by Sasha Riess | 27.03.26. | Emotions
The Janissary Dog: Sorrow and the Absence of Instinct in the Modern Human Dog Relationship
There is a phenomenon rarely spoken about, something we have done slowly, quietly, and almost imperceptibly across generations, as if it were a natural process. Dogs as a mirror of society. We speak about dogs, our most loyal companions, but not in the romantic sense we are used to. We speak about how we turned one of humanity’s oldest allies into our own janissaries. Not in the historical military sense, but in a symbolic, psychological, and systemic one.
Deformation of the Human Dog Relationship: The Loss of Role and Original Nature
We created beings separated from their origin, from their inner order, from their primal nature, and reshaped them to serve our needs, our projections, and our wounds. We did this under the disguise of care, safety, love, and modern civilization. The result was not harmony, but a deep deformation of the relationship between human and dog.
Loss of Role, Loss of Health
When I observe a dog in the modern urban environment, I often ask myself how much of it is still a dog, and how much has become a product of our neuroses, fears, inner emptiness, and unfulfilled needs. Historically, janissaries were children taken from their families, torn from their origin, religion, and culture, then reeducated to completely forget who they were before becoming instruments of another will. When applied to dogs, the same pattern emerges.
We took away their instinct. We took away their right to movement. We took away the role that defined them for millennia as beings maintaining balance in nature. Their original purpose was clear. To guard territory. To inform the pack. To maintain the rhythm of village life. To hunt. To herd. To accompany humans as partners in the real world, not in a simulation of life.
In the modern human dog relationship, the dog has lost its purpose. Not because nature demanded it, but because we assigned a new purpose that serves our emotional deficits. Today, the dog exists to fill what we fail to fill in human relationships. To be therapy. To be an emotional prosthesis. To be a living cushion for comfort, a living charger for belonging, a living neutralizer of loneliness, frustration, and inadequacy. In this process, the dog disappears and only a function remains. The original identity is lost, and what emerges is what we metaphorically call a janissary.
The Price Paid: The Janissary as a Psychological Pattern
The most painful part is that most people believe they are helping the dog. The truth is far darker. A dog that is no longer allowed to move freely and be a dog will not develop emotional or physical stability. It becomes frustrated, tense, energetically overloaded, and neurologically imbalanced. This is a dog no longer living from the inner order of nature, but reacting impulsively to the environment imposed upon it.
It is a dog born and raised without understanding its own role. A dog that spends most of its life waiting for a human to explain what is allowed and what is forbidden. A dog that does not govern its body, but oscillates between shutdown and explosion. A dog that no longer knows how to be a dog, but knows how to react to human emotional disturbances. A dog that guards the human instead of guarding space. A dog that reacts to trauma instead of choosing function.
A Mirror of Human Nature
In Chinese medicine it is said that whoever loses their role loses their health. This applies to humans and animals alike. When we take away a dog’s role, we remove part of the inner order from which vitality flows. The result is a dog in constant energetic conflict. A dog that ignites easily, collapses easily, withdraws easily, and becomes reactive. A dog that is simultaneously too much and too little. Too much energy without structure and too little safety without stability. This is the psychological pattern of the janissary. A being removed from its source and placed into an unnatural relational matrix, where it learns to live for another’s will and stability.
In trying to protect dogs from the world, we protect them from themselves. We have normalized extreme control.
Fear of Instinct: Sterilization as Systemic Control
As a society, we have normalized extreme control. Collars. Leashes. Restricted movement. Prohibited socialization. Banned instinctive behavior. Banned barking. Banned courting. Banned territorial marking. All justified as being for the dog’s own good. It seems we fear allowing the dog to be what it is. Like a parent too afraid to let a child fall, holding them so tightly they never learn to walk.
In trying to protect dogs from the world, we protect them from themselves. We create generations of dogs who never learn stability because they never experience their own motor intelligence, territoriality, and energetic boundaries.
These processes are not accidental. They reflect our relationship with our own instincts. As we treat dogs, so we treat our own nature. People afraid of their inner strength fear the dog’s strength. People afraid of emotional freedom fear canine freedom. Those who have not integrated their inner wolf cannot allow their dog to remain a descendant of wolves.
Such a human reshapes the dog into a pleasant, obedient, functional janissary who emits what the human cannot feel. The dog becomes an emotional filter and absorber, carrying tensions, sorrows, fears, and guilt that are not its own.
Another form of systemic manipulation appears in the idea of sterilization as a universal solution. Behind the mask of humane population control lies a deeper dynamic. When we say the only solution is removing a dog’s sexuality, we prefer a dog weakened along its vital axis. A dog without hormones is a dog without part of its life force. Like a janissary severed from origin, the dog is cut from biological wholeness. There are situations where sterilization is responsible, but what we live today is a mass practice driven by comfort rather than necessity. We prefer dogs without passion, without drive, without instinctual energy. Dogs that do not initiate, demand, or claim space. Dogs that fit our mold. That is the janissary. A living being whose strength is adjusted to the needs of its owner.
A dog returned to itself becomes stronger and more stable. Order comes before obedience.
Returning to Ourselves: How to Break the Janissary Cycle
The Return of Natural Order
As long as we believe harmony means the dog ceasing to be a dog, we live in an ideological relationship, not a natural one. We have placed dogs into a system that suits us, not them. We hold them hostage to our ideas of order, cleanliness, peace, and emotional relief. Then we are surprised by explosions of reactivity, fear, neurosis, aggression, excessive attachment, or total apathy. This is not canine pathology. It is the consequence of an imposed system.
A janissary was never aggressive by nature, but by growing within a distorted identity space. The same applies to dogs and humans who lose touch with their nature.
There is a way out. We do not return dogs to themselves through more control, but by allowing them to feel their place again. Not as humans define place, but as nature defines it. This is the return of order. Not the order of obedience, but the order that existed before human rules. An order where every being has a role. Where every being has the right to be what it is. Where humans are not masters of canine destiny, but partners in a shared field of life.
When a human truly sees the dog before seeing the role they need it to play, the transformation stops. The dog is no longer shaped into a janissary, but returned to itself. A dog returned to itself becomes stronger, calmer, more stable, more present, and more fulfilled. It is no longer an extension of human emotional deficiency, but an autonomous being choosing relationship rather than merely reacting to it. The human no longer gains an obedient subordinate, but a living partner.
If we want healthy dogs, we must become humans who live with healthy instincts. If we want free dogs, we must become humans capable of freedom without fear of our own strength. If we want to stop creating janissary dogs, we must stop living as people who turned their wounds into identity.
A dog living beside a stable human will never become a janissary. A dog living beside a wounded and lost human will always carry that burden. The question is not about dogs. It is about us. The dog is only the mirror. And in that mirror, we see everything we are running from. As long as we run from ourselves, we will create janissaries. When we stop running, we begin returning dogs what belongs to them. And in doing so, we return to ourselves what we lost long ago.
At Sasha Riess Wellness, we strive to restore the natural order of the human dog relationship. We move beyond emotional projections to find true partnership. Explore our philosophy: Linktree Sasha Riess
by Sasha Riess | 25.03.26. | Emotions
Allergies in dogs aren’t just physical reactions to food or environmental triggers — they’re often messages from the body and soul. Through a dog’s symptoms, we can see how much the owner’s stress, emotions, and energy shape the dog’s health. Understanding the roots of a canine allergy requires us to look beyond the surface.
The Quiet Message of Canine Allergy
There is no quieter cry for help than an allergy. No noise. No screaming. No attack. Just itch. Just redness. Just a body trying to expel what it can no longer tolerate. And in this case, the body isn’t ours — it’s the dog’s.
Symptoms That Speak Louder Than Words
For years people have called me about allergies. The dog scratches, chews his paws, loses hair, breaks out in rashes. They hunt for the culprit in food, grass, detergents, or kibble. And the question is always the same: “What is he allergic to?”
More and more often, I take a breath and say: “To you.”
Not literally. Not as an accusation. But as an invitation to awareness. A dog can’t choose his own life. He lives ours. He eats what we give him, breathes the air of our home, walks at our pace, sleeps when we sleep. A dog is the truest mirror of the life we lead. And if he’s suffocating, itching, protesting, and falling apart — that’s not a sign to change the brand of food. It’s a sign to look at what, exactly, we’re feeding.
Allergy as an Inner Conflict
By its nature, allergy is conflict — rejection. Physiologically, it’s an overreaction of the immune system to something that should be harmless but has become unrecognizable. The body refuses to accept it and tries to expel it. Systemically, it means a boundary has been crossed — the organism can no longer tolerate a lie.
The Dog as a Mirror of the Owner’s Life
Now imagine a dog who becomes allergic to chicken, beef, pollen — to things tied to life, strength, fertility, movement, the presence of nature. On the level of the body, his system is shouting: “This isn’t my life. This isn’t for me. I can’t digest it.”
Then we look at the owner and see a forgotten person. Forgotten by himself. Forgotten in a marriage that has traded tenderness for mere correctness. Forgotten in a job that’s no longer a choice but a climate-controlled cell with monthly paychecks. Forgotten in a body that no longer feels hunger but runs on habit. Forgotten in a sexuality that’s no longer lived.
Civilization and Suppression
This isn’t about blame. It’s civilization. We were taught to be polite, useful, productive — not to disturb the order. Not to want too much, ask too much, feel too much. When we suppress our hunger for life, for the body, for touch, for feeling and sexuality, the body that no longer knows how to say “I want” begins to say “I mustn’t.”
And the dog — who feels everything, resonates with our nervous system, absorbs our chemistry, our unfinished thoughts, our unspoken grief — begins to react. He can’t digest what we give him because we’re not giving from love but from guilt. He can’t tolerate the life we offer because we ourselves can no longer tolerate our own.
So the dog isn’t allergic to food. He’s allergic to us. Or, more precisely, to the life we, as his humans, have forgotten how to live.
Physiology: What’s Actually Happening
That’s hard to admit.
Physiologically, a canine allergy is an overreaction to a harmless substance. A confused, depleted immune system sees threat where there is none. Instead of protecting, it starts attacking — everything. The only question is: what will be the trigger.
Stress, the Microbiome, and the Invisible Link
In dogs with chronic symptoms we often see the same story: cortisol — the stress hormone — stays elevated. It signals danger. The system switches to survival mode. Blood leaves the stomach for the muscles. Digestion halts. Blood sugar spikes. Gut pH turns acidic. The microbiome — that separate organ of trillions of bacteria — begins to collapse. Without it, food isn’t digested. Everything becomes toxic. The dog eats but doesn’t utilize. He’s fed yet starving. He receives but cannot assimilate. His body becomes a battlefield. Not because the food is “wrong,” but because everything in him has been put on alert without a break.
Behind every allergy might lie an unspoken emotion – a dog often feels what the owner suppresses.
Where It Starts: When a Dog No Longer Knows Where He Belongs
It begins quietly — the moment a dog no longer knows to whom he belongs, which species he belongs to, what his role is. He only knows he must stay near us. Because he loves us. And because we are falling apart.
The Dog as a Substitute
It starts when the dog becomes a stand-in. When he enters during a time of pain — a gift to a child after a divorce, a comfort after a parent’s death, a “new chance” when everything else has failed. While we believe the dog loves us unconditionally, each day he gets more lost in a role that was never his.
He begins to carry what cannot be carried. And his body shows it — through skin, through gut, through allergy.
Allergy as a Metaphor for the Life We Don’t Live
Allergy isn’t just a physical response. It’s a metaphor. A message. Resistance. A symptom that says: “I can’t digest this.” And most often it’s not about chicken. Food isn’t the problem — it’s the symbol. Food is life. When a dog becomes “allergic to food,” what he’s often trying to say is: “I’m allergic to the life I’m living.”
But whose life is that?
The Owner’s Life as the Key
It’s the owner’s life — woven with suppressed emotions, compromises, and polite smiles. A life without joy, touch, or presence. A life of waking next to someone you no longer love. Of going to a job you can’t stand. A life where “I’m fine” is just a façade.
A dog doesn’t understand that. He absorbs it. Tries to break it down, to “digest” it. When he cannot, the body reacts. Because love without order becomes poison.
Hypoallergenic Diets: Solution or Surrender?
Then comes the next phase: “But my dog has no more symptoms on a hypoallergenic diet.” Anti-allergy food — industrially broken down under extreme heat and pressure — is no longer food. It’s a semi-digested mash of amino acids, fractionated fats, and processed carbohydrates. There’s nothing left to digest. It doesn’t provoke — but it doesn’t nourish either. It carries no character, no information, no vitality. The body accepts it without resistance — because there’s nothing left to receive.
Hypoallergenic food is often just a temporary fix – the root of the problem lies deeper, in how the dog and owner live.
The Silence of Symptoms Isn’t Healing
Phenomenologically, the absence of symptoms is not the same as healing. It can be life giving up — and we call that progress. If a dog can function only on sterile, inert food, that isn’t health. That’s capitulation — like all our compromises. Food without taste. Relationships without touch. Days without meaning.
When a dog can again eat real, living food without reacting — then we know the body has renewed itself. Then life can enter again. And often, it means our own life has started moving again, too.
A Dog’s Loyalty — and His Quiet Tragedy
Dogs love blindly. That is their magnificent tragedy. In systemic work we know: what remains unresolved is passed on. In human–dog relationships, that transmission is direct — from soul to body. The dog becomes the bearer of a dynamic no one recognizes.
A canine allergy to chicken may be an allergy to the fact that we keep smiling when we don’t want to. A “pollen allergy” may be resistance to life blooming outside while the flowers of our sexuality wither within.
When Love Turns Toxic
When love is out of order, it becomes poison. And the dog carries it — silently. So when you ask me, “What should I feed a dog with allergies?” I no longer have a single recipe to give you. I’ve shared thousands. I can only ask: “What are you feeding your life?”
Returning to Life — Your Dog as Your Barometer
A dog eats what we serve — but digests what we radiate. If we live dead relationships, suppress feelings, feed illusions and polite smiles — if we’re surviving instead of living — a dog can’t understand it, but he feels it. And he reacts. Not as disease, but as message.
Dogs don’t lie. Their skin doesn’t lie. Their itch doesn’t lie. We do. If we stop lying, the dog can finally breathe. That is healing — not symptomatic, but deep, present, alive. That is love — not the commercial kind, but the real kind, the kind that sees and looks toward the future.
A Gentle Self-Check: What Is Your Dog Really Telling You?
Answer honestly — not as self-blame, but as an invitation to awareness:
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Does your dog have chronic allergies, itching, rashes, or digestive issues?
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Have you rotated through foods, shampoos, and supplements without a lasting solution?
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When you look at your dog, do you see only symptoms — or also sadness, exhaustion, restlessness?
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Are you living the life you truly want — or just functioning out of duty, habit, obligation?
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Are you in relationships you’ve stayed in out of fear rather than love?
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Do you sometimes feed your dog out of obligation instead of love and presence?
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Have you felt “tired of everything” lately without knowing why?
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Does your dog come to you when you’re upset — and do you push him away?
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Did your dog’s symptoms worsen after a major family change (divorce, move, death, illness)?
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If your dog could speak, would he say: “I can’t carry this for you anymore”?
Your Dog as Your Reflection
If you answered “yes” to more than a few of these, your dog may not need a brand-new food. He may be mirroring your life. And if you return to your own life, he may no longer have to run from his body.
At Integrative and Holistic Grooming Education, we look beyond the itch. We help you decode the language of the soul reflected in the skin. Real health begins with real truth. Explore our philosophy: Linktree Sasha Riess
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
