Why I fulfill my dog differently than I used to
It wasn't a purposeful shift—but we've become much less pragmatic. Here's a look back on Scout's fulfillment changes and their causes.
Drafted after a particularly nostalgic night in south Florida.
I have been reminiscing a lot lately: about my summer internship at an elephant sanctuary after I graduated college, about falling in love with Sean when I arrived back home, and—most of all—about my early days with Scout. We’ve lived together, me and this creature who does not speak my language yet understands me scarily well, for more than six years. That’s two thirds of her life. It’s nearly 22 percent of mine (which seems like too-small a fraction until I realize it’s basically my entire adulthood).
Many many many things have changed since I first brought Scout home. The most obvious are our living situation (apartment with roommate, apartment on our own, apartment with Sean, house, now converted van) and her physical ability (she is older than she used to be).
But I think the biggest might be how Sean and I make decisions about fulfilling her. We’ve traded detailed activity checklists for unstructured time outside. We’ve swapped an overflowing dog-supply bin for a few worn-out toys. We’ve stopped trying every new enrichment idea we come across and started letting habit take the reins.
Please don’t misunderstand the point of this article: I don’t believe either of these approaches is inherently better than the other. (Anyway, they’re more of a blurred spectrum than direct opposites.) Sometimes I miss our jam-packed days of herding balls and flirt pole and carefully orchestrated food searches—other times I can’t imagine tracking all the details I used to log so intently. What matters most is that we are happy now and we were happy then.
I just never tire of trying to trace the path between the two.
A loose fulfillment timeline
There’s never been a true “typical” day for us. My childhood dogs could not handle a disruption to their usual schedule, which just stressed everybody out, so I’ve made it a point to switch up Scout’s routine from the moment I brought her home.
But while the spirit of our favorite activities has remained intact, the specifics—and above all my mental fixations on those specifics—look different than they used to.
In my first year and a half with Scout, we went on lots of structured walks. (Too many structured walks.) I later came to understand that these heel-the-whole-time outings didn’t fulfill her like I hoped, but at the time I believed they were a requirement of “good” reactivity training. Eventually we settled into a middle ground where she’d heel on the way out from our apartment and get the whole leash when we turned around to head home.
We also played some half-hearted fetch and tug inside the apartment in our early days, but Scout was rarely confident enough to engage for long periods (or really at all if we left our familiar space).
I set up occasional food-based enrichment from the time I brought her home: freezing Kongs, hiding treats in old cardboard boxes, putting kibble in a snuffle mat, etc. Later we got into food searches for her meals.
Around the two-year mark of our time together, I developed a Daily Fulfillment Checklist (blog post on this; Instagram graphic on this). Each day I tried to cross off three biological fulfillment activities (sniffing, playing, searching, chewing, etc), one focus work activity (box feeding, obedience training, impulse control exercises, etc), and one emotional regulation activity (often settling on her own in a new place). I loved this framework. I still do love it!
Also around our two-year mark, we moved from our third apartment into our house in Florida. Here we added new fulfillment opportunities (sunbathing in the backyard, chasing lizards under the deck) and contended with greater drains on her capacity (neighborhood walks were a nightmare with off-leash dogs and stray cats and associated chaos).
Each time we brought a new foster dog into our house in 2022, we doubled down on thinking critically about Scout’s fulfillment. (She’s never gotten more meal enrichment than the months we fostered Val and Mystic.)
When we moved into our converted van in early 2023, we couldn’t fit all of Scout’s old toys. We eventually discarded her designated enrichment puzzles and Kongs entirely, replacing them with a lickmat that’s easier to clean. At this point she just has a few balls, two tug rings, and some old stuffed animals.
My greatest fear before hitting the road was that we’d struggle to fulfill Scout. What if she was too sensitive to new environments to be able to engage in play like we’d gotten used to? Thankfully our first few months in Hermes dispelled this worry—and as the calendar’s rolled on, she’s only gotten bolder in unfamiliar places.
We enjoy more casual outdoor time and off-leash adventures than ever. I will never take access to public land for granted!
Scout also has some really lazy days in the van when we’re driving a long distance or parked in a city environment that will scare more than fulfill her. We can go a full week without any food enrichment or intentional fulfillment “activities”, just vibing in our little life.
Why the changes?
I am just less uptight than I used to be—in all areas of my life. I don’t “checklist” everything as much. (Or obsessively sweep the floors. Or track my food intake and step count. You get the idea.)
Scout is older than she used to be. She needs less stimulation to be able to take a deep afternoon nap. This doesn’t mean she deserves fewer fulfilling activities, of course. I’ve long been a believer that true fulfillment is about more than “tiring” our dogs out! But the activities themselves, and their intensity, have naturally shifted as she’s aged.
We’re all more stable than we used to be. I panic less. Scout overreacts less. We went from hair triggers to lengthy fuses—and this gives us more flexibility. In the height of her dog reactivity, Scout needed everything else in her experience of the world to be basically perfect in order to handle passing another canine. Today I no longer feel like my dog won’t be able to recover from an unexpected situation if she hasn’t had some perfect magical mixture of fulfillment to give her the right foundation beforehand. I can still tell if she’s feeling cooped up or frustrated or sore, but we have acres of wiggle room.
Scout’s better trained than she used to be. We worked hard to build certain skills—and now we’ve practiced those skills for years. I continue to take the layered stress model seriously (I think the concept is a basic part of being a good guardian) but I trust my dog’s ability to listen to me under pressure. In a pinch? We survive being pushed.
I’m less influenced by social media than I used to be. Sharing about Scout still brings me joy, but I’ve never felt less motivated to pursue flashy fulfillment for the sake of a cool video. I’m also less exposed to other people doing different things with their dogs. In a way this is sad—I sometimes miss the excitement that comes from seeing what fellow handlers enjoy! (I recently nerded out on a podcast recording with an enrichment expert and was reminded how much fun flirt poles are after not thinking about them for two years.) But it’s also liberating to stop playing the comparison game.
We have greater access to natural environments. I believe pitting indoor enrichment toys and activities directly against time outside is a false dichotomy, but Scout and I do find ourselves less drawn to food-dispensing balls and kongs when we’re enjoying a lengthy stretch of time on public land. Fulfillment comes in many forms (and I will die on the hill that she has been reasonably fulfilled throughout our whole life together). Today, though, not much beats a meandering off-leash exploration in a brand-new place full of novel smells and very few safety concerns.
Scout’s social needs are more easily met than ever—so we don’t have to think as critically about that part of her fulfillment. The three of us spend almost all day every day in the same space. She is within sight and earshot on every commute. Before van life, if we took a day trip somewhere from our old house we had to account for the entire drive both directions plus however long we spent at our destination. Simply going to Orlando could become a full-work-day long affair—which meant Scout needed a lot from us before we left. Now? She’s always near. Even if we decide not to bring her out of the temperature-controlled van, we can stop for bathroom breaks and brief sniffaris along the way or come back to visit her once we arrive.
I am more minimalist. Avoiding the overconsumption trap—especially online—has become a personal passion. I love seeing new enrichment inventions available to the dog-loving masses (and I believe they can benefit dogs!) but we are thriving in our “less is more” era.
Sean and I might be getting lazier. Or less fun. Or whatever you want to call it. (I’m not really kidding.) Thanks to all the above variables this really isn’t a big deal—and maybe it’s a sort of understandable burn out from the years I did spend overthinking our every move?—but today I prize contentment to the point of near-complacency. Scout is happy. I am happy. The grass isn’t always greener! I don’t have to re-optimize at weekly intervals! We can just… live well together!