by Sasha Riess | 25.03.26. | Emotions
When we banned chains, we thought we had done something great, something civilized and humane. We freed dogs from chains, but not from ourselves.
Sophisticated slavery in the name of love
We passed laws, declared victory over cruelty, and celebrated ourselves as protectors of life. But the truth is far deeper and much darker. Because while we were breaking iron, we forgot that chains are not made only of metal.
Today, dogs are no longer tied to trees. They are tied to us. To our fears, insecurities, ambitions, emptiness, and projections. Their new collars are not made of steel, but of energy. Silent and invisible, yet incomparably stronger. And while in the name of love and freedom we removed visible chains, in the name of those same words we created new ones, subtle, unbreakable, and far more cruel.
Today we no longer use chains. We design them. We make them from fine leather, order handmade buckles, decorate them with crystals, gold plating, initials, and logos. We call them leashes, as if a new word has the power to erase the old truth. We sell them in luxury boxes, photograph them on marble floors, advertise them as status symbols and proof of a special bond between human and dog.
And while we praise how far we have progressed in our relationship with animals, no one dares to say what is obvious. This is not freedom. This is sophisticated slavery. A new level of hypocrisy in which humans have surpassed themselves. Never before have we managed to turn restraints into fashion accessories and call that act love.
The Energetic Chain: When a Dog Becomes Our Emotional Prosthesis
We call them “our dogs.” We tie them to beds, couches, terraces, yards, to every moment of our sadness, boredom, and insecurity. They are no longer guardians, hunters, or companions. They have become emotional buffers, carriers of our inner emptiness.
Every time we are afraid, they feel it. Every time we argue, they carry it. Every time we want love we cannot give ourselves, we take it from them.
And so, while they smile in our photographs and wear scarves at Christmas, dogs die more slowly than ever before. Because their collapse is not physical. It is energetic. A collapse of connection with their true place in the order of life. In the natural order of the world, the dog is a bridge between humans and wilderness. He stands between instinct and consciousness, between darkness and light, between life that fights and life that loves. But we have turned that bridge into a wall. Instead of respecting it, we possess it. Instead of listening, we use it.
When the Dog Becomes a Mirror: Invisible Chains of Human Imbalance
In the order of harmony, every being has its place. When someone leaves their place, the system reacts, distorts, seeks balance. The dog has always been a guardian of balance between humans and nature. Today, as we are cut off from the earth, dogs become our sensors, transmitters of our imbalance.
The modern dog is no longer free even within his own nature. He is not allowed to bark because it bothers neighbors. He is not allowed to run because he gets dirty. He is not allowed to sniff because it is “unhygienic.” His drive to hunt, to move freely, to touch water and mud, everything that makes him a dog, we label as a “behavioral problem.”
We have created dogs that are obedient, sterilized, trained, emotionally saturated, yet spiritually dead and physically zombie-like. This is the price of our comfort. And while we believe we have freed them, they have become prisoners of our “humane” concepts. The chain of normality is the strongest of all. Because there is no scream, no audible pain, no blood. Only silent sadness in the eyes of a dog who knows he has lost the right to be what he is.
„He has everything, except himself.“ Our homes have become camps of love.
Invisible Chains of Love Without Boundaries
Every love without boundaries becomes violence. We do not see it because we believe we love. But love without awareness of place, without respect for distance, without honoring another nature, is not love but obsession.
A dog does not ask to be loved like a child, but to be respected as a being. When a dog lies next to us, he does not ask to become human. He asks to remind us that we are animals too. That we breathe, feel, and move through the field of life just like he does. But we rejected that lesson, and now dogs look at us with the same gaze wolves once did, a gaze of understanding and sorrow.
Our homes have become camps of love. Everything looks gentle, clean, and orderly, yet in that sterility something is dying. Every dog who has lost contact with his body, with the earth, with a sense of meaning, becomes a victim of our system of “care.” We call this a humane society, but that society does not know true freedom. Because true freedom is not the absence of a chain, but the presence of awareness. And we have not become aware of our place in relationship with dogs. We have only changed the material.
The Camp of Kindness: Are Our Homes Prisons for Dogs
In the order of harmony, the dog has a deep purpose. He does not exist to serve, but to testify to how far we have strayed from ourselves. When a dog loses peace, it is a sign that we have lost touch with the source. When a dog becomes ill, it is a message that the system between human and nature is broken.
The dog does not carry our mistakes as punishment, but out of loyalty. He will carry our imbalances until we admit that they are ours. And when we do, when we bow to his pain as a mirror of our own unconsciousness, that invisible chain breaks.
False Freedom, Real Suffering
In the desire to give them freedom, we stripped dogs of meaning. In the desire to protect them, we took away their task. In the desire to love them, we took away their dignity.
The law that banned chains is not wrong. It is incomplete. Laws do not change awareness, only behavior. And behavior without awareness becomes a new form of unfreedom. Real change is not when a dog is no longer tied, but when a human stops tying him into their own processes and problems. When we stop seeking confirmation of our value in his gaze. When we stop using his loyalty as medicine for our insecurity.
True freedom is not the absence of a chain, but the presence of awareness.
The Dog as a Prophet
Perhaps one day, if we are quiet enough, we will hear what the dog is trying to tell us. That we do not need to be pitied, but awakened. That the real chain is not between dog and tree, but between human and hypocrisy.
And perhaps then we will understand that the dog does not come into our life to be “ours,” but to teach us how to be part of the world he also belongs to. Not owners of life, but participants in it. Imagine a dog sitting in a yard without a fence. The wind carries the scent of earth, leaves rustle, and he simply breathes. In his eyes there is no fear, no dependency, no expectation. Only peace. That is the image of freedom.
Now imagine another dog, clean, groomed, loved, in an air-conditioned apartment, always in company, but never in silence. His body looks relaxed, but his soul and every muscle are tense. He looks through the window and does not understand where he went wrong.
We say, “He has everything.” But if he could speak, he would say, “I have everything, except myself.”
We freed dogs from chains, but not from ourselves. And as long as we refuse to see what we do not want to admit, that our dogs have become extensions of our inner prisons, freedom will remain only a word. Only when we stop binding them invisibly and finally return to them the place that belongs to them in the order of life will the dog once again be what he has always been: the guardian of the sacred bridge between us and nature. The same nature we admire from afar, while with every action we push it toward the abyss.
And only then might we realize that as long as we keep dogs imprisoned in our fears and illusions, we ourselves remain the greatest prisoners, walking tirelessly toward our own end, convinced we are civilized, while in truth we accelerate our own destruction.
At Integrative and Holistic Grooming Education, we believe that true connection requires the courage to let go of control. Respecting a dog’s nature is the ultimate expression of love. Explore our philosophy: Linktree Sasha Riess
by Sasha Riess | 19.03.26. | Emotions
One wrong sentence, spoken without bad intention, can leave a mark that lasts a lifetime. This is the story of Luka, a boy who lost trust in school and in adults after a teacher publicly called him a falsifier.
How It All Began
Luka was in elementary school when a moment occurred that forever changed his view of school and authority. He brought a doctor’s note that said laryngitis, inflammation of the throat. When the teacher asked him in front of the entire class: “How are you now?” Luka answered: “Good, my stomach does not hurt anymore.”
The teacher laughed and said: “Then how does the note say throat inflammation if your stomach hurt. You are a little falsifier. But you did a good job, it looks like a real doctor’s handwriting.”
The Moment Everything Changed
Luka loved that teacher very much. Those words were a huge shock for him, a feeling of betrayal from a person he trusted deeply. He closed himself off. He became a child who no longer speaks up, who does not ask for attention, and who fears making mistakes.
One single sentence, spoken lightly, marked his childhood and shaped the way he experiences school, trust, and authority.
How Heavy Our Words Really Are
The words of adults have the power to lift a child up or to break him. One moment of carelessness can leave a trace deeper than any grade. The next time we want to correct a child with words, we should remember that he hears much more than we think.
Every child remembers tone, expression, and the sentence that was spoken. Sometimes a simple “I believe you” is enough to heal what someone once hurt without intention.
At Integrative and Holistic Grooming Education, we believe that every being—child or animal—reacts to the energy behind our words. True education starts with safety and trust. Explore our philosophy: Linktree Sasha Riess
by Sasha Riess | 17.03.26. | Emotions
How fear and punishment shape a dog, what we can change, and what the real cost of our choices is. In the space of relationship that we build with dogs, punishment often appears as a simple tool, direct, fast, and visible. But beneath that surface, deep within the delicate layers of a dog’s body and soul, something far more profound is happening.
A change that begins as stress ends as cellular silence. The question is not only whether punishment “works”, but how it continues to live inside the dog, in his neurons, hormones, and emotional architecture. Through this story, I invite you to reflect with me, not as owners or trainers, but as human beings. Not about behavior as a problem, but behavior as a message. Because perhaps the dog is not the one who needs to be “fixed”, but the perspective through which we look at him.
How fear and punishment shape a dog: from momentary stress to cellular silence
Punishment, regardless of its form, whether a raised voice or a physical correction, activates an immediate stress response in the dog’s body. Cortisol rises, the heart speeds up, muscles tighten. On the surface, behavior may appear corrected. The dog stops. Looks. Becomes silent.
But what is actually happening then? Epigenetics teaches us that stress is not just a temporary shadow, but a trace that remains, written into the way genes express themselves. Dogs exposed to frequent punishment show cellular changes that shape their resilience, emotional balance, and even their immune system. This is no longer a matter of training. This is a matter of existence.
How fear and punishment shape a dog and what we can change in our approach
Every dog carries his own inner world, a world of past experiences, inherited predispositions, and internal imbalances. When a dog reacts to punishment, he does not react from an empty space, but from a system that already exists. The behavior we see may be a reaction to the punishment, but also a reflection of what is already happening deep inside.
A dog that is often punished can develop chronic anxiety. His brain changes. Neurons in the amygdala begin to recognize threat where it may not even exist. And then come the reactions: withdrawal, “perfect obedience” that does not come from trust but from inner freezing. This leads us to the essential question: Where does behavior begin? In the reaction, or in the cell? Or perhaps in our gaze directed at the dog?
What can we change in our approach to avoid fear and punishment?
The real cost of our choices
A dog’s behavior is not just what he does. It is what his body is saying. When a dog barks, runs away, licks his paw, or drops his tail, he expresses an inner state, his own microcosm. Every cell in his body communicates in that moment through hormones and impulses. This reactivity is not “bad”. It is sacred. It is the body’s language saying, “I cannot integrate this.”
If a dog stops barking after punishment, we have not solved the problem. We have only switched off the signal. But the inner unrest remains. Cells remember. Does the external influence change the dog, or does his reaction shape his world?
In traditional teachings, an external stimulus creates a reaction. But in a dog’s life, the connection is more complex. Two dogs can experience the same punishment but react differently. One may freeze. Another may try to escape. A third may become aggressive. All of these reactions depend not only on the punishment, but on what already exists inside.
In the Pure Love and Harmony approach, we do not focus solely on what happened, but how it was experienced. Because influence does not exist without response. And every dog’s response is correct for him. Our task is not to shape him to fit us, but to understand the message revealed through him.
Fear as a frozen movement: the example of Little Albert
The famous Little Albert experiment from 1920 shows the power of fear. One loud noise paired with a white mouse changed the boy’s experience of the world. All white, soft objects became a threat. The same dynamic happens with dogs. Punishment does not remain confined to the moment. It expands. A dog does not learn what not to do. He begins to believe the entire world is dangerous. He is not becoming calm. He is shutting down.
What owners often perceive as “calm behavior” is actually a signal of cellular freezing. The dog is quiet, but not present. Obedient, but not free.
Behavior changed by fear: a price not seen right away
Punishment may bring short-term results, but long-term it creates internal fracture. Chronic stress affects the prefrontal cortex, the area responsible for learning, focus, and decision-making. The dog becomes insecure, withdrawn, and stops trusting. This behavior is not the problem. It is the message.
When the dog loses trust, we lose the relationship. And when the relationship is lost, we no longer speak the same language.
Chronic Stress in Dogs: Confusion, Illness, and Silent Signals
What is the real cost of our choices in the relationship with a dog?
How fear and punishment shape a dog and offer an opportunity for understanding
In every dog’s behavior there is an opportunity to learn something about him, but also about ourselves. His reactivity is a reflection of the relationship we build together. His silence may be our unconscious sharpness. His aggression may be our impatience. And this is not blame. It is an invitation.
If we view the dog as a system rather than an individual who must “behave”, we will see something new. We will see how the external world enters through his senses and shapes an inner landscape. That landscape shapes behavior. And our presence can be either light in that landscape or shadow.
There is another path
Instead of correcting behavior through punishment, we can support it through understanding. Through such an approach, the dog learns through safety. His body releases dopamine and serotonin, hormones of presence and joy. Cells begin to repair. Reactions calm down. Behavior changes naturally, not because it must, but because it finally can.
How fear and punishment shape a dog: a message for us and a lesson in togetherness
Dogs do not teach us through perfection. They teach us through authenticity. Their behavior is a mirror that does not lie. When we choose punishment, we choose control. When we choose understanding, we choose connection.
Let this text not be criticism, but invitation. To look again. To ask a different question. Not “How do I punish him so he listens?”, but “How do I understand him so he trusts me?” Within that question lies the entire transformation. Not only in the dog’s behavior, but in our own ability to be human, present, aware, and in service of life.
At Integrative and Holistic Grooming Education, we believe that silence is not always peace. We teach you to listen to what the dog’s body is saying when the voice is quiet. Explore our philosophy: Linktree Sasha Riess
by Sasha Riess | 16.03.26. | Emotions
In this story we explore how fear of life, trauma, and family order shape our decisions, through a moving story about Roberto and his dog. You will learn how painful partings can become lessons in acceptance and freedom.
When Parting With a Dog Becomes a Mirror of the Soul
After the previous column, most reactions came to the part about Roberto and his dog. Many asked, “How could he leave him” People wrote to me about their own painful separations from dogs. Some expressed anger, others felt touched by their own unresolved grief. Almost everyone wanted to know whether the decision was really his or whether he could have chosen differently. There were far more questions about the separation than about the sexual abuse the child endured in his family. And that is exactly why I want to stay with this topic. Because in that one scene, in which a boy cannot bear to look at his dog and decides to give him away, lies a mirror of much bigger questions, about free will, about destiny, about our tendency to judge, and about what it truly means to accept life. At first glance, Roberto “simply” made a choice. He had a dog, the dog made a mess in the house, and Roberto decided he could no longer look at him. He chose to take him away, and with that, he ended their relationship. But that is only the surface. Behind that choice stood an unbearable truth, the truth about the violence Roberto experienced from his father and grandfather.
The dog, through his act, became an unconscious witness to everything that could not be named in that family. His presence became a mirror that reflected what was forbidden to see. And suddenly, the boy could no longer endure it. The dog revealed the family secret through his body. And the child, powerless before that force, did the only thing he knew how to do, he ran away. And this brings us to the essence, did Roberto really choose
Free Will and the Order of Love
Free will is not what we imagine. We like to believe that our will is a sword that cuts through life and that we can direct everything by ourselves. But free will is only a thin veil. Behind that veil are forces we do not see. Family loyalties, inherited destinies, unspoken grief, suppressed fears. Our decisions are often not truly ours. They are movements of a system in which we are only one piece. Roberto could not have acted differently at that time. His action was the movement of a child’s soul trying to protect his mother from the father’s brutality. Trying to hide the shame and violence they lived with. Sacrificing himself to keep the family secret untouched. On the surface it looked like irresponsibility. In the depth it was a powerless sacrifice, an attempt to save what a child cannot control. It was the same movement that later pushed him into prostitution, alcoholism, and drug use, all in a paradoxical attempt to survive. Was it worth it It is easy to say, “A bad man. A coward. A traitor.” But what happens then Bert Hellinger once said: “Everything is in its place. For the creative force of life there is no better or worse. Everything serves something. And whenever we judge, we lose connection with this force. We become weak. Those who judge always end up alone. Because whoever stands next to someone who constantly judges soon withdraws. Judgment isolates. It impoverishes us, and every time we judge, something precious is lost forever.”
The touch of hand and paw – a moment where love transcends judgment.
The Dog’s Look Without Judgment
When we look at Roberto through judgment, we see only the act of leaving the dog. But we do not see the powerless child, the young man trying to hide the pain, or the adult who had to survive a burden greater than himself. And who eventually found his way back to himself, his heart, and his life. Judgment closes doors. Understanding opens them. What hurts us most in these stories is that dogs do not have a concept of betrayal. They do not understand our human constructs. When we leave them, they may look back once more. But in that look there is no judgment. There is only what is. It is a look that, paradoxically, frees us. It reminds us that there are relationships beyond judgment. That harmony can be found even through painful separation. When we judge Roberto, we see only the act of leaving the dog. But we do not see the child who was powerless, the young man who hid pain, the adult who survived what no child should, and the man who eventually returned to himself.
The River of Life, Acceptance of What Is
If we imagine life as a river, we believe we are standing on the shore choosing when to enter, where to swim, and where to leave. But in truth, we are already in the river. From birth we are in the river of life. The water carries us. It carries us to its mouth where we will look death in the eye. The river is sometimes calm, sometimes wild, sometimes pushes us into rocks. Our freedom is not in stopping the river or choosing its direction. Our freedom is in surrendering and saying yes to what is. Yes when it hurts. Yes when we do not understand. Yes when we wish life were different. That yes does not justify violence or erase pain. But it frees us from the illusion that we could have changed everything. It frees us from guilt and endless rethinking. No, it could not have been different. But yes, it can be different from now on. Free will means surrendering to the river of life and swimming with the support of all who belong to that river, all who came before us, all who were excluded, rejected, condemned, or forgotten.
The River of Life – flows without judgment, carrying us toward understanding and freedom.
When we recognize everything that was, and when we say yes to everything that was and everything that is, the door to tomorrow opens. We do not have to build what is already created. We only need to learn how to open our arms to life. Our partings with dogs are lessons about life. Some part with a dog because he gets lost. Some because circumstances pull them apart. Some because the dog leaves first. And some, like Roberto, because they can no longer bear what the dog reveals. In all these situations we feel pain and the question returns, did we really choose Or were we chosen by something larger Perhaps true freedom is not in choosing. Perhaps true freedom is in stopping judgment, both of ourselves and of others. To say, “That is how it was. At that moment it could not have been different.” And then the inner battle ends. The feeling of betrayal ends. Peace comes. The look of a dog, even when we leave him, may be the greatest gift he leaves us. Because in that look there is no judgment. No contempt. No label. Only life moving forward.
Perhaps that look reminds us of what we ourselves must learn, that life is not about judging, but about accepting. That love is not always beautiful and easy, but often painful and paradoxical. And that we stop being lonely only when we stop judging. Only when we stop running from life. Only when we say yes to life as a whole and open ourselves to a future we could not imagine. Roberto did not “just” leave a dog. He was pulled by forces larger than him, part of a wider family system. His act was painful, but it revealed truth. And it left us with a question, how much of our decision making is truly ours Dogs remind us of what exists beyond judgment. They return us to connection with life, even through separation. And perhaps right there, in the moment we stop judging and say yes, true freedom begins.
At Integrative and Holistic Grooming Education, we believe that communication is felt, not forced. We teach you how to listen to your dog’s soul instead of just commanding their body. Explore our philosophy: Linktree Sasha Riess
by Sasha Riess | 15.03.26. | Emotions
Many owners believe every dog must love walks. But the truth is, some dogs experience walks as stress — not pleasure. When a dog reacts intensely outside, it doesn’t always mean disobedience — it might be a reflection of your own emotional tension.
Don’t Force Walks If Your Dog Doesn’t Want Them
One owner shared: “We’ve had one dog for five years, and the other has been with us for five months. Every walk with him feels like a risk.” There is no such thing as a “pleasant walk” with a dog that doesn’t want to walk — it’s like forcing someone having a seizure to dance.
For such dogs, walking is not enjoyment but stress. Everything around them is overstimulating: other animals, people, smells, sounds, interactions. When a stimulus activates, the dog reacts. There’s already a fixed neural pathway between an external trigger and the central nervous system’s response. In that moment, you can’t bypass the reaction. If you expose the dog to triggers, he will simply — react. That’s when you need to withdraw, return home, and work on removing the cause — not “fixing” the dog.
Is Your Dog Too Attached to You — or Are You to Him?
Many owners say, “My dog is too attached to me.” But the real question is — is he too attached to you, or are you too attached to him? Pause and ask yourself honestly: Do you allow your dog to be a dog — a free being with emotions and boundaries? Or is he your support, the one who fills the emptiness you carry inside?
Excessive emotional entanglement often creates stress for the dog, even though it may look like love.
Emotional Attachment Isn’t Love
In The Alchemist of the Perfect Relationship, it says: “I wanted my dog to look at me the way I wanted my parents to look at me.” That’s what many people unconsciously do — through their dog, they seek the gaze, understanding, attention, and love they never received. And they hope that if they love their dog enough, someone else will finally see them. But real love for a dog doesn’t come from need. It comes from freedom.
Looking for the Cause Within
None of this is about guilt — it’s an invitation to awareness. When you start looking for the causes of your dog’s behavior within yourself rather than in him — that’s when true growth begins. Your dog isn’t “attached to you” as much as you are attached to what you’re experiencing through him. You might be doing everything “right,” yet something still doesn’t feel aligned — that’s a sign you’re emotionally entangled. That’s not love — it’s a bond that suffocates both of you. Only when you let go — when you allow your dog to simply be a dog — the relationship becomes healing and free.
At Integrative and Holistic Grooming Education, we believe that communication is felt, not forced. We teach you how to listen to your dog’s soul instead of just commanding their body. Explore our philosophy: Linktree Sasha Riess
by Sasha Riess | 13.03.26. | Emotions
There was a time when dogs died peacefully in their sleep — without clinics, diagnoses, or “final visits to the vet.” They passed quietly at home, beside their humans. They didn’t have medical charts thicker than novels or endless appointments with specialists. The dogs of our grandparents lived and died with dignity — simply, as dogs.
The Judas Kiss at the Last Heartbeat
Today, dogs are consumed by diseases that have become the new normal — tumors, epilepsy, autoimmune disorders, and chronic inflammation. Instead of facing the truth of how our choices brought them there, we choose euthanasia. We call it “mercy.” But it’s not mercy. It’s helplessness — and hypocrisy.
Dogs no longer die suddenly and quietly. They die slowly — day by day, month by month — not because their time hasn’t come, but because they feel us. Their hearts keep beating even when their bodies have already given up — because they are still bound by our love, our fear, and our inability to let go.
Loyalty and the Right to a Dignified End
They stay because they believe it’s their duty to be there for us. They stay through pain and exhaustion because we’ve never freed them from the idea that they are our “angels” or our “only joy.” We never gave them permission to be simply — dogs.
We hold them back because it hurts to imagine life without them. And when that pain becomes unbearable, we choose to kill them — calling it “release.” But the truth is harder: We do it because we can’t bear to face what their final days reflect — the reality of what we’ve become.
The Hypocrisy of Our Lives
Isn’t it hypocritical? We work jobs we hate, share beds with people we no longer love, and stay in relationships that drain us. And so, when faced with pain, we choose what we’ve already chosen for ourselves — death as escape. Only this time, not for us — but for them.
The Other Way: Love and Freedom
There is another way — a life lived in love and harmony, where we learn that death isn’t an ending, but a transition. Where we can look our dog in the eyes and say: “You can go now. Your mission is complete. I’ll stay until my time comes. Thank you for every moment of love and service.”
When those words finally come from the heart — they understand. And then, they can go. Quietly. Freely. Without injections, without the “ceremony of goodbye.” They simply lie down and drift away because we released them.
When our pain becomes unbearable, we choose to kill them.
Euthanasia Is Not Love
Euthanasia is not love. Love is letting them go when their time truly comes — without fear, without control, without disguising weakness as compassion. As our hand trembles above their body, we call it “mercy,” but what we give is often a Judas kiss — an act that appears gentle, yet carries the mark of betrayal.
We owe them the right to a dignified end — the same dignity they offered us every day of their lives. From the very start, they must know they are free — never bound to stay longer than destiny allows. Love doesn’t hold. Love releases.
At Integrative and Holistic Grooming Education, we believe that communication is felt, not forced. We teach you how to listen to your dog’s soul instead of just commanding their body. Explore our philosophy: Linktree Sasha Riess
