Don’t Drift
This past week, we did a prescribed burn on my land.
If you’ve never seen one, it feels counterintuitive at first —burning something on purpose (as a Northeastern native, this is so foreign to me). But the goal isn’t destruction. It’s resilience.
You burn off the undergrowth so the land can breathe again. It comes back stronger, greener, more stable. The ash feeds the soil. The system resets. It’s a beautiful process.
But here’s what stood out to me.
There was a section along the canal we hadn’t planned to burn—and when it caught, it took off fast. Way faster than everything else.
Later, my neighbor told me the last time it burned, it wasn’t intentional. Someone tossed a cigarette and it wiped the whole thing out. (I’ve been stopped countless times now by people in the neighborhood praising me - and the guys who are basically on retainer at this point - for all the work that’s been done, because this land, apparently, has not gotten love in well over a few decades).
That’s the difference.
Something that’s been maintained, exposed to controlled stress, can handle it.
Something that hasn’t?
It goes up all at once and gets out of control.
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Lately, I’ve been noticing something with Knox.
He’s always been a confident dog. From the time he was a puppy, I pushed him—intentionally, thoughtfully, and consistently. Because of that, he developed a lot of resilience and confidence early on.
But resilience isn’t static.
Dogs change as they age.
Life changes, too.
And the last few years have been… a lot.
There have been stressors that weren’t planned or controlled. A move through a domestic violence situation, raising a newborn on my own, building a business from the ground up. Life didn’t pause, and neither did the expectations placed on him to move through it alongside me.
And recently, I’ve noticed something small.
When I turn on the gas stove—just the clicking sound—he gets up and leaves. Heads upstairs. Removes himself.
It’s subtle.
Easy to ignore.
Easy to say, “he’ll get used to it.”
But I won’t let it go.
Small Things Don’t Stay Small
Because it’s never just about the stove.
When a dog starts opting out of something small, and we allow it over and over again, it rarely stays contained to that one thing.
It expands.
Today it’s the stove.
Tomorrow it’s something else.
And over time, those little opt-outs start to stack.
Confidence doesn’t usually disappear all at once.
It erodes—quietly, gradually—until one day, you’re looking at behavior that feels much bigger than where it started.
The Difference Between Stress You Choose and Stress You Don’t
Not all stress is the same.
Some stress is unavoidable.
It shows up without warning, without permission, and often without control.
Life stress. Environmental changes. Things that simply happen.
And over time, that kind of stress can wear on both you and your dog. It chips away at resilience in a way that’s harder to manage because you didn’t choose it, and you can’t always shape it.
But then there’s another kind of stress.
The kind you can control.
The stove is a perfect example. It’s predictable. It’s safe. I can decide how much exposure happens, how long it lasts, and how I guide him through it.
That makes it an opportunity.
Because when stress is controlled and intentional, it becomes a tool—not something that takes from resilience, but something that builds it.
Building Reserves
When I work Knox through something like the stove, I’m not just addressing that one moment.
I’m building reserves.
Small, manageable challenges that he can move through successfully. Repeated over time, those experiences stack.
They create a dog that doesn’t just avoid stress—but can tolerate it, recover from it, and move forward anyway.
So when life inevitably throws something bigger, louder, or completely unexpected at us…
He’s not starting from empty.
He has something to draw from.
Why This Matters for You
This past week, I’ve had several clients reach out about behavior that either resurfaced or showed up in new ways.
And almost every time, there’s a common thread:
Something small showed up first…
and it either wasn’t addressed right away, or it was unintentionally allowed to continue.
By the time it becomes a bigger issue, it feels sudden.
But it wasn’t.
Catch It Early
If you notice something—even if it feels minor—don’t wait.
That’s what I’m here for.
You have access to a trainer. Use it.
If you’ve reached out before, you know I will always take the time to talk things through with you. I care deeply about the dogs I work with and the people living with them. I want you to succeed.
But I can only help with what I know about.
The earlier we step in, the easier it is to course-correct.
Or… Reset It Yourself
Even without reaching out, there’s a very clear way to help your dog when something starts to slip:
Don’t drift.
Most regression doesn’t happen all at once.
It’s a slow drift:
more freedom
less follow-through
structure fading
Until suddenly, things aren’t working anymore.
What to Do Instead
If behavior starts to come back:
Don’t wait it out.
Don’t try to troubleshoot it from where you are.
Return to structure.
That means:
adding clarity back in
reducing freedom
managing interactions
being more intentional, not less
Think of it as going back to what worked.
Because it did work.
Reset.
Your Job Isn’t to Trust Your Dog
It’s to read them.
To notice:
when they’re starting to fixate
when they’re getting uncomfortable
when they’re leaving a neutral state
And to step in before it becomes a problem.
Give them a reason to trust you.
(All dogs have different levels of guidance and supervision needs and at different stages of life. This will ebb and flow and it’s imperative you don’t get stuck in thinking your dog is one way when their behavior is showing they need another.)
Final Thought
You don’t have to be perfect.
But you can’t drift.
Because the difference between a system that can handle pressure—and one that gets taken out by a single spark—
is whether it’s been maintained along the way.