “louder!"

So she shouted “DOWN!” “DOWN!”

We could hear their voices as we kept walking, with the one dog still running the length of the trail with Anieko. The women shouted commands at their dogs in disapproving and stern voices.

We stopped for the woman to get her dog back, then we called Anieko and went on our way.

I reflected on what I’d heard and seen: this exuberant dog running in glee and his person scolding him and demanding obedience.

I’ve been there, back when I was learning about dogs. It was the 90’s, and I used to yell at my dogs and demand control.

I had as much success then as these women did on the trail today.

It is the fatal flaw in the obedience model, that the desires of one should override the needs and wants of the other. Every time. No matter what is happening.

It’s why it was so confusing when I was working with my first love, my very first dog Carly. She was a brilliant, head-strong girl and she saw through all my attempts to gain the upper hand and maintain unbending control.

She was steadfast in her terms; I will perform your terrible little commands like a soldier when it doesn’t matter to me and its no skin off my nose. But don’t expect it when there’s more going on and something’s caught my interest.

That was my first taste of the ineffectiveness of obedience – the restrictiveness, the impracticality; it didn’t leave any space for real life circumstances.

That was way back when. And I was stuck without an alternative. I was left to the conclusion that I wasn’t trying hard enough and I had to find a way to make it work.

These days when I find myself in those same real life situations, things are different. I am supported by the strategies, tools, principles and skills of shamanic dog training.

I know now there isn’t anything wrong with me or my dog and there’s nothing wrong with what we’re doing. It’s that life is messy. There is always a small (or large) disaster waiting for us around the next corner, or come tomorrow, or next week.

I realize now we’re not supposed to find the ultimate control –over ourselves, or the world, and most certainly not our dogs.

Instead we are meant to become active participants in each present moment: to receive direct inspiration and knowledge from what is in front of us and do what makes sense in our hearts and minds.

Learning to hear our hearts and minds with openness and acceptance is what we get from shamanic dog training. We get to write our own stories with our dogs. We leave the concept of control behind and we embrace co-creation, collaboration and conscious choice with our dogs.

The post The Fatal Flaw Of Obedience appeared first on Tamryn Fudge.

I was doing my thing – same old, same old. Walking off leash with Sophia and Anieko on the trails. Then a sequence of events culminated in what will stand out for me as the most difficult walk we’ve had to date. I say “to date” because honestly, I am sure there are more harder walks to come.

But for now, this one feels like it was the pinnacle of challenging.

Would I wish it away if I could, as though it never happened?

Well, no I wouldn’t – thank you for asking. Because what I learned from this walk and what it taught me is invaluable, and I might not have found it otherwise.

The walk was so so bad for 3 reasons.

First, the dogs were overwhelming Frankie, a dog who usually plays really easily with them. But this time Frankie was hesitant. It made Anieko and Sophia amp it up and try even harder to get her to play. Which ended up with Sophia pinching Frankie too hard and you could see it hurt her a lot.

That stood out as a painful point for me, that a dog had a bad experience because of my family.

Next it was the poo. This is one of our favourite subjects – as I’ve written about in understanding the poo attraction. I swear, since I’ve written that blog, it has been like a prophecy for us. Never has there been more poo rolling than since I wrote that post.

This poo was dark and sticky and I didn’t see it at first. But I could smell something. Then when she turned to the side, I could see that Anieko’s shoulder and neck were covered in it. So bad.

Interspersed with all of this was them running all over the place, jacked right up. With me just watching 2 black and white blurs, trying to figure out how to slow everything down.

Then the pinnacle - the third thing - was Anieko discovering that some small creature was hiding in the shallow of a short tree stump. She managed to stomp it hard enough with her front feet to collapse whatever barrier was there between her and a very small animal.

I got there just in time to grab her away as her eyes lit up and she realized she would probably get a hold of this critter.

I stormed her out of there, and felt exhausted. And sad. About how our walk was ruined and I probably had the worst dogs on Earth, or at least in Kamloops.

It felt like a bad storm. One that hits you and pounds you so you can’t catch your breath.

As I walked with them – Anieko held by her long line – I felt so defeated.

I longed for control. I considered what kind of suggestions and helpful advice my dog training counterparts might offer me, and I understood the appeal of using force and manipulation to achieve desired results.

I could have punished them. Corrected them. Shamed them. Ignored them. Rejected them. Withdrew from them. Something to make them know how they had done something wrong.

It makes me think of years ago, how our dog Layla smashed through our front window. She was barking at another dog outside and lunging against the 11 foot wide plate glass window. Until it shattered.

She wasn’t hurt, luckily and funnily enough. But she made quite a mess and quite a repair bill. I remember how my how husband – my boyfriend at the time – was so frustrated with me and angry when later that day I was affectionate with Layla.

He was intent on staying mad at her, so she knew what a bad thing she had done.

But I wasn’t mad. And I couldn’t hold it against her.

It was the same that day on the trail, after I felt like my dogs had run roughshod all over my nerves (and still there was a dog to de-poo).

I couldn’t hold it against them. I could only contemplate how to react to the experience.

I had already confirmed that I wouldn’t be converting to obedience training anytime soon. There’d be no cookies or clickers or “watch me” or e-collar for added insurance.

Neither would I be revoking their off-leash privileges. Really, it was one very bad day when many tough things happened, all in the same walk.

They still needed to run, and we needed more time to figure ourselves out.

No giving up yet.

What I didn’t realize in the midst of that horrible experience, with me totally spent and emotional and Anieko and Sophia completely oblivious and wishing for the next adventure, was that it would catapult me forward into a new way of understanding and experiencing my off-leash trail walks with my dogs.

I asked myself how I would respond, and I still didn’t know.

I’m not sure when the understanding happened, but I felt some clarity come over me.

I had been spending so much energy trying to draw my dogs out of their world of chasing scents and dashing trails that I hadn’t realized what a one-sided agreement I was proposing. And what a shitty deal it must have been for my dogs.

Even though I was as inviting and as supportive as I could be, I was still asking them to always be the ones to give up what they were doing to engage with me. I was constantly watching for my opportunity to steer their momentum towards me and what I wanted to happen.

Huh.

What would it look like if I really took an interest in what my dogs were doing? The way I wanted them to be so interested in me?

I asked myself that, and I came up with a 3-pronged plan.

First, I could join them while they sniffed things. I could wonder and exclaim alongside them about how good that clump of grass or smear of poo smelled. At least I could imagine it. Plus – there was the added bonus of me being on the spot to put a lid on things when the poo smelled good enough to roll in.

Second, I could walk with them as they dashed off trail. I could go with them and explore too. I wasn’t as fast as them, but I could make the effort and show my enthusiasm and interest in what they were enjoying.

Third, I could lead my own off-trail groups, and initiate excursions to walk and wander on unexplored land. I would also generously invite my dogs to go with me on these side adventures.

I would firmly plant myself in their world and find out what they were engaged in and up to and be there with them in the things they’re passionate about.

If they like it, I like it.

This plan doesn’t come from a place of manipulation or ulterior motives – trying to create a “look at all the things I do for you, so now you’d better pay me back for my efforts”.

I realized, most genuinely, that the thing I want the most is for us to be together, however it happens. To share experiences and to be in each other’s company.

I want to be where my dogs are. I want them to feel heard and understood, and that I really want to be in their lives.

So now I sniff things, symbolically, with them. I chase them into the woods, and lead them into unknown parts.

We’re having so much fun together, and I’m included - I’m not on the outside looking in. I am a part of it, I am one of the dogs.

I am so grateful for this shift. It is the first in the 3 months since Anieko came to live with us that she wants me involved in what she’s doing out there on the trail.

I’m an honorary one of the gang.

It means we’re more closely associated and we’re more connected. We’re more in communication and we’re safer.

When we need each other, we’re always closer or close by to each other. We’re never far from each other. And the dogs are more open to the things I want to do – like stop and sit and watch the world, while they dig holes as they wait.

Sometimes we come together to make a new plan, which may involve me holding onto a long line to let something pass or to avoid something else.

It feels like they care more about what I care about now that I care more about what they care about.

That is how I learned how to do things in a new way – in the consideration and contemplation that followed the storm of the horrible off leash walk.

In the aftermath of such a challenging experience that might have had me headed in a different direction, if I didn’t have the values and principles of shamanic dog training to help me stay open and available to new ways of navigating, I’ve taken another step into the intimacy I’m always wishing for with my dogs. More dismantling of the barriers and the separation between us.

The post The Toughest Day Taught Me Another Way appeared first on Tamryn Fudge.

Let’s say your dog loves rolling in cow shit. There. He’s done it. Cow shit all over the place.

Can you understand why he’s done it? Can you fathom the joy he’s felt as he sensed the brown pile squish into his back frame?

How the odour of it rose from the Earth and surrounded him, like one glorious cloud of loveliness? And how he’s going to wear that bouquet of cloud and reek all over him for as long as he can make it last?

You can see it: a bit got caked onto his collar and mushed into the rings on his ID tags. There’s a scrap of it hanging from his right ear.

And here he comes, up from the trail he was exploring when he found the treasure – and sure as hell, he’s running straight for you.

Does he want to share it? Show you where the dung is so you might also have a chance to coat yourself in whatever way you want?

Go ahead! he says. There’s lots there. I only took a bit, because I’m so much smaller. But there might be enough left for you to cover your long frame. That would be so nice! Both of us smelling like shit. I hope you do it.

And he’s bounding towards you, satisfied and feeling glee.

Can you see what he feels? How he’s content? How his dog-ness makes sense?

And how are you going to receive him? This boy who wants you to rejoice in his discovery and good fortune.

Can you understand how it is for him, and hold space for his happiness and experience? Is that possible?

Or are you going to FREAK OUT, and scream and get all strange?

There’s a place here where you can both get what you want.

And just because you don’t want to share your home with a dog who’s covered in poo, you don’t have to ruin his memory or victory for him.

Let him have it. Let him have his joy.

Let him know how you feel and what you’re proposing to do about it – a bath is coming. Immediately.

But can’t you let that be your experience and allow him to have his perspective? To maintain his his-ness?

There’s no harm.

Don’t get distracted by trying to make it all change in that one instance.

To try to make such a fuss that you’re hoping it will make him never want to roll in cow poo again.

It’s not going to happen. He’s always going to want to roll in cow poo.

You can’t make him agree with you – just like he can’t make you agree with him.

You’re just going to try to understand each other’s craziness: that you’re a poo-washer-off-er, and he’s a poo-roller-in-er.

It’s okay to understand. It doesn’t mean you’re giving permission, or you’re going to just let anything happen.

You can call him back from the poo. (Good luck with that.) You can leash him up when you see it first. You can avoid the places that have poo when the cattle are out grazing.

There’s lots of things you can do so that it works out.

But, most importantly - you can understand what your boy holds so dear to him and not ty to take that away from him.

Just because you don’t understand.

The post Understanding The Poo Attraction appeared first on Tamryn Fudge.

Can we teach our dogs with unconditional love? Is it possible to tell them that we don’t like what they are doing without shaming or rejecting them?

In traditional dog training, it feels important to make sure our dogs know that they are doing something wrong. This comes in the form of punishment, shaming, ignoring or rejecting.

In these systems, we use the display of disapproval (correcting) or the withdrawal of connection (rejecting) to influence our dogs to change their behaviour and actions.

Even in positive reinforcement training, the absence of a reward can represent rejection – risking our dogs attaching their self-worth and value to whether or not they have our approval.

Unconditional love might seem impractical when we’re trying to make our dogs understand what they need to do, when it seems like the quickest way to a desired outcome is to create tension in our dogs, with promise of relief if they can just be “good” and do it “right”.

Can teaching be done without the need for wrong and right, good and bad? Do we need to make that distinction?

With unconditional love, instead of judgement, learning is achieved with loving and honest feedback. Not from a place of approval or rejection, but from a place of expressing our needs.

Rather than making our dogs wrong and ourselves right, can we move away from that framework and simply say: “that doesn’t work for me.” Or “how can we do this differently?”

Here are some suggestions for stepping further into unconditional love in our connection and communication while learning with our dogs:

The post Teaching Dogs With Unconditional Love appeared first on Tamryn Fudge.

The post Peasie’s Goodbye appeared first on Tamryn Fudge.

Peasie grew up chasing bears alongside her big sister Sidney, an Australian cattle dog with a fearlessness that made every bear they encountered turn and run. Or climb the nearest tree.

Peasie just assumed that’s what you do with bears – you chase them away, and they run. 

The post What Peasie didn’t know about bears appeared first on Tamryn Fudge.

A dog is a river flowing on a bed created by his experiences - experiences that are shaped almost entirely by the people in his life.

Do we know the responsibility we carry as the caregivers of this river? Do we understand the depth of impact and effect we have? How do we contribute to the river of a dog’s consciousness?

We can recognize our place in the landscape of a dog’s mind, their spirit, their heart - and allow ourselves to hold this place with honour and awareness. By softening ourselves and tapping into the sweet place in our hearts that longs for the whispered solace of the most unique and unconditional love imagined.

To be loved by a dog is to bend and turn towards the sun itself. In return, we are offered the role of shaping and developing this river of a dog. We are given unprecedented freedom to control the life and path of another living being. This control is given freely, without paying any price for the privilege.

It is an uneven exchange, by most measures – a dog gives up his freedom to live with someone who can make or break his life. He places his future in the hands of his people with complete trust, something humbling and horrifying at once.

How can we tend to the rivers that are our dogs?

We can hold space for them as they unfold into our expectations and our rules and our limitations. Knowing that each interaction we have with them, each word we speak, each touch we offer –these make up the banks of their rivers, the stones over which they flow, the rapids through which they navigate. Knowing that we are the very making of their existence; and they are the very reflection of our souls.

The post A Dog is a River appeared first on Tamryn Fudge.

When things go sideways and your dog acts crazy, people say that if you are stressed, scared or overwhelmed, you will make things worse.

You are supposed to be calm and level-headed, confident and unafraid. Right? But what if things are truly scary – your dog is trying to tackle the little pup that just ran up from out of nowhere. What about the woman from next door trying to hug your dog and you are worried they will nip at her if she gets any closer?

When these scenarios arise, you are supposed to find the inner peace and confidence to lead your dog through these dangerous situations. You are told: stop holding your breath, handle the leash with less tension, remain calm – but often this feels impossible. Adrenaline, stress and anxiety are not taps you can simply turn off whenever you want. Worry and fear can’t just be turned down like a volume knob.

If you are unable to ignore or eliminate these real responses, do you blame yourself for the problems you are experiencing with your dog? You might like to know that you are not making anything worse - you could be more helpful, but it doesn’t get any worse because of you.

The feelings and thoughts you have only make it harder for you to help, they don’t make your dog do anything differently or more intensely. Just like you, your dog is wrapped up in their own feelings and thoughts about the issue. They often don’t even know you’re there.

Shamanic dog training helps you recognize what keeps you from helping your dog in these scenarios. 

The post You don’t make it worse, but you don’t make it better appeared first on Tamryn Fudge.

Can you recognize when your dog is feeling overwhelmed or overstimulated? Do you know what to do when it happens?

Stress signals are indicators dogs use when they are experiencing extremes of emotion and energy. They include: barking, jumping, whining, drooling, panting, pacing, rolling over, and escaping. Generally, they are the things that annoy or embarrass you about your dog.

If you find yourself remarking “I don’t know why he is doing that” or “I am so sorry! He has never done that before”, you are likely seeing stress signals.

Stress related panting - tense eyes, ears drawn back. Tongue tight and thick, neck held high. 

Barking - stress indicator. Like "steam escaping from the kettle", excess energy comes out through sound. Excitement, anxiousness - energy builds up.

Jumping - stress indicator. Bouncing repeatedly or clinging to people.

The post Listening to Stress in Your Dog appeared first on Tamryn Fudge.