What if your dog thinks you need attention?
We talk a lot about dogs being "attention seeking." Jumping up, barking, pawing at you, pestering you while you're trying to get something done. Or there's the classic one — they grab something they know they shouldn't have and legs it, fully aware you're about to chase them.
"He's just doing it for attention," we say.
But I wonder if we've got that slightly backwards. What if the dog actually thinks we're the ones who need the attention?
Stick with me here.
Say you're on the sofa, half-watching telly, half on your phone. As far as your dog's concerned, you're not doing much of anything. So they pick up your sock. And instantly you're looking at them — "what have you got there?" — you're up off the sofa, they're off running, you're following. Maybe you're laughing, maybe you're a bit annoyed, maybe you're trying to trade the sock for a toy. Doesn't really matter. For the next few minutes, your dog has your complete and undivided attention.
From where they're sitting, that sock trick worked a treat. It got you involved. And I don't think dogs necessarily sort attention into "good" and "bad" buckets the way we do — you reacted, you got up, you joined in, something happened. If that's played out enough times, why on earth would they stop doing it?
Same story with jumping up — we push them off, say "get down," and in doing so we're talking to them, touching them, looking right at them. Or the barking: "stop it, that's enough, quiet" — we're still responding, still in the conversation.
So maybe the dog isn't sitting there scheming, "I'll annoy her until she caves and gives me attention." Maybe it's simpler than that. Maybe it's just, "She loves this. This is our thing."
And here's what really convinces me there's something in this. I meet a lot of dogs — four, five, six, seven years old — who are still absolutely full of this young-dog energy. Still jumping up on every visitor. Still spending huge chunks of their day performing some version of this, whatever it looks like for them, on a loop, seemingly to keep people involved with them.
And it isn't because they're desperate for the interaction, or even enjoying it much by that point. It's because they believe this is what we want from them. This is their job. This is what gets a reaction, so this is what they do — over and over, well into adulthood, long after the phase you'd expect a bouncy young dog to grow out of.
What's interesting is what happens when that pattern finally breaks — when the owner changes how they respond, and the dog realises the performance isn't required anymore. Those dogs often look, genuinely, relieved. Like they've been let off a job they didn't know they could stop doing. Like some low hum in the background of their day has finally switched off.
We tend to think of "trained" behaviour as the stuff we deliberately teach — walking to heel, sit, stay, wait, all traded for treats or attention in a structured way. But this is trained too. Nobody sat down and taught it on purpose, but it's been reinforced just as consistently, just as reliably, session after session, for years. The dog didn't learn it because we meant to teach it. They learned it because it worked, over and over, and they've concluded — reasonably, from their side of things — that this is what's expected of them.
If barking gets Dad talking to me. If jumping up gets Mum's hands on me. If nicking a tea towel makes the whole house suddenly care what I'm doing — well, why would I stop? Not because I want to. Because I think this is the arrangement.
We build these patterns with our dogs without ever meaning to, and that's really the crux of it — instead of fixating purely on stopping the behaviour, it's worth looking at our side of the exchange too. What do you actually do the second your dog does the thing you don't like? Do you suddenly become the most interesting person in the room? And has that been going on so long your dog now thinks that's simply the job?
So next time your dog seems to be "after attention," take a second. Don't just watch what they're doing — watch what you do next.
And maybe ask yourself: does your dog really think they're pestering you? Or do they think they're doing exactly what's been asked of them, whether we ever meant to ask it or not?
Until next time,
Avril thedogcalmer
Clinical Dog Behaviourist
Helping dogs and their people understand each other a little better.
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