21/08/2026
I couldn't agree with this more and I wish more people would understand it.
Good exercise: look at your dog, have a real honest think about who they are and see where their personality fits and where it clashes with your own lifestyle and own expectations.
Is there anything that has made you think you or your dog is a failure because it doesn't live up to some glorified expectation?
Square Peg, Round Holes
Sometimes the problem isn’t that your dog needs more training. Sometimes the problem is that we’re asking them to be a dog they simply aren’t.
One of the things I’ve learned over decades of owning, training and living with dogs is that they are individuals.
Yes, breed matters. Genetics matter. Early experiences matter. Learning matters. Training matters. But within all of that sits the individual dog — with their own personality, preferences, strengths, weaknesses and view of the world.
And sometimes I think we spend so much time asking, “How do I train this?” that we forget to ask a much more important question:
“Is this actually who my dog is?”
There is an enormous amount that we can teach dogs. We can build confidence, develop skills, change emotional responses, improve behaviour and help dogs become far more capable than they might initially appear.
But there is also a point where good dog ownership becomes less about changing the dog and more about accepting the dog in front of you.
Because if you continually try to force a square peg into a round hole, eventually something has to give.
Sugar and Swipe
Two of my own dogs illustrate this perfectly.
Sugar, my little Jack Russell cross, is an absolute social butterfly.
She loves people. She loves dogs. She loves puppies. She loves groups. She loves attention. She pretty much loves life and everybody involved in it.
Take Sugar into a pub or café and she would happily work the room. She would ingratiate herself with anybody willing to give her attention — and probably several people who weren’t.
She is a social savant.
That is genuinely who she is.
Then there is Swipe, my Giant Schnauzer.
Swipe is what I would describe as antisocial — and I use that word deliberately, but not negatively.
Swipe has a fantastic temperament. I can take him virtually anywhere. He is comfortable around dogs and people. He can settle in different environments. He has the education and social skills that allow him to navigate the human world successfully.
But he simply isn’t interested in strangers.
Dogs can walk past him and he barely notices them. People can walk past him and receive much the same response.
He isn’t frightened.
He isn’t reactive.
He isn’t aggressive.
He just doesn’t care.
Some people might describe him as aloof. I would describe him as a Giant Schnauzer.
The breed standard itself describes the Giant Schnauzer as having a temperament that combines spirit and alertness with an intelligent, reliable nature. Historically, these were working dogs expected to have discernment rather than an overwhelming desire to make friends with every person they encountered.
Swipe fits that mould beautifully.
Could I teach him to sit underneath a table in a busy pub while I have lunch?
Probably.
Could I teach him to lie in a café while I drink a latte?
Almost certainly.
But would he choose either of those things?
He would no more choose to spend an afternoon under a pub table than fly to the moon. A couple of hours in a busy café would probably rank somewhere alongside root canal surgery on his list of preferred activities.
So I don’t make him.
And that distinction matters.
Capability doesn’t automatically mean suitability
Sometimes we confuse “my dog can learn to tolerate this” with “therefore my dog should have to do this.”
Those aren’t the same thing.
Of course dogs need education. I don’t believe that accepting your dog’s personality means allowing them to live without boundaries, skills or expectations.
Every dog should have enough education to navigate the world safely and successfully.
But once they can do that, we also need to ask ourselves whether some of the additional expectations we place upon them are actually for their benefit — or ours.
There seems to be a cultural expectation that a “good dog” should love everybody.
They should want strangers touching them.
They should enjoy other dogs.
They should happily attend pubs, cafés, family gatherings and busy social events.
They should welcome visitors enthusiastically.
They should be delighted when an unfamiliar person reaches over their head to stroke them.
Why?
We don’t apply those standards to human beings.
Some people thrive at parties. Others would rather spend the evening at home.
Some people can walk into a room of strangers and leave having made ten new friends. Others have a small social circle and are perfectly happy with it.
Neither is defective.
Yet with dogs, we sometimes interpret neutrality, aloofness or a preference for familiar people as something that needs to be fixed.
It doesn’t.
Know the dog you own
This is where understanding breed, genetics and individual temperament becomes so important.
If you have a busy household, lots of children, friends constantly coming and going, and you want a dog involved in that lifestyle, then a naturally gregarious, socially confident dog may be a wonderful fit.
If, like me, you quite like a dog who thinks their family is brilliant and the rest of humanity is largely irrelevant, an aloof dog can make an absolutely fantastic companion.
Neither is better.
They’re simply different.
The problem occurs when we own one and desperately want the other.
The highly social dog is constantly being told to stop interacting.
The independent dog is continually encouraged to engage.
The sensitive dog is repeatedly pushed into overwhelming environments because they “need to get used to it.”
The dog who prefers space is taken to increasingly busy places because their owner has been told that a well-socialised dog should cope.
And eventually both ends of the lead become frustrated.
Socialisation doesn’t mean creating a social butterfly
This is also where I think we’ve misunderstood the word socialisation.
Successful socialisation isn’t necessarily creating a dog who wants to interact with everything.
Sometimes the gold standard is neutrality.
Can my dog see another dog without needing to interact with it?
Can they be around people without needing attention from them?
Can they exist in an environment without being frightened, overwhelmed or excessively aroused?
Can they function appropriately and feel safe?
If the answer is yes, that may be more than enough.
Swipe doesn’t need to love strangers to be socially competent.
He needs to be able to exist around them appropriately.
And he can.
His indifference isn’t a flaw. It’s part of who he is.
Acceptance isn’t giving up
There is, of course, an important distinction between accepting personality and ignoring a genuine behavioural problem.
A frightened dog deserves help.
A dog experiencing significant anxiety deserves support.
A dog whose behaviour presents a safety concern needs appropriate management and training.
“That’s just who he is” shouldn’t become an excuse for avoiding something that genuinely compromises the dog’s welfare or safety.
But equally, training shouldn’t become an endless project designed to manufacture a completely different dog.
Sometimes success is helping a dog become the best, most confident and capable version of themselves — rather than the version we imagined when we brought them home.
That requires honesty.
What does my dog genuinely enjoy?
What can they comfortably tolerate?
What stresses them?
What comes naturally to them?
What am I asking them to do because it benefits their life — and what am I asking because I’ve decided that’s what a “good dog” should be?
Those aren’t always comfortable questions.
But they’re important ones.
Stop trying to make the peg fit
Dogs aren’t blank canvases.
Training is enormously powerful, but it doesn’t erase genetics, temperament or individuality — nor should it.
Sugar doesn’t need to become less Sugar.
Swipe doesn’t need to become more Sugar.
My responsibility is to give each of them the skills they need to navigate life successfully, while recognising that their versions of a fulfilling life may look completely different.
Sometimes we need to train.
Sometimes we need to manage.
Sometimes we need to build confidence or expand a dog’s world.
And sometimes we simply need to say:
“This is who my dog is — and that’s okay.”
Know the dog standing in front of you, rather than constantly comparing them to the dog you think they ought to be.
Give them education. Give them appropriate boundaries. Give them opportunities to grow.
Challenge them when challenge is beneficial.
Support them where they struggle.
But leave room for personality.
Because perhaps the answer isn’t always to keep hammering away at the square peg until it somehow fits the round hole.
Sometimes we simply need to recognise, find and accept how they fit best.
