Purpose Without Pressure: Let Working Dogs Lie

Mick, looking for something to control. photo: Kirsten Wojcik

We all want the best for our dogs, but their behavior can sometimes be confusing or frustrating. Rather than focusing solely on obedience, we can give them purpose by honoring their breed instincts, offering enrichment that taps into the work they were bred to do. 

Many of us raise working dogs as pets, without realizing the mismatch. I didn’t set out to raise a working dog but that changed when I met Mick, a pup from California’s rural ranchlands. Balancing Mick’s needs with the demands of my own daily life hasn’t always been easy. But in the process, he’s taught me the value of presence over productivity.

Mick is a 12-year-old Australian Cattle Dog/Border Collie/German Shepherd mix, rescued at six weeks old without his mother. He’s hardwired to control movement - of animals, people, anything in motion - because that’s what the dogs in his breed mix were designed to do. His brain responds to movement like a switch, lighting up with excitement and urgency. 

For most of his life, Mick has acted on that instinct, guiding or stopping motion wherever he finds it, sometimes creating challenges at beaches, with other dogs, or guests. Even when I tried to cue him “Off duty,” the anticipation alone gave him a dopamine hit stronger than any treat. Functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging (fMRI) studies by Dr. Greg Berns support this idea - that dogs like Mick aren’t driven by rewards themselves but by the expectation of them. For working dogs, simply anticipating their purpose-driven tasks is deeply rewarding because it’s what they were bred to love.

Do all dogs in the herding group show dilated eyes and intense focus at the idea of controlling movement?  No. That’s because this behavior, like any other, is a result of both nature and nurture. Both genetic predispositions and inherited behavior circuits, along with the social and physical environments, help mold those dogs into who they are.  As one recent study found, “...breed alone cannot predict the disposition of a particular dog. Instead, personality is shaped by a combination of factors, including a dog's environment.” -science.org

It took me a few years to accept that trying to suppress Mick’s intrinsic herding behavior wasn’t going to help him make good choices. Instead I had to give him a sense of purpose and capitalize on his natural skills to reroute that enthusiasm for controlling movement to different,  but still fulfilling, activities. We started by participating in Trick Training Classes, Nose Works and Canicross Training, which tested my own ability to stay humble as he excelled at all of these tasks to earn an Advanced Trick Title.  

But was he fulfilled? No. In fact, the more I fed into Mick’s working dog drive, the more his rewards-seeking dopamine hit cycles increased. While he was no longer trying to control movement of dogs and people (a definite plus), I had now created a super athlete who was willing to work until he was mentally and physically exhausted. I had mistakenly tried to replace his herding instinct with other similar behaviors - all of which increased his cortisol levels and adrenaline and had me waking at 5 a.m. to meet his needs. 

Eventually, life forced a shift. With a busier career and more dogs in the house, I realized Mick needed less performance and more presence. We were both aging and there simply wasn’t the time for our long distance runs.  He and I had to learn resilience and independence, skills not rooted in achievement, but in simply being. I started to ask: what if Mick could enjoy a slow sniff walk instead of speed drills? What if he could learn to relax? What if I could learn to embrace a walk with him instead of a run?

This approach may not sit well with all dog sports enthusiasts, but embracing benign neglect helped Mick find peace. His instincts - to stalk, chase, and even grab - brought him joy but also stress. Instead, I encouraged calm behaviors: nose work for leisure, settling on a mat, scavenging for food in the yard, and mostly walking long, slow miles with me in the late morning.

By shifting the focus from performance to presence, I saw not just a working dog but all of Mick - as a whole being, capable of finding fulfillment in the quiet moments of everyday life. He was happier and so was I. 

Mick didn’t choose his working-dog heritage or my suburban home, but together, we’ve learned acceptance and the value of slowing down. Our focus has shifted from trying to control the world to simply observing and being. Now, we share what we’ve learned with others, which is far more fulfilling for both of us than herding ever was.