Be more dog

Hello. I’m Coco. I’m ten. I’m a dog. Specifically a chocolate Labrador. I’m on a walk. And I'm hungry.

I’m only “writing” this because my human insists everything has to become a lesson. Personally, I think that’s weird, but fine. I’ll play along.

We’re halfway down the path. It’s cold. The ground is damp in that specific British way where you can’t tell if it rained or if the world is just like this now. My human is staring at me like I’m a tiny, furry philosopher.

I’m not.

I’m just a dog.

And that’s kind of the point.

My life is smell. Yours is stories.

I stop at a hedge and sniff it like it’s breaking news. I don’t think about whether I should sniff it. I don’t weigh up the pros and cons. I don’t wonder what it says about me as a Labrador.

I just sniff.

Then I take a piss.

Not because I need one. That’s the bit humans always miss. Sometimes I do. Often I don’t. I just… do it. The smell says “mark this”. So I mark it.

Two seconds later another dog appears, absolutely legging it over like I’ve just dropped a wallet full of cash. Nose down. Forensic mode. Sniffing my pee like it’s a signed confession.

If you’re a human watching this, you’ll think, what on earth are you lot doing?

Fair.

The butt-sniffing (and why you’re not above it)

We also have this deep, unstoppable fascination with each other’s backsides. A dog will walk up to another dog and go straight in. No small talk. No warm-up. Just: nose, arse, data download.

Humans find this disgusting. They call it instinct. They laugh. They pull the dog away and apologise, as if we’ve committed a social crime.

But then you go home and do your own version of it, and you don’t even notice.

You check your phone without needing to.
You refresh something you refreshed five minutes ago.
You open an app you didn’t mean to open.
You drift towards a snack and you’re not even hungry.
You scan another person’s face and outfit and posture and decide, in half a second, whether they’re safe, interesting, impressive, annoying, or not worth your time.

And then you tell yourself a story about it.

That’s the only real difference between you and me.

I do the instinct.

You do the instinct, then narrate it like you’re doing a documentary about your own life.

You want a biscuit? Jus say you want a biscuit.

Dogs are honest about what we are.

We want food. We want comfort. We want safety. We want play. We want to be near our people. We want to know who’s been here before us and whether they’re a threat.

You want all that too. You just dress it up in nicer words because you’re embarrassed.

You don’t want attention, you want “recognition”. You don’t want to feel safe, you want “certainty”. You don’t want a biscuit, you want “a reward”. You don’t want to belong, you want “community”.

Mate.

You want a biscuit.

Say that. It’s fine. Everyone wants a biscuit.

Your clever brain is a champion bullshitter

You’ve built this entire identity around being thoughtful. Rational. In control. The sophisticated species. The ones who can “choose”.

And yes, you can choose. Sometimes you choose brilliantly. You invent beautiful things. You make art. You build relationships. You send rockets into space and then argue on the internet about whether someone’s sandwich looks dry.

But most of the time? You’re running on old wiring.

You feel uncertainty and you reach for something that makes you feel certain. You feel loneliness and you reach for something that feels like contact. You feel restless and you reach for something that feels like movement. You feel small and you reach for something that makes you feel bigger.

Then your clever brain turns up late, like a PR manager arriving after the scandal, and goes, “Here’s why we did that.”

It’s never “because I panicked”.

It’s “because I’m staying informed”.

It’s never “because I’m lonely”.

It’s “because I love scrolling”.

You can hear how ridiculous that sounds when I say it out loud, can’t you?

Good. Keep that.

Not as a criticism. As relief.

You don’t need to be less human. You need to be more honest.

If most of what you do is instinct, you can stop treating every impulse like it’s a moral failing or a personality trait.

Some days you don’t scroll because you’re weak. You scroll because you’re a mammal with a nervous system that wants reassurance.

Some days you don’t snap because you’re a bad person. You snap because you feel threatened, and your body hits the same button it’s been hitting for thousands of years.

Some days you don’t overthink because you’re “broken”. You overthink because your brain thinks it’s keeping you alive.

That’s why I look so peaceful, by the way.

Not because I’ve mastered presence. I’m not enlightened or manifesting. I’m not doing breathwork.

I’m just not time-travelling all day.

Humans time-travel. Dogs don’t.

You pre-live conversations. You pre-feel outcomes. You pre-suffer.

You walk down a path and you’re already in next week, replaying an email from yesterday, worrying about something that hasn’t happened yet, planning a response to a thing that might never occur.

I’m right here.

I’m in this damp patch of grass. There’s a leaf that smells like something died near it. I’m having the best day of my life.

And I’m not telling myself it “means” anything.

“Be more dog” doesn’t mean sniffing strangers

So when my human says, “Maybe we should be more dog,” I don’t think they mean you should start sniffing strangers’ arses in the street. Please don’t do that. I will not vouch for you.

I think they mean something subtler. Something braver.

What if you stopped pretending you’re purely rational?

What if you recognised that a huge chunk of your behaviour isn’t a carefully designed plan… it’s a reflex?

Just a reflex.

And once you see it as such, you get a choice. It's not the big dramatic choice you fantasise about. It's a small, boring, daily choice.

But that changes everything.

You can notice an urge without obeying it.

You can feel an impulse without building a whole narrative around it.

You can let the feeling pass.

Moving on is underrated

Dogs don’t sit there thinking, “Ah yes, this is merely an emotion.” We just feel it, respond to it, and then we move on.

You humans love a good loop. You’ll take a five-second awkward moment and turn it into a six-month internal series. Season two, episode three: the time you said “you too” to the waiter.

I would like you to know that I have never once replayed something embarrassing I did at the park.

And I have done many embarrassing things at the park.

The truest sentence you keep avoiding

I’m pulling on the lead now because we’re approaching the bit with the ducks and I’m morally obligated to pretend I might catch one. My human is still watching me, as if I’m carrying some secret.

So here it is. The big insight from Coco, ten-year-old chocolate Labrador, part-time philosopher:

You don’t need to eliminate instinct. You just need to stop worshipping your explanations.

Your brain is brilliant. It’s also an expert at making up stories. It will make you sound noble, disciplined, victimised, heroic, misunderstood. It will do anything except say the simplest, truest sentence:

“I did it because I wanted to.”

Try that sentence this week. See how often it's true.

Notice more shit

Today, catch yourself once doing something automatic, and don’t explain it. Just notice it. That’s enough.

Tomorrow, do one thing without optimising it. Take a walk without tracking it. Eat without tracking it or (god forbid) photographing it. Read without turning it into a self-improvement project.

And the next time you feel the urge to spiral into stories, do what I do when I get stuck on a smell that’s gone cold.

Lift your head. Look around. Take a breath. And keep walking.

Now please.

There’s a lamppost up ahead that definitely needs my attention.

Until next time,

Jon "just a dog" Kaye

Choosing to live more deliberately