My eyes flutter open with the rise of the late summer sun. The air is cool and it’s quiet–ideal for a long tail run. We arrived the evening prior to get an early start on the 16-mile mountain lakes trail loop–a favorite for both Sitka and me. For my water-obsessed heeler, this was basically Disney … The post Stop Saying These Things to Dog Owners (We’re Begging You) appeared first on Long Haul Trekkers.
My eyes flutter open with the rise of the late summer sun. The air is cool and it’s quiet–ideal for a long tail run.
We arrived the evening prior to get an early start on the 16-mile mountain lakes trail loop–a favorite for both Sitka and me. For my water-obsessed heeler, this was basically Disney World, Christmas morning, and his birthday rolled into one.
As I load up my hydration pack with snacks and water, Sitka is somewhere nearby hunting for squirrels and other critters in the woods. I grab a handful of huckleberries straight from the bush at our campsite and head toward the trail.
The first few miles are pure magic—that crisp mountain air, the sound of our feet finding rhythm on the packed dirt, Sitka’s ears perked forward as he catches his first glimpse of water. We’re in our element.
By mile 10, we’ve already hit seven lakes, and Sitka has taken his mandatory victory lap swim in each one. I’m feeling strong, settled into that ultra-runner groove where everything just flows. This is exactly why I do this—for moments when it’s just me, my dog, and the trail stretching ahead.
Just after departing our final lake around mile 15, I notice an increase of foot traffic. We’re several hours into our run and our termination point is a popular starting point for hikers. I anticipated as such and knew that we’d likely have to pull over frequently to allow people and dogs to pass.
Up ahead I spot a friendly German Shepherd. No big deal—I’ve taught Sitka an automatic recall when we see dogs and people. He whips around and hops onto a nearby log while we wait for them to pass.
The owner rounds the bend, leash in hand, and I’m expecting the usual polite nod and “good morning” exchange that happens between trail users.
Instead, he stops. Looks at me, looks at Sitka, and asks the question that makes my eye twitch every single time:
“Can our dogs play?”
I blink. Then blink again.
We are 15 miles deep into a trail run, my shorts have a pretty cool Spirograph design on the butt thanks to salt stains, and Sitka is laser-focused on getting back to our run. We are clearly—CLEARLY—in the middle of something.
This guy wants to turn our final mile into a yappy hour.
“Huh? No.” I replied, probably with a dull energy that would land me a role in the next Clear Eyes commercial. “We’re running.”
I didn’t wait for a response, only for them to pass by enough so we could continue our run, rolling my eyes as we started our lope.
This wasn’t the first time we’ve been asked to participate in an impromptu trail social with strangers, and I know it won’t be the last. It baffles me every time, and it’s not something I’ll ever understand. But I don’t blame owners, I blame dog culture.
There are certain phrases that dog owners hear constantly that need to be retired. Permanently. Here are the biggest offenders that make me want to do exactly what their dogs do when called—pretend we didn’t hear and keep moving.
“They’re just a puppy!”
My personal favorite excuse? When owners claim “they’re just a puppy” about their bouncing out-of-control one-year-old dog “puppy” who completely ignores recall commands. What’s going to be the excuse when they’re two? Three? That they’re “still learning”?
Meanwhile, I can get a brand new eight-week-old Raise & Train puppy to come when called on Day 1 or 2 (thanks to that beautiful long line doing its job).
Ok, first things first: your dog stopped being a puppy months ago. A one-year-old dog is basically a teenager and certainly has the capability to come when called..
Second: if your dog won’t come when called, they have zero business being off leash. Period. End of discussion. This goes for adult dogs, senior dogs, small dogs, and puppies.
Lastly, age isn’t an excuse for lack of etiquette. I’m not saying puppies should be little obedient robots, but nor should they just be allowed to do whatever they want to other people because they’re puppies.. You wouldn’t let your toddler run up and tackle strangers at the grocery store, so why is it okay for your “puppy” to body-slam every dog they see?
Age is not a free pass for chaos.
What to do instead: If your dog doesn’t have reliable recall, keep them on a long line until they do. Practice in low-distraction environments first, then gradually work up to more challenging situations.
And please, stop making excuses for behavior.
“My dog just wants to play/say hi!”
Cool story. My dog wants to eat an entire rotisserie chicken, but we don’t always get what we want.
Here’s what’s actually happening: your dog has trained you through the fine art of negative reinforcement. They pull toward what they want (adding pressure), you allow them to pull you toward their target (pressure released), and boom—they get rewarded with sniffs, pets, or whatever they were after.
You’ve unintentionally taught your dog that throwing a tantrum is the fastest route to fun town.
Meanwhile, you’re getting dragged around by a four-legged opportunist who’s learned that persistence pays off.
If you want to teach your dog not to pull toward other dogs, stop taking them for 20-minute leash walks around the neighborhood and instead work on engagement-based training and play.
YOU be the fun! Play tug. Throw a ball. Teach them tricks. Do training games. Be the most interesting thing in their world instead of outsourcing their entertainment to every random moving thing on the block. That’s how you build a dog who actually cares about you.
“My dog is friendly” / “My dog is not friendly” / “Is your dog friendly?”
This question/statement has always made me feel like I’m stuck in some kind of dog owner purgatory where there’s no right answer.
I used to tell people Sora wasn’t friendly just to keep their boundary-challenged dogs and “but all dogs love me!” hands away from her. But that felt like lying because Sora WAS friendly—she just didn’t want to say hello to every passing stranger who felt it was their right to invade her personal space.
I mean, I don’t like people–whether I know them or not–in my personal space, so I’m not sure why society has deemed it acceptable to pet other people’s dogs just because my dog looks soft and cute.
But explaining that Sora was friendly-with-conditions felt like giving a dissertation every time we left the house. So “not friendly” became the easiest way to keep the peace, even though it wasn’t really true.
The whole “friendly” label is broken anyway. Dogs, like people, are complex. They have preferences, boundaries, and moods. Reducing them to “friendly” or “not friendly” is like asking if someone is “nice”—it’s way more complicated than that.
What to say instead: I simply tell people they cannot pet my dogs. Although Sitka and Alpine are friendly and like people, I don’t a) want them to think that everyone we meet is going to pet them and b) I want to be part of the team that works on changing the narrative that people should pet other people’s dogs. My goal is to train them to leave other people’s dogs alone.
“Can I say hi/pet your dog?”
I appreciate that you’re asking instead of just shoving your hand in my dog’s face (seriously, thank you for that basic courtesy), but here’s the thing: I didn’t get my dog to be a public relations ambassador.
I got my dogs to be MY adventure buddies. To hit the trails with me, camp under the stars, and try new dog sport skills. They’re my training partners, my hiking companions, and my best friends. They weren’t recruited for the job of providing unlimited dopamine hits to strangers.
It’s wild how culturally acceptable it’s become to assume you have some kind of right to pet other people’s dogs. Like they’re public property or something. And the reactions I get when I politely decline? You’d think I just committed some cardinal sin.
The real animal lovers? They leave my dogs alone. They appreciate them from a distance, maybe smile and keep walking. They understand that not every dog interaction needs to be hands-on.
It’s the same reason you don’t touch a pregnant woman’s belly or a Black woman’s hair without permission. Basic respect for boundaries—novel concept, right?
How to say no gracefully: “Thanks for asking, but I’m sorry you can’t pet my dog.” You don’t owe anyone a detailed explanation. A simple “no thanks” with a smile is perfectly acceptable.
“Can they say hi/play?”
Lean in close I’m about to share something revolutionary with you:
Dogs can exist in the same space without interacting.
I know, I know. Mind-blowing stuff.
We can walk down the same street and just keep moving. We can pass each other on trails and continue on our respective adventures. We can sit at neighboring tables at a dog-friendly cafe and just enjoy our coffee while our dogs chill at our feet.
I don’t let my dogs interact with random dogs, and here’s why: most dogs haven’t been taught basic manners, they’re rude, and their owners have about as much control over them as I have over the weather.
My job is to be a leader for my dogs and part of that means not allowing strange dogs into their space. The risk of a fight is simply too high and something that could damage our relationship and my dog’s confidence.
But mostly, it comes back to the same point I keep making: I got my dogs for ME. To play with ME. To work with ME. To be part of MY life.
Your game plan: Practice the “let’s go” command and reward your dog for disengaging from other dogs. If someone asks for a meet-and-greet, you can say “No, thanks!” and keep moving. You’re not being rude—you’re advocating for your dog.
“Dogs love me!”
I hate to break it to ya, but they probably don’t.
I’ve noticed that people who announce this usually have zero clue about dog body language or appropriate interaction. They’re the ones who march straight up to a clearly uncomfortable dog while completely missing every “please leave me alone” signal being broadcast.
I once had a woman at a campground spend ten minutes trying to convince me that Sora wanted to meet her.
“Can I say hi to your dog?”
“No.”
“Dogs love me! She wants to say hi!”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“I’m actually a dog behaviorist. I can tell she wants me to come over.”
“She really doesn’t.”
“Look, I can see it in her body language—she wants me to pet her!”
Meanwhile, Sora was doing everything short of holding up a “STAY AWAY” sign—backing up, avoiding eye contact, the works.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the woman admitted, “I guess you’re right, she doesn’t want me to say hi.”
No shit, Sherlock.
The audacity of telling someone else what their dog wants, especially when the owner is saying ‘no’ and when the dog is clearly communicating the opposite, is next-level entitled.
Bottom line: Don’t worry about hurting people’s feelings. No one has a right to interact with your dog if you don’t want them to. Just tell them ‘no’ and keep moving. Even if they’re yelling at you (which is NOT easy, trust me).
Look, I get it. Dogs are amazing, and it’s natural to want to interact with them because that’s what we’ve learned we’re supposed to do. But here’s the thing: not every dog encounter needs to be a social event. Sometimes the best way to appreciate someone else’s dog is to admire them from a respectful distance and let them do their thing.
Your dog doesn’t need to meet every dog they see. Other people’s dogs don’t owe you attention or affection. And for the love of all that’s holy, if someone is clearly doing an activity with their dog—running, training, working— just let them be.
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