Why can’t we be more like dogs?

By Colin Ford

Last week we took our dogs to a pet-friendly resort in the Magaliesberg. (That’s Cody above on the left and Logan on the right.) We’ve been a few times. Each time we go, the dogs are more settled. They’ve become used to being in new environments.

The first couple of times, they were quite anxious. They wouldn’t relax. They wouldn’t eat. They paced and sniffed and whined a little bit. But eventually they realised this wasn’t some evil abduction, but a chance to enjoy a different environment. And it got me thinking… why can’t we be more like dogs?

Dogs show up, fully themselves, every single day. And somehow, without trying, they get a lot right.

They are present. When a dog is with you, it is really with you. No phone. No half-listening. No scanning the room for something better. Whether you’re walking, sitting or saying absolutely nothing, the attention is total. Imagine what our meetings, friendships and family dinners would look like if we did that more often. Not performative listening. Actual listening.

They are also masters of enthusiasm. When we get home from somewhere, it’s a full-body celebration. It doesn’t matter if we were gone for five minutes or five hours. Joy is joy. Dogs don’t ration it. They don’t think, “I was excited yesterday so I should probably dial it back today.” They just feel it and express it. Somewhere along the line, many of us learned to tone ourselves down, to play it cool, to appear measured. Dogs missed that memo, and we’re poorer for it.

Then there’s loyalty. Real, uncomplicated loyalty. Dogs don’t keep score. They don’t bring up that thing you did three years ago when they specifically asked you not to. If you’re their person, you’re their person. Full stop. That doesn’t mean blind obedience. It means commitment. Showing up again and again. Standing with someone even when it’s inconvenient. In a world obsessed with optionality, there’s something deeply grounding about that.

Dogs are also excellent at forgiveness. Step on a paw by accident and you might get a yelp, but you won’t get a cold shoulder for a week. The moment passes. Life continues. Compare that to how we sometimes behave with one another, replaying small hurts, polishing grievances until they shine.

They have a healthy relationship with routine too. Walks matter. Meals matter. Rest matters. And they will always let you know when it’s dinner time!

There’s no guilt attached to lying in a sunny patch on the floor and doing absolutely nothing. Dogs don’t apologise for rest. They don’t pretend busyness is a virtue. They understand, instinctively, that energy needs replenishing. We, on the other hand, often treat exhaustion as a badge of honour.

Perhaps most importantly, dogs are unapologetically themselves. They don’t aspire to be different dogs. A small dog doesn’t lie awake wishing it were taller. A nervous dog isn’t trying to project confidence on LinkedIn. They work with what they have. They adapt. They learn. But they don’t spend their lives comparing themselves to the dog next door. (They might exchange a few friendly barks from time to time with the neighbours’ dogs, but that’s another story.)

Dogs approach the world with curiosity rather than judgement. Every walk is an investigation. Every smell tells a story. Every tree or rock is a urinal. The world is interesting, not threatening by default. Imagine what would change if we approached new ideas, new people and even disagreement with that same open curiosity.

None of this is about idealising dogs as perfect. They’re not. They chew things they shouldn’t. They bark at nothing. They sometimes pee in places they shouldn’t. But even that has a lesson. Dogs are allowed to be a bit ridiculous. They don’t collapse into shame over it. They shake it off and carry on.

Being more like dogs doesn’t mean abandoning ambition or responsibility. It means rebalancing. It’s about being present, being kind, letting go and experiencing joy.

If nothing else, dogs remind us that a good life is not necessarily a complicated one. It’s built from attention, connection, loyalty, forgiveness and the ability to be delighted by simple things. A walk. A meal. A familiar face at the door.

So, what I am doing during this holiday period is focusing on being more like a dog. Except I probably won’t lick myself quite as much.