Dogs can either teach us humility and acceptance or arrogance and the use of brute force and will. They are dependent on us and  helpless to protect themselves  in many ways, since they don’t speak and we can project all of our neuroses onto them without challenge.

I am at an important crossroads with my new dog Fate, who is a wonderful dog. But I have to decide to accept her very distinctive nature or try and force her into my notion or someone else’s notion of what she ought to be. As you might guess, I’ve made up my mind.

In my training of dogs, I work to remember every day that we humans are the most arrogant of all of the species on the planet. We think we know everything about the animals we love and we think there are people who can tell us precisely what our animals should be thinking and how we should train them and be with them.

Animals, of course, are not privy to this wisdom, they have a habit of being unpredictable, they often defy the simple labels and stereotypes of humans.

In my life with animals, especially dogs,  I have come to understand how important it is to trust their nature and my own instincts, not the dictums, dogma and absolute mandates of the people we call gurus and experts.

Dog training is a catastrophe in America, and one reason is that we are often made to feel stupid, forced into one box or another – pack theory, positive reinforcement training, Cesar’s magical recipe for the perfect dog. None of those really work for me. I am not the leader of any pack, I am not capable of always being positive, and Cesar, as interesting as he is, has absolutely nothing to do with me, my life, my dogs or my farm.

Every since I have been writing about dogs, I have found myself occasionally at odds with various breed snobs, book and video producers, authors and self-styled dog wizards, absolutist trainers, along with the  loose coalitions and associations of professional dog people who must tell the ignorant hordes what to do.

Often, they remind of my first grammar school English Teachers, who blew their noses with handkerchiefs tucked in their sleeves and thought good writing was about subjunctive clauses and spelling.

God help me, I so love ignoring the lessons and scoldings of the righteous and the sure.  I wish I could just pretend to care what they say.

But back to Fate.

Training a dog is such an individual experience, for the person, for the dog, there is no one philosophy or training approach or book or video that will cover all of it for all of us. We are all different, our dogs are different, our homes and temperaments and families and environments are different. There are so many variables to consider in understanding and training a dog, I’m afraid there is no real alternative but thinking for ourselves.

I am not proud of many things in my life, but I am proud that I don’t tell other people what to do or think, it is the most profoundly significant spiritual revelation I have had in recent years. Many people see life as an argument, but perpetual arguing kills thought and reason, it exists for its own sake. My training comes from the heart, not the mouth.

I have had a big epiphany when I was out in the pasture, as I was with Fate every morning for months last year. Herding trainers and various breed snobs had come to the house, messaged me after reading the blog, commented on the videos, mailed me links, books, pamphlets. Do it this way, do it that way, do what I did, read this book, watch this video, talk to my Uncle Harry in Nova Scotia.

I realized one morning that Fate would not ever be another Red. Or Rose or Izzy.

She will never be a therapy dog, she will never be a textbook herding dog.  That’s fine with me, she is a wonderful creature in her own light. I have been so fortunate in my life with dogs. One is not better than the other. That is their sanctity. To change the nature of this remarkable dog, I would have to break her spirit, take away her joy at being Fate. I’m not going to do that.

She is a completely different kind of animal than the other dogs I have had. Red is a quiet, easy going creature away from the sheep, he loves to sit with me while I write.  He is silent, quiet, patient. I often forget he is in the room or the car, or even the house.

Fate is a different creature. She is active, easily aroused and excited, distracted by every living or mechanical thing that moves or makes a noise, every hawk in the air or cow mooing down the road. She can run for an hour, her tongue hanging off the group, drink a bit of water and be read to run some more.  She climbs to the top of every hill or wall or pile of logs she sees.

Red’s eyes are powerful and intimidating, the sheep freeze at the sight of him. Fate, with her one blue eye, is less so, the sheep glower at her, charge at her, try to butt her, it is difficult for her to get them to move. She is full of instinct, keen to work, but she is not Red, she is her own spectacular self.

Every dog or animal has a nature. I call it their sacred self, their spirit. It is my mission, my purpose, to train the dog and not ever destroy their nature. It is not my place to do that, not in the name of training, not in the arrogant way humans sometimes have of playing God with dogs.

Fate explodes into the world around us, chasing after mice and chipmunks, plunging into water, skating on ice, dive-bombing rabbit holes, climbing on logs, hills, diving into mud and rodent holes. She explores and engages with every inch of the universe around here, and I love her for that.

She is a well-trained dog. She comes when called, stays off the road, never runs off or strays from sight. She hops into the car on command, hops out when told.. She loves all living things, sometimes to excess. Her herding style is definitely unusual. When she approaches the sheep, she circles them until they either get dizzy or move. She slows down when told, approaches and gives eye, but will not challenge the sheep in the way Red will when defied, as in biting them on the nose..

For me, a chance to learn acceptance. To grow. I couldn’t love Fate more or have more fun with her. That is my wisdom, the sense of my best guru. Me.

I know this isn’t about dogs, really, not even truly about training. It’s about acceptance and letting go, about respecting the divine spark in living things. It’s about not forcing someone else’s idea of  self on a sentient spirit.

The intuitive trainer does not ever have to follow the pack. Training is a spiritual experience, an intensely individual experience, between me and the dog.

I want to train her, not change her nature.  We are doing very well.