It was 6:00 pm when a beagle named Pepper walked into class like she owned the room.
Tail high. Ears forward. Legs springy.
Her human, Emma, clutched the leash like it was a wild kite in a windstorm.
Pepper didn’t bark. She declared. She snorted at the doodle in the corner, pulled toward the
chairs for a sniff check, and full-on bulldozed through the “Please Wait Here” marker on the mat.
All while Emma apologized to everyone within a 6-foot radius.
We hadn’t even started class.
Most people would call Pepper “disobedient.”
I don’t.
What I saw was a dog bursting with curiosity, confidence, and absolutely no idea what was
expected of her.
Not dominance. Not rebellion.
Just pure, unfiltered beagle energy without a job.
Here’s what we did.
We stepped outside the room for a quick “calm reset.”
For 3 minutes, we practiced simple focus exercises in the yard — things like looking at Emma
when she said Pepper’s name, sitting, staying, and holding eye contact.
We used treats and calm praise. No big correction.
No drama.
Then we walked back in.
Same dog. Same leash. Different energy.
What changed?
- Emma was calmer.
- Pepper was paying attention to the treats (and to Emma).
- And we had a new agreement: “Let’s work together, not against each other.”
That’s what dog training really is — attention to each other.
Not control. Not obedience for obedience’s sake.
Communication.
If your dog barges into the room like they own it…
…it doesn’t mean they’re broken, bossy, or “too much.”
It usually means they need:
- A calm reset.
- Clear expectations.
- And someone who looks past the surface behavior to see what’s really going on.
We finished that class with Pepper lying calmly at Emma’s feet, watching the others with curious
eyes — not crashing the party.
Want help understanding your dog’s communication?
That’s what we do best here at Good Dog Paws.
You don’t need a perfectly trained dog to start — just a willingness to show up, breathe, and
meet them where they are.
You can browse our classes here, or drop me a message. I’d love to hear your story —
kite-in-the-wind dogs and all.
See you soon,
Helen
