Animal welfare: respecting its nature rather than projecting it
In many contemporary discussions, canine well-being is defined through a human lens. Comfort, warmth, constant presence, and uninterrupted attention are assumed to guarantee happiness. This reasoning seems logical when viewed from a human perspective, but it often proves overly simplistic. A dog's well-being is not measured by the number of cushions, but by the opportunity to express its true nature.
Anthropomorphism It consists of projecting our human physiological and emotional needs onto the animal. We cover it to protect it from the cold, we surround it to reassure it, we forbid it from getting dirty as if it were a child.
The intention is generous, the effect is not always.
This is not to say that the dog doesn't like being with us in the warmth, following us around, sleeping on a comfortable bed, but rather that it doesn't correspond to its true nature.
Even if it's comfortable, it's not necessarily where he thrives.
Overprotection, excessive comfort, and imbalance
An overprotected dog is deprived of what shapes it: the experience of its environment. Excessive comfort can isolate, reduce stimulation, and ultimately generate stress.
Behaviors that are later interpreted as character or obedience disorders often stem from a deeper frustration: lack of freedom, absence of clear rules, inability to explore, life without surprises.
Hardiness doesn't inherently create suffering. On the contrary, it offers opportunities for movement, change, and adaptation. Rain, wind, temperature variations, smells, soil, and vegetation are not aggressions for a healthy dog. They form a natural environment in which it knows how to thrive, and above all, in which it flourishes.
Understanding what a dog wants
When you observe a dog free to roam in a safe environment, you discover fundamental behaviors. It digs, sometimes for no apparent reason, simply to smell the earth and its scents.
He sniffs the tracks for a long time, follows a trail, rolls in what seems dirty to us. He will lick mud or dry carcasses, for the taste, for the smell, for the sensory experience. He interacts with his pack in a subtle language made up of postures, distances, vocalizations, and silences. He barks, becomes agitated for a reason inaudible to us, basks in a ray of sunshine in the bitter cold, or sleeps in the pouring rain when he has the option of taking shelter, and all for reasons that are foreign to most modern humans.
He can remain motionless for a long time, observing. Then he'll set off briskly to explore another area. This back-and-forth of attention and movement builds his balance. Far from screens, carpets, and sofas, The dog feeds on the real world.
These behaviors are not mere distractions. They contribute to a dog's cognitive, emotional, and physiological development. A dog that never has the opportunity to experience this gradually loses part of its identity.
Loss of hardiness and biased selection
The confusion between well-being and comfort also influences the way some dogs are selected.
When appearance and childlike features are prioritized, function and health are sometimes overlooked. Some bloodlines no longer breathe properly, cannot tolerate exertion, and suffer from chronic illnesses.
We sought to please the human eye, without worrying about the real well-being of the animal: we can then coddle the animal as much as we want, the damage is done.
This tendency stems from the same mechanism: thinking about the dog based on our own criteria. Paradoxically, a robust, well-built animal, capable of living outdoors, running, sniffing, and tiring itself out, is a healthier animal.
A dog's well-being depends on access to nature and the freedom to express its instincts within a framework acceptable to humans.
It does not need constant attention but a consistent environment.
Having the choice to sleep under a dry shelter or in the rain, moving freely in natural terrain, interacting with other dogs that form his pack: what if these were actually the needs of man's best friend?
Wouldn't having the option of a space where one can withdraw without being disturbed be offering him the respect he deserves?
If we choose not to tell ourselves a story that suits us, how can we continue to call it our best friend? Smoothed-out personality, imposed obedience, schedules for going to the bathroom, affection on demand, processed food, altered appearance, forced or forbidden reproduction… In its place, would you call us your best friend?
Balance does not arise from fusion, but from trust.
It is not born from hyper-comfort, but from experience.
Psychological resilience is built through alternating between rest and exploration, closeness and autonomy, interaction and the possibility of withdrawing from it.
A dog that can experience the world through its canine lens is more serene, more confident, more stable.
To love a dog is to respect it for what it is, not for what we would like it to be.
True animal welfare is not about making the dog a member of the family in the human sense. It is about considering it as a living being with specific needs.
Understanding a dog means accepting that a mud puddle can be more interesting than a cushion, that a pile of wet leaves can be more attractive than a blanket, that a group of fellow dogs can matter more than a shared sofa.
Authentic love does not transform the animal into a human or into a cuddly toy – a tool for emotional transfer! A stuffed animal can take on this role.
True love observes, adjusts, and secures without confining.
It allows what makes a dog to exist: its sense of smell, its movement, its strength, its endurance, its curiosity, its pack…
Respecting a dog means allowing it to be a dog!
If these topics interest you, also take a look at this page. Preserve rusticity
And Hardiness, nervous balance and versatility
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