Why my dog and I won't mind our manners
The rules we’ve maintained are the ones that most affect our own daily existence.
“Manners” are subjective.
There are the obvious cross-species examples, like how primates prefer head-on greetings while canids are more likely to find direct approaches threatening. (This has been supremely relevant in my life with shy and sensitive dogs.)
Then, even within species, there’s all this cultural variation. What is “polite” in one context is “rude” in another; what’s well-understood in Situation A is murky in Situation B. The Rules of Social Interaction are rarely thought through, defined, and posted for all to see. They’re implied. They’re guessed at. They’re fluid.
That fluidity is what I’m considering as I sit at the picnic table in our wooded campsite. An impossibly blue-green river sings in the background, and fall’s first crisp leaves adorn the forest floor, and Scout lies on the table in front of me.
Yes, on.
My dog’s entire body is draped on the table’s surface, her paws mere inches from the cutting board we use as a serving platter, her face intruding upon my own. To be honest, begging doesn’t even seem a strong enough word for what she’s doing. She has surpassed puppy eyes in favor of a ludicrously bold approach.
“She has no manners anymore,” Sean laughs, and I know he’s not upset.
Neither am I. In fact, I’m the one who told Scout she could come on the table when she first put her front paws up, testing to see what we thought. She is not allowed to snatch bites out of our hands or walk across the food or make noise that would distract our campground neighbors—but she’s welcome to wait nearby for the scraps we all know we’ll share before the meal is up.
In my early days on the dog-training internet, I felt preemptively defensive if I ever showed Scout doing something I knew other people’s dogs weren’t allowed to do: Walking ahead of me on leash, begging for food, jumping on the couch. I scrolled through fiery Instagram captions where professional trainers and skilled handlers ranted about the dogs they saw out and about with no manners. Often these voices insisted on slippery slopes: If you let your dog do X Forbidden Thing, it’s only a matter of time until Y Horrible Outcome!
I believed them for a long while. What did I know, after all? I desperately wanted a dog who was good. I desperately wanted to prove my ability to raise and train and fundamentally control this creature for whom I’d taken responsibility. I didn’t want to do a single thing wrong. (And, of course, we had seemingly massive behavioral problems to work through: Explosive reactivity governed our whole lives and was not sustainable for any of us. I needed all the advice I could get to just survive the next week, and then the next month, with this dog.)
Today? Well, Sean said it best: Scout has no manners. 😉
Except that’s not exactly true either. Our cattle dog is, in most situations, an incredibly well-mannered companion. Campground hosts compliment how quiet she is when other canine visitors bark. Restaurant servers say “oh! I didn’t even realize you had a dog under the table” on the rare occasions where we still bring her out to patios. When we visit my parents’ house or embark on a humans-only hike or leave the van on a New York City street to take the subway to a comedy show, we come home to calm Scout Finch lounging in the van’s back bed. (She looks ruffled from sleep and like she has no idea what year it is.)
We are increasingly relaxed about her training and management—especially as van life gives us greater opportunities to take the path of least resistance—but I still see evidence of our past work.
I also see evidence of our growing willingness to “pick and choose our battles”. To ruthlessly prioritize. To embrace our personal preferences over society’s arbitrary norms.
Would I let a foster dog leap onto the table, right next to our dinner, and drool an inch from my nose? Absolutely not. Odds are high they’d get adopted by a family subscribing to the majority belief that this behavior is not cool.1
But Scout is ours forever. We will love her, Sean and I, until she leaves this earth. (And if something terrible happens to us before she goes, we’ve made arrangements for trusted family and friends to love her just as much.) So the rules we’ve maintained are the ones that most affect our daily existence. They might be completely different from the rules that most affect your daily existence. And that is, really, the whole point of figuring out what works for us as individuals: different dogs, different lifestyles, different environments, different dealbreakers.
When we’re out in public, we do our best to match the expected manners of the situation at hand. (No barking at people or dogs minding their own business; no begging for a stranger’s food; no sitting atop a restaurant’s table; you get the idea.)
But when we’re in our own corner of the world? “Manners are subjective,” I repeat to myself, laughing at my pushy dog and the great big personality I’m honored she trusts us with.
Other notes and news
Animal-related books galore
’s memoir, Dogs, Boys, and Other Things I’ve Cried About, is available for preorder today! (You might know her as the face behind @simonsits on Instagram and TikTok.) Preorders are one of the very best ways you can support debut authors—so if you’ve got the financial means, now is an excellent time to reserve your copy.
Speaking of preorders: Good Grief by comes out in paperback next month and is available for preorder now!
- ’s Nancy Kay, veterinarian and author, recently published her first work of fiction: A Dog Named 647. It’s for young readers, but I am a fan of adults reading children’s literature. And of thoughtful folks writing about creatures, especially dogs.
I am still immersed in The Arrogant Ape by Christine Webb—it’s the kind of book you immediately reread parts of after finishing—and plan to be for the foreseeable future.
Spooky season reading
I’ve also treated myself to some quick atmospheric reads this month: We Used to Live Here by Marcus Kliewer (which gave me House of Leaves vibes, though simpler); Graveyard Shift by
(a worthy reread!); and Count My Lies by Sophie Stava (a voicey thriller I picked up because Liane Moriarty blurbed it).
Personal tidbits
We went to a Lorde concert this week! When we started dating, I was surprised Sean loved her music—I’d only ever heard “Royals” on the radio in high school—until I listened to Melodrama in its entirety and bawled at “Liability”. Over the years Lorde has become one of “our” artists. It was special to see her live.
Van life stuff
We made it to Oregon, which means we’ve now been to 48 out of 50 states in the van! Obviously Hawaii will never happen, but once we hit California… we’ll have to celebrate a lil’.
In case you missed it
Behold: My nerdiest (and probably most controversial) post in a while, on operant learning theory in dog training.
A more nerdy example: When I started basic training with our foster dogs, I taught them all a separate “stay” cue as opposed to Scout’s implied stay (when I ask our cattle dog to enter any position, like sit or down, she holds it automatically until released). I figured that was what most prospective adopters would find helpful.
This was an amazing way to spend ten minutes of my time. I enjoyed this piece very much!
"Manners are subjective" is a sentence I need playing on repeat in my head. And I can completely see how what looks like "audacity" is actually a sign of Scout's increasing confidence and security!