24/09/2026
I used to think intuition was something you were either born with or you weren't, especially when it came to dogs.
You know the person I'm talking about. They walk into a situation and somehow know what to do. They notice something changing before anyone else does. They know when to step in and when to wait. They seem to read the situation almost effortlessly and respond to the dog in front of them.
I used to watch people like that and think, "God, they're so intuitive." And, honestly? "Why am I not like that?"
I thought I had to compensate for my lack of intuition with more knowledge. More theory. More frameworks. More things to remember.
But the more I practised non-judgmental observation with reflexivity, the more something changed.
I became better at staying with what was actually happening rather than immediately reaching for what I already knew. I became more comfortable noticing when to act and when to wait. And, perhaps most importantly, I stopped making such a big deal out of getting things âwrong.â
Because there are no perfect moves in a dynamic interaction.
I might do something that doesn't quite work. The dog might respond differently than I expected. And instead of treating that as a mistake, I could treat it as feedback.
I did something. The dog responded. Now I had more information. The interaction itself became part of figuring out what to do next. And I think we miss this when we imagine intuition as always knowing the right thing to do.
Intuition isn't about getting nothing wrong.
It's about not constantly evaluating your actions through the lens of right and wrong. It's about being present enough to notice what happened, take in the feedback, and stay responsive to what comes next.
The more I experienced this, the more I realised that what I had once called âintuitionâ wasn't a mysterious ability to predict the right response.
It was something much more grounded: a way of knowing that had become embodied through attention, experience, feedback, reflection and repeated engagement.
And that changed how I participated in interactions with dogs.
The dog wasn't simply giving me a situation that I had to respond to correctly. We were continually influencing one another. My actions affected what happened next, their responses gave me new information, and what happened between us could change my understanding.
That's very different from needing to have the answer before the interaction begins.
Maybe that's why some people seem to simply know what to do.
Not because they were born with a special ability to read dogs, but because they have developed a way of being in relationship that allows them to respond to what is unfolding.
And maybe that capacity isn't something you're born with.
Maybe it's something you practice.
This is one of the things we practice inside The Dog Observation Practice â a space for dog professionals who want to deepen their observational practice, slow down their thinking, and become more attentive to what unfolds in real interactions with dogs.
We practice non-judgmental observation with reflexivity, work with real observations and footage of dogs (primarily free living dogs) and use conversation and reflection to examine not only what we see, but how we come to know what we think we know.
Because the goal is to develop the capacity to stay curious, responsive and engaged enough that the interaction itself can shape what you notice, what you understand, and what you do next.
If this is the kind of learning you've been looking for, The Dog Observation Practice is for you.
DM me âOBSERVATIONâ, and I'll send you the details.