03/11/2026
My dog was a winner. Now she’s “reactive”.
Same dog. Different world.
Starting university has given me a rather personal appreciation of that sentence. 💡
Grab a cuppa and stay with me. ☕ This is a longer post, but there’s a connection here that feels important—for me, for how I work with your dogs, and perhaps for some of you too.
A little verbal vomiting, hopefully with a point. I think it’s interesting, anyway. Admittedly, I am marking my own homework.
For anyone who doesn’t know her, Misty is my retired racing greyhound. She was a bloody good racer. 🏆
Her drive to chase was part of what made her successful. Then she retired and entered our world, where those same instincts needed careful management.
Nobody issued her with a new brain and instructions to take up brunch.
The expectations changed. Misty was still Misty.
I understood that when I adopted her. The rehoming centre explained what she would need, and I listened. More importantly, I heard.
She was coming into a world she didn’t know. Of course I would need to make adjustments.
I haven’t suddenly discovered that. What’s new is recognising the similarity to my own experience.
Starting university this year has brought challenges I expected and some I really didn’t. It has also prompted some unexpected discoveries about myself. There’s been rather a lot to process.
In my clinic, I’m capable. I know my work. I’ve built a business and found ways of working that allow me to use my strengths.
That doesn’t mean everything is easy. I struggle every day with things most people don’t see.
You see me coping. You don’t necessarily see what it takes.
But within that, I’m achieving. In my environment, I’m winning too.
University puts that same person into unfamiliar systems, rigid structures and different expectations. I struggled at school because of my ADHD, and parts of this environment feel similarly alien to how I think and process things.
I’m still capable. I still know what I know. I want to learn.
But bloody hell, a change of environment can make a difference to how well you can function.
Misty didn’t become a different dog when she left racing. I haven’t become a different person because I’ve entered university.
What’s being asked of us has changed. So what helps us succeed needs to change too.
Before I go further: I am not a trained behaviourist. I’ve undertaken some behavioural training, worked with dogs and owners for years, and sought professional advice about Misty. These are reflections on those experiences.
The behaviourist I worked with felt that Misty’s reactions were driven more by the excitement of the chase than nervousness. That fits much of what I see. My description would be an adrenaline ju**ie. Sometimes her response looks like outright rage.
Misty doesn’t want to “say hello”. Even introductions to other greyhounds need time, careful management and respect for whether she wants to interact.
She has successfully lived with two greyhounds, including Woody, who she still lives with. She very definitely prefers male company. She even has an English Pointer boyfriend, so apparently there is an exceptions committee.
Her early world was greyhounds. Other breeds seem harder for her to make sense of. Larger dogs appear easier for her to recognise as dogs; smaller, particularly fluffy dogs can trigger a dangerous chase response that could be fatal to the other dog.
I take that seriously. Understanding her instincts is part of managing the risk.
Those instincts didn’t arrive when she became a pet. They helped make her successful in the life she had before.
So I gave her time. Learned about her. Respected her limits. Managed situations and adjusted expectations.
It wasn’t perfect. It still isn’t. But with love, patience and those adjustments, I would argue she now thrives. 🐾
She has a safe, comfortable, enjoyable life. She doesn’t need to greet every dog to have that.
Sometimes advocating for her means asking another owner to stop approaching—preferably before their dog arrives to explain that it’s friendly.
I’m sure it is. That isn’t the information we’re missing here.
And she has changed over time. Some things have become easier. I need to notice that, rather than letting an old label decide what I expect from her forever.
It’s a principle I try to apply in my clinic.
I read clinical histories and take handling concerns seriously. I also watch the dog in front of me. Sometimes a dog described as anxious or reactive shows very little of that during their appointment.
Their difficulties elsewhere are still real. But what helps them here? The space? The pace? The approach?
There’s useful information in that—if we’re curious enough to notice it.
Once we’ve decided what someone is like, it’s easy to keep collecting evidence that proves us right. We can miss what’s changed, what helps, or what we misunderstood.
We’re allowed to look again. We’re allowed to change our minds.
Meanwhile, owners are trying to make decisions with the internet shouting in both ears.
Walk more. Walk less. Socialise them. Give them space.
And someone who consulted Dr Google over breakfast is now delivering their master’s dissertation in your comments.
Some advice is excellent. Some is well-meaning. Some people shout an awful lot and say remarkably little.
Qualified advice can be invaluable. But it needs to account for the actual dog and the actual person putting it into practice.
Sometimes we need to turn the volume down and go back to basics.
What’s going well? Where does it become difficult? What helps? What makes it harder?
Build on the strengths. Make the difficult parts manageable. Set realistic expectations and make sure the support actually helps.
We could do more of that for people too. How much ability do we overlook when we’re busy checking whether someone fits a system or ticks a box?
I’m not sharing this for sympathy. I’m sharing a connection that’s made me think. I want to keep learning, developing and becoming better at what I do. This feels relevant to my patients, their owners and me.
Because we’re expecting our dogs to live in our world. We decide so much about their lives. Let’s respect what that asks of them a little more.
University expects me to function in its world too. And even though I have language, sometimes I struggle to communicate what I need or how I feel.
Our dogs communicate, but they don’t have the words to explain it to us.
If it can be hard to make yourself understood when you can speak, think how much harder it is when you can’t.
We need to listen so that we actually hear.
I always understood that coming into my world asked a lot of Misty. Now I’m navigating an unfamiliar world myself, I can feel the similarity from the other side.
I’ve never thought less of her for needing adjustments. I’m trying to give myself the same consideration.
I hope I’m giving her everything she needs. I believe I am, and I’m doing my level best. I’ll keep listening, learning and adjusting.
And if you’re doing your level best too, keep going—even when it feels insanely hard.
Your life together doesn’t have to look like somebody else’s.
Misty was a winner in her racing world. With understanding and adjustments, she’s thriving in mine.
Needing support in a different world doesn’t erase what either of us is capable of. 🐾
