Begin by feeding Muttsy a few treats. I like to use diced chicken or Muenster cheese. Give him two or three treats for ‘free.’ This will give Muttsy the feeling that he can successfully get what he wants.

The next step is to stop feeding him treats and instead present the treat to him, about an inch or so from his nose. Then snap it away when he tries to grab it. Start this phase by showing Muttsy a treat, holding it between your thumb and first two fingers. Move it toward him, ending up about two inches from his nose. When he moves to grab it, snap it away, matching the movement of your hand with his head. Do this several times, and you’ll notice that Muttsy will attempt different tactics to get the treat. He might try jumping up on you, pawing at you with one leg, barking, or spinning around in circles. Ignore all these tactics. Instead, just keep presenting the treat and snapping it away when he tries to grab it. Be very patient and keep at it.

At some point, for just a fraction of a second, Muttsy will stop trying to grab the treat and sit perfectly still, trying to figure out what you want him to do. That’s when you give him the treat. Make sure to do this quickly, while he’s holding still (this quiet moment will not last long—not yet). Also, make sure to put the treat right into Muttsy’s mouth. Don’t let him take it from you. You have to give it to him. Now, you can talk—praise Muttsy as you feed him. Repeat this process until you see that Muttsy realizes he only gets the treat when he waits or pauses momentarily. If you time the treat perfectly when he holds still, it should only take about four repetitions for him to learn not to try grabbing the treat.

That’s the good news. Here’s the not-so-good news: The next time you play the game, he’ll likely forget the rules, so you’ll have to start over. This is because dogs are very context-oriented. It’s not until you repeat the game in various locations and situations that he’ll be able to apply what he’s learned.

So, do this for three days, two minutes at a time (you can do it four or five times a day if you like, but keep each session as short as possible). As the days progress, slowly increase the amount of time Muttsy can sit still, in five-second increments, until you reach about 30 seconds (or longer, if you can).

Next, start to notice any subtle indicators that Muttsy is holding still physically but not emotionally. Some usual indicators include a wagging tail, a paw that comes up off the floor slightly, ears that are pinned back, quiet whining, etc. Wait until the tail stops wagging, the paw comes down, the ears prick up, or the dog stops vocalizing, then immediately give him the treat. Soon, the dog will not only be holding still physically, but emotionally as well.

Once He’s Holding Still Emotionally, You Can Start Using the Word “Stay”

Begin by putting the leash on and holding it close to the collar (about two inches or so) with your left hand (or your right hand if you’re a lefty). Give the dog two free treats. Then give him two more, followed by two more. On the seventh treat, pull it away when Muttsy tries to grab it. At the same time, make an almost imperceptible leash correction— a subtle tightening of the leash—with the other hand, and say “Stay” in a pleasant, inviting tone of voice.

When he obeys, give him the treat, praise him, and use your other hand to pet him under the ears. Continue doing this, and the dog will start to feel that a soft tug on the collar means he’s supposed to hold still. The tug and the soft, encouraging tone of the word “stay” will also help create a calm focus.

Next, add minor distractions as you play. Shift your weight from one foot to the other, move from side to side, or crouch down. As these distractions cause Muttsy to lose focus, remind him with an encouraging “Stay” and a little tightening of the leash, then give him the treat when he settles back down.

The final step is “dropsy.” Start with two treats in one hand, hold the leash tight, show Muttsy one treat, and drop it right in front of him. Before he can grab it, tighten the collar, say “Stay” in an encouraging tone, and immediately put the second treat under Muttsy’s nose, using it to guide or lure his head back to the original position. Then give him the treat. Don’t let him eat the treat on the floor. Pick it up and add it to your pile.

Once Muttsy has mastered the emotions of this game, learning to stay becomes much easier, and he will be a happier, calmer dog overall!

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There are two simple rules about jumping up:

• The dog should never be rewarded for jumping up without being asked to do so first.
• The dog should never be punished for the behavior, at least not overtly.

To enforce the first rule, simply make sure that whenever Muttsy jumps up without being asked, you twist sideways while saying, “Okay, off!” in a pleasant, inviting tone. His goal is to make contact; yours is to not let him.

Teaching Muttsy to Jump Up on Command

Teaching Muttsy to jump up on command is pretty simple too. Just show him a treat or a toy, hold it in front of his nose, and then move it up to your knee or thigh (or wherever Muttsy would naturally put his paws if he were to jump up). As he jumps up, say “Hup!” in an inviting tone. (When first teaching a new behavior, it’s always a good idea to give the command after the dog has already obeyed it, not before—it sounds backwards, but it works much better during the initial learning stages.)

Once the dog has taken the treat or toy from your hand, twist sideways while saying, “Okay, off!” in an inviting tone. With most dogs, you’ll only need to do this for a few days, and he’ll have learned to jump up on command—no more need for treats or toys.

For XXL dogs, have them jump up to an outstretched arm, or just have them lean up against you. For dogs who are shy about jumping up, start from a sitting position or even by lying down on the floor. Gently encourage the dog to come make contact, starting with just one paw on your chest and building slowly and gently from there. Give yourself about two weeks of short, two-minute sessions several times a day to bring this type of dog along.

For dogs who are too energetic about jumping up, teach them that they only get rewarded when they make calm, steady contact. No “pogo-ing” allowed! After a few days, add a twist: hold the dog’s collar as you give him the treat or toy. Don’t let him jump down (or if he’s an XXL dog, don’t let him stop leaning against you) on his own. If he tries to break contact, hold him in place for a fraction of a second, then let him go while saying, “Okay, off!”

Okay, now that the dog has learned the “Hup!” and the “Okay, off!” and will do it without a treat or other inducement, it’s time to trick him! Stand as you usually do, then pat your knee or thigh, but don’t say “Hup!” Just induce him to jump up without giving him the command. When he does, step back or twist sideways. Don’t let him make contact! Do this two or three times in a row, depending on how soon he starts to show uncertainty. On the third or fourth time, pat your knee or thigh and say, “Hup!” He’ll probably pause for a second, trying to determine what’s the most relevant part of the new pattern, then he’ll jump up. Praise and pet him when he obeys. (With really hard cases, it’s okay to put the leash on, let it fall to the floor, and stand on it so that Muttsy self-corrects when he tries to jump up—but that’s only for hard cases.)

Do these exercises for a few minutes each time, several times a day, for two or three days, and you’ll be surprised at how Muttsy no longer jumps up!

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In recent years the idea of the dominance hierarchy has become more controversial, with some scientists asking if such hierarchies are real or a product of human expectation … Some ethologists now argue that while dominance relationships [Rex is more dominant than Spike] may be real, dominance ranks [Spike knows that Rex is alpha and he’s beta] are not.

The authors go on to say that scientists have now found that “pecking orders” don’t necessarily exist in all chicken groups (which is where the whole thing started in the first place), and that some social hierarchies, previously thought to be ruled by the alpha male are actually controlled by a middle-ranking female! Some alpha theorists are now saying that there isn’t just one alpha wolf in a pack, but there may be anywhere from three to five who are “alpha” under different circumstances. To me this is completely illogical.

I’ve found that there are three fatal flaws in the alpha theory—three ideas that, when analyzed properly, don’t make any sense.

Flaw #1 – You Can’t Pee on a Concept

Remember what Stanley Coren said about forcing a dog over on her back every day? (See The Myth of Alpha (Part 1). He said that this position “signifies submission to the authority of a dominant member of the pack.” But dogs don’t think symbolically. They don’t use signifiers. To a dog, a thing is what it is and that’s all that it is. It never stands for something else. Alpha is only a designation; a way scientists have of representing or signifying an animal’s rank or status within the social hierarchy. But rank, status, role, and hierarchy are all concepts, symbols, or designations. They are not tangible, sniffable, audible, or visible, which means that they can’t exist in a dog’s mind. After all, you can’t bite, sniff, chase, lick, or pee on a concept.

Some might say that when a dog chases a tennis ball it signifies (or represents) a squirrel or other prey animal. But is that really the case? If we look for the simplest explanation, we see that a dog’s hunting instinct is hard-wired to respond to anything moving in a certain way. Think of a puppy on his first walk. Even if he’s never seen a pigeon before, the moment he sees a leaf or a bit of paper caught in an updraft he starts to chase it. The leaf doesn’t symbolize or represent a pigeon to the dog (especially if he’s never seen one before). He chases it only because it’s moving in a way that automatically stimulates an unconscious, genetic reflex. But (some might ask) couldn’t the recognition of rank and status also be instinctive and genetic? Couldn’t the dog’s brain be hard-wired for that as well?

No, because there’s a huge difference between an instinct and the ability to think symbolically. For one thing, instincts originate in the hypothalamus and symbolic thinking originates in the frontal lobes. A dog’s brain has a hypothalamus, but his frontal lobes (if they could even be called that) are small and undeveloped. In The Co-Evolution of Language and the Brain, Terrence Deacon, a leading neuroscientist and evolutionary anthropologist, writes, “Species that have not acquired the ability to communicate symbolically cannot have acquired the ability to think this way either.” It should be clear that dogs can’t recognize symbols or designations. Without this inherent cerebral ability to think symbolically, how can a dog relate to things like rank and status? He can’t. He simply doesn’t have the type of brain nor the accompanying cognitive architecture to process them.

So we have to ask ourselves this: when one dog acts submissively towards another is he doing it because a) he recognizes the other dog’s rank and status? Or because b) he recognizes that the other dog is stronger physically or emotionally? The answer is probably b. We could go even further and say that the dog doesn’t even recognize, cognitively, the other dog’s superior emotional and physical strength, he only senses it or feels it. This makes more sense, and yet we could go even further than that—and in so doing be much closer to the truth—and say the dog isn’t even able to feel or sense the other dog’s superiority. All he can really do is feel the changes in his own temperament when the two come into contact. Still, no matter how specifically we want to look at this, we have to realize, once and for all, that there can never be any recognition or awareness in a dog’s mind of his own or of anyone else’s rank or status in the pack.

Flaw #2 – There Are No Cocktail Bars in Nature

Alpha theorists seem to think that dominance is the defining characteristic of the pack instinct when it’s really just a secondary aspect of the sex drive (the primary one being the actual, physical act of mating). It also may have an influence on two other survival behaviors-eating and sleeping—but let’s look at the reproductive aspect first:

The main manifestation of the dominant/submissive polarity in animal behavior comes when two sexual rivals vie for the right to breed with an available partner. This rivalry can only take place between two males or between two females, but never between a male and a female. And never, ever, between a dog and a human. (This behavior occurs in all species, by the way, not just canines. Think of two rams butting heads, for example, or two guys in a bar fighting over a cocktail waitress.) A second manifestation occurs when a dam steals pups from her less dominant counterpart to raise with her own litter. In some cases—such as when food is scarce—a dominant female may even kill a rival’s newborn pups.

There are two other situations where dominance may rightly be said to occur. One is a rivalry over food. The other relates to the best place for sleeping. Still, these are both survival, not social behaviors, because food and sleep are necessary for survival.

Keep in mind however, that whenever dominant behavior does occur it has absolutely nothing to do with the pack instinct. Sex is not a social activity for animals—its only purpose is to insure the survival of the species; or more correctly, to insure the survival of the genetic code. Dogs and wolves—no matter how socially developed—are still just dogs and wolves. To them, sex is a completely asocial experience. There are no mixers, dating services, or cocktail bars in Nature.

Still, people often tell me, “My dog is alpha,” or, “My dog is very dominant.” This is simply not the case. The language needs to be more exact: the dog is simply “assertive”, not dominant, and definitely not alpha. When you act “dominant” toward a dog, he can only experience what you’re doing as aggression. This is a popular training technique (or used to be), but not a good one.

Flaw #3 – “Let’s Get Together and Kill Us a Moose”

What really sets dogs and wolves apart from other social animals is not the pack hierarchy but how they hunt. The fact is, the pack instinct only exists to enable canines to hunt large prey by working together as a cooperative social unit.

According to Ray Coppinger, co-author of Dogs: A Startling New Understanding, when wolves settle near a garbage dump, and are able to scavenge for a living, rather than having to hunt large prey, the pack’s “social structure” becomes much less clearly defined. Other wild canids, such as coyotes and jackals, only form packs when the conditions in their environment make it necessary for them to hunt large prey in order to survive. When they don’t need to hunt large prey, they don’t form packs. It’s also notable that lions are the only social cats in nature, and they hunt in a similar manner to the way wolves chase and ambush large prey. Meanwhile, the wild dogs of Africa, who are so distantly related to dogs, genetically speaking, that they’re practically not a member of the same family, not only hunt large prey as a pack, they also hunt small prey this way as well. And they’re the most social mammals on the planet.

The question becomes obvious: is there a direct correlation between sociability and the canine prey drive? The answer should be just as obvious—yes there is.

When you look at the alpha fallacy with these three flaws in mind, it makes no sense. No wonder some ethologists are starting to question it. Now, some alpha theorists are suggesting that there isn’t just one alpha wolf, there may be as many as five of or six! How much sense does this make to you? However, if you begin to look at the pack from the point of view of a new scientific discipline called Emergence Theory, which began to develop in the late 1950s, you may begin to understand that the pack is not a top-down hierarchy, but a bottom-up heterarchy. Knowing this may totally change how you relate to and train your dog.

See The Myth of Alpha (Part 1) by the author.

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One clue is that in multiple-dog households, you often hear owners say that one dog is “dominant” over food, while another may be “alpha” over the couch, and a third may be “the pack leader” when it comes to who’s first through the door or who gets to play with which toys. But if dominance were a real genetic behavioral tendency, geared toward ruling the roost, why would it be so specific to food bowls and not to the best sleeping spots, going through doorways, or controlling how others play? Why wouldn’t one dog in a multiple-dog pack be dominant about everything? Isn’t that his role as the pack leader?

As part of a new trend away from this idea, many experts in animal behavior are now beginning to replace the old terms of dominant and submissive behaviors with the more accurate threatening and non-threatening postures. In other words, where before we’d see a dog acting dominant over food but not over the couch or during play, we now know that he might simply exhibit a series of threatening postures to keep other dogs away from his food bowl in one case, but not exhibit such postures in the others. Is this true dominance, or is the dog simply engaging in resource guarding—keeping the other dogs from having access to the things that mean the most to him individually? If it’s resource guarding, then the behavior is probably caused by anxiety, not by an instinctive need or desire to be alpha.

It might clarify things if we knew how the whole idea of dominant behavior originated.

A Reflexive Dance

Konrad Lorenz was the first to describe the basic difference between dominance and submission in his 1952 book *Solomon’s Ring*. He stated that when two dogs or wolves are engaged in a conflict, the defeated animal supposedly offers his neck to the other because if he does, he’ll “never be seriously bitten.” The other growls and grumbles, snaps with his teeth in the empty air, and even carries out, without delivering so much as a bite, the movement of shaking something to death. However, this strange inhibition from biting persists only as long as the defeated dog or wolf maintains his attitude of humility.
Hasn’t it ever struck you as strange (a word that even Lorenz uses) that when two animals are fighting, one would offer himself up to the other to be executed? Why wouldn’t he struggle with all his might to survive? Does this dog suddenly have some magical awareness of Gandhi’s “peaceful resistance”? Has he studied Zen? Or is something else going on?

That’s exactly what biologist Rudolf Schenkel, who disagreed with the alpha theory from the very outset, said. “It is always the inferior wolf,” Schenkel wrote in 1967, “who has his jaws near the neck of his opponent.” Schenkel also points out that it’s the supposedly dominant wolf or dog who walks away from the fight, making him “more vanquished than victor.”

Now that makes sense. The submissive wolf actually has his teeth closer to the throat of his opponent, putting him at a slight advantage. That’s why the “dominant” wolf doesn’t bite, and that’s why he walks away without finishing his enemy off. Yes, the lower wolf is in a weaker position physically, but he’s not rolling over on his side in submission or to commit suicide; he’s putting himself in a position that, given the weaker nature of his temperament, feels most natural to him, yet still enables him to defend himself if need be.

The behaviors of both parties probably originated simply for the evolutionary purpose of defusing tension and maintaining harmony between pack mates. Wolves and dogs are predators. And being a predator of any kind requires that you have a reservoir of aggressive energy available to you at all times. But if you’re a group predator, meaning you’re a social animal too, nature doesn’t want that aggression being directed at your brothers-in-arms; she wants it directed only at prey animals and sometimes at other packs who invade your turf. (Which again, is a form of resource guarding.)

Meanwhile, it’s doubtful that either one of the wolves in Lorenz’s example would be consciously aware of his position of advantage or disadvantage, of power or weakness. Instead, it would be much like the interaction between two magnets whose poles counter one another’s energy: the superior wolf has a direct, assertive energy, which when directed at the inferior wolf causes his indirect energy to spin off in the other direction, both physically and emotionally. If they were both direct and assertive and came toward each other with ears, tails, and shoulders held high, bloodshed would very quickly ensue. But nature is wiser than the individual wolf; she wants the pack to get along, so she created this reflexive dance.

So here we have, at the very start of this idea about dominance and submission, what is probably a major misunderstanding committed by the primary architect of the alpha theory—a misunderstanding so major, in fact, that it turns out that the “submissive” wolf or dog is in fact controlling the “dominant” one’s behavior as much, if not more, than the other way around. Yet despite the simple, obvious logic of Rudolf Schenkel’s view, Konrad Lorenz’s misinterpretation—that the weaker wolf is offering his neck because he’s showing submission, or “humility” (as Lorenz calls it)—continues to be handed down to us as “fact” today.

They Aren’t the Same Animal

Part of the problem with the manner in which ideas about dominance and submission emerged may come from the belief that Lorenz and others of his time had—that the social behavior of captive wolves, being held prisoner in zoos and sanctuaries, would be much the same as it is in wild wolves, who roamed free in the wilderness. This belief may have arisen partly out of scientific necessity because during the 1930s and ’40s, when these initial studies were done, wild wolves were almost totally inaccessible. That’s no longer true.
Dr. L. David Mech (pr. Meech) of the University of Minnesota, who has spent his entire career studying wild wolves in their natural habitats, writes, “In captive packs, dominance labels were probably appropriate, for most species thrown together in captivity would usually so arrange themselves. In nature, however, the wolf pack is not such an assemblage.”

If Mech is right, then captive wolves and wild wolves aren’t the same animal, at least not when it comes to their social behaviors. In fact, in Mech’s observations over the past forty years, there actually is no pack leader in wild wolf packs, at least not in the traditional sense. He writes, “The concept of the alpha wolf as a ‘top dog’ ruling a group of similar-aged compatriots is particularly misleading.” Mech and his colleagues are also reluctant to use the word “alpha” because, as they put it, “It falsely implies a hierarchical system in which a wolf assumes a place in a linear pecking order.” They reserve the term “alpha” for the breeding pair (though Mech says that’s a bit like calling your dad a “male” father).

So, in wild wolves, there’s no hierarchy, no pecking order, and no pack leader.

Hmmm. Is there such a thing as dominance?

Yes, says Mech, though it only occurs in rare instances and usually only takes place over how to disburse food to the young. Yet one of the most striking things about these battles is that it’s usually the “submissive” (or non-threatening) female who triumphs over the “dominant” (threatening) male! She actually wins by acting in a manner that we’ve all been taught is the instinctive way one wolf will submit to the authority of a dominant pack mate.

How does this happen?

The male has killed a hare and comes trotting back toward the den, where, presumably, he wants to eat his kill in peace and safety. As he approaches, the female comes toward him. His neck and back go up. He stands tall and stiff. She approaches, low to the ground. The closer she comes, the stiffer he stands. The stiffer he gets, the lower she gets to the ground. Then, as she comes right up to him, while he’s growling and standing firm, she very nearly rolls over on her back, just like the inferior wolf in Lorenz’s description. Here, though, she’s not on her back and not offering her neck. So why is she so low to the ground?
The next part of the drama explains it: crouching in front of her mate, so low to the ground as to almost be on her back, her jaws are actually now in a perfect position to grab the hare right out of the male’s mouth! Which is exactly what she does! Then she runs back to her pups, leaving the male standing there, hare-less and “wondering” what the hell just happened.

So again, this natural behavior in wild wolves is in direct contradiction to the idea that dominance is about being in control. It’s not; it’s simply about resource guarding. (The male wants the hare for himself.) And just as in the battle Lorenz described, it’s the non-threatening wolf that actually exerts more control and eventually wins the confrontation.

Are there other times when dominance displays erupt between wild wolf pack members? Yes, they happen rarely and usually occur when the pack is hungry and hasn’t hunted large prey in a while. This might explain why dominant behaviors are much more common in captive wolves who never get a chance to hunt large prey together as a real wolf pack would.

Dominance = Anxiety

Wait, let’s go back. Why would hunting large prey reduce tension?
Simple. Because hunting large prey uses up a lot of aggressive energy. In wild wolf packs, this goes a long way to reducing their individual levels of internal tension and stress. But since captive wolves don’t have access to this natural method of reducing stress, or offloading their natural predatory aggression, or fostering group harmony (you can’t hunt large prey without working together), captive wolves find themselves fighting instead over little things. That’s what they do with their aggressive energy—they scrimmage.

The same process would be apparent in both village dogs and domesticated dogs. Village dogs don’t usually hunt together; they mostly scavenge. So they tend to have the same buildup of tension seen in captive wolves, and skirmish a lot. With pet dogs, who are like both village dogs and captive wolves in that they don’t routinely hunt as a group, it’s often the most “dominant” dog in a household who doesn’t know how to play, for example. And since play is nature’s stand-in for the hunt (it teaches young predators how to catch prey, and young prey animals how to evade predators), it’s a great tension reducer, as well as a kind of social “glue”—it bonds dogs and owners together emotionally. For dogs, in fact, for all animals, social play is probably the best tension-reducer there is.

That’s why when a “dominant” dog is taught how to play hunting games in a harmonic social context, or when his owner or trainer finds another way to reduce his inner anxiety, you’ll find that all his supposed instinctual dominant behaviors begin to magically disappear.

So, it turns out that what we’ve all been taught was dominance is really two things: a buildup of internal stress and a form of resource guarding, which is an anxiety-based behavior.

Wait, dominance is really nothing more than a form of anxiety? Yep. Think about this: the standard pharmacological treatment for “dominance aggression” in dogs comes in the form of anti-anxiety medication. And though these drugs don’t cure “dominance aggression,” they are generally effective at managing it! So yes, “dominance” is a symptom of anxiety.

Dr. Karen Overall of the University of Pennsylvania writes, “The ‘alpha’ concept is an outdated one with almost no data to support it. There are no truly ‘submissive’ or ‘dominant/alpha’ dogs, and by [using] these labels we blind ourselves to all of the interesting information that dogs are communicating with [their] postures.” (“Interdog aggression: What are the warning signs?” April 1, 2002, DVM Magazine)

So now we’re back to our new terminology: dominant and submissive behaviors aren’t what they seem; they’re more rightly called threatening and non-threatening postures. And they aren’t inherited traits in dogs and wolves, nor are they part of the pack instinct’s non-existent hierarchical structure; they’re simply communicative postures that express a dog’s inner anxiety. So the upshot of all this is, if you think your dog is dominant, you might want to take another look. He could just be anxious and need a lot more playtime…

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How to Train Your Dog to Walk Calmly by Your Side

Now that you know why she pulls, what can you do to stop it? Again, we have to look at it from the dog’s perspective. It’s much easier for her to learn a new behavior than it is to unlearn an old one—especially if the old behavior already satisfies her instincts. So instead of thinking, “How do I get my dog to stop pulling?” you need to shift your thinking to: “How can I attract her instincts?” This means that what you do must make sense to the dog—even if it doesn’t seem logical to you.

Start with a game, toy, or activity that your dog loves. It doesn’t matter if the game seems impractical or silly; in the long run, it will help teach her to walk next to you, as long as it excites her and arouses positive emotions. That’s the key. Next, take her somewhere with minimal distractions and begin playing. If she’s still too focused on the environment, tie her up and walk away about twenty feet. Don’t talk to her or even look at her—just keep a watch on her from the corner of your eye for any signs that her focus is shifting from the environment back to you. Once you see her attention on you, wait for about thirty seconds, then return and tease her with the toy. Make her crazy to sink her teeth into it! Then untie her and get her to chase you around—change pace, zigzag, stop suddenly, then take off again. Throw in some stutter steps, even fall to the ground and jump back up. Do anything you can to build her desire to connect with the toy, praising her the whole time.

This may not feel like “training,” but remember that the primary goal is to make yourself more interesting and attractive to her instincts than the environment.

After a few days, refine these “zany moves” into one behavior: getting her to run or walk next to you, on your left, in the heel position. If she moves out of position, bring her back using the toy as a “lure.” If she keeps trying to jump up on you, that’s actually a good thing! She’s connecting with you. Don’t correct her—just gently remind her, “Heel!” (in a pleasant tone) and move the toy down to her level.

Next, begin making about-turns, to the left or right, keeping the toy just out of reach. Any time she loses focus, remind her, “Heel!” and get her back in the game. Be sure to make the word “Heel” sound inviting, and use it whenever she moves out of position. You only need to play this game for about thirty seconds or so. Once she’s “heeling” fairly well, give her the toy and praise her so she’ll understand that being in the heel position earns her the toy. Take a break, then repeat it twice more.

After a few days (or maybe a week), this should carry over to her regular walks. Of course, you won’t be able to do the “zany moves” you did earlier, but the about-turns and the pleasant tone of your command should help her remember the lesson. While this method may take more time and effort than simply putting a Halti on her, if you do the exercise properly, walking calmly next to you will soon satisfy your dog’s instincts—something a Halti could never achieve.

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One result of the theory was the creation of a certain mindset in dog trainers, which has resulted in some pretty horrific training advice. For example, “How hard should you hit your dog?” ask the Monks of New Skete in How to Be Your Dog’s Best Friend: Their answer? “If she doesn’t yelp in pain, you haven’t hit her hard enough.” They also recommend throwing your dog on her back and yelling “No!” in her face to correct bad behavior. This is known as the alpha wolf rollover and is supposedly what alpha wolves do to enforce their authority. (The monks have since backed down on this technique, calling it dangerous to the handler, though still ignoring the fact that it’s just plain mean to the dog.) In The Intelligence of Dogs, Stanley Coren gives us a “kinder, gentler” version of this exercise, asserting: “You should deliberately manipulate and restrain your dog on a regular basis, placing it in a position that, for wild canids, signifies submission to the authority of a dominant member of the pack.” He goes on to suggest periodically forcing your dog onto her back while lifting one of her legs in the air. According to Coren, this shows the dog that you’re alpha, and is supposed to create a better relationship with your dog.

Around the same time that I first read Coren’s advice, I saw a documentary about wolves on TV. At one point in the film a papa wolf led his pups out of the den, began to play with them, and then rolled over on his back, supposedly “signifying submission”. He then encouraged them to jump on his stomach and chest and even allowed them to nip at his ears and nose. This was enormously fun to watch because it put both papa and progeny in a happy, joyous emotional state.

So, who’s right, here? Stanley Coren and those brutal, sadistic monks? Or the papa wolf?

After thinking about this for a while I decided-just as an experiment-to do the exact, polar opposite of what Coren had suggested. If the alpha theory were true, I would be creating problems by allowing my dog Freddie—an un-neutered male Dalmatian—to think he was the pack leader, right? But what would happen if the alpha theory were false? I wanted to find out. So I got down on my hands and knees and began wrestling with Fred; growling at him and slapping him lightly (and sometimes not so lightly) on his sides, back, and haunches; getting him riled up. At one point, after he was really into roughhousing with me-jumping and twisting around, batting at me with his front paws, even nipping at my nose and ears, totally happy-I rolled over on my back.

“Oh, no!” I cried, acting submissive. “You got me! I surrender! You got me!”

And, just like the young wolves on TV, Freddie loved this game. It made him even happier.

Later on our evening walk, a funny thing happened: Freddie was twice as attentive and responsive as he had been before.

I’ve since done this exercise with a number of other dogs and I’ve gotten the same result. Dogs are always more obedient and quicker to respond after I’ve rolled over on my back and “pretended to be submissive.”

So what emotions did I actually stimulate in Freddie when I rolled over on my back? The desire to dominate me? I don’t think so. The need to be fed food treats? What food treats? Why did this game make Fred and all the other dogs I’ve tried it on so damn happy and so willing to obey me at the same time?

It stimulated and reinforced positive social feelings. It was fun. It was a game. It put us on the same level. It made the dogs confident, happy, and emotionally bonded in the most positive way possible. Did any of them suddenly think they were the alpha dog? Of course not. If they had, why would they then be so quick to obey me afterward instead of expecting me to obey them?

What, if anything, does this say about the alpha theory?

See The Myth of Alpha (Part 2) by the author.

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