Is Dominance A Myth?

Dominance is a loaded word in dog trainer circles. Some base their whole business model on it and label every misbehavior on the owner’s failure to show their dog who’s boss, while others dispute that dominance exists. As is often the case with polarized opinions, the facts are convoluted. Let me unpack it for you.

The theory that dogs strive for top status within a pack originated when scientists observed captive wolves and concluded that they had a hierarchy. Ergo, since dogs ancestor is wolf their natural social configuration must be a hierarchy too, and the human better be the Grand Poobah. Otherwise, the pack-leader types warn, we’ll run the risk of quickly ending up at the bottom of the feeding pond. Not a good idea when we live in close quarters with an animal who surpasses us in bite-ability and agility. The fly in the ointment is that this whole theory is faulty.

For starters, there is a decisive difference between a natural wolf pack and wolves forced to live in captivity. With the former there is mom and dad wolf and their offspring, and dominance simply means parenting. In other words, natural wolf packs are a family with young kids in need of extensive care, and older kids assisting with the daily chores until they form their own packs and become wolf parents. That is simplified, but the point is that a family of wolves has exactly the same natural hierarchy that exists in all families. Despite popular belief, there is little contest for top position. In contrast, captive wolves are not a family but unrelated animals in a confined space without the choice to leave. In that unnatural setting, there is conflict.

How do dogs fit in? Free-roaming dogs form a variety of relationships conditional upon environmental demands. Which means that they can belong to a pack—I use that term because the collective noun for dogs is pack—but also travel in twos or at times alone, and the configuration can change within a dog’s lifespan. Free-roaming dogs have a choice.

When there was a group the top dog was typically older and more life-experienced. It makes sense that the still wet behind the ears members take their cues from elders who know how life works—evidenced by the fact that they are still alive. In any case, observations showed that the norm was that the leadership style is relaxed. There was shared decision making, every member had autonomy, mating was fluid, and there were affiliations regardless of rank.

A critical aspect for a social group’s smooth sailing is self-subordination. Using Temple Grandin’s words: “For a dominance hierarchy to work most animals have to agree to be subordinate and signal their agreement”—which the dominant member accepts. Dogs have plenty of signals in their communication repertoire that affirms the superiority of the other. When normal, these are offered, and the relationship between the parties is affiliate, not agonistic. In other words, the dog seeks to be socially accepted with the former, and feels threatened with the latter. Members feeling threatened in a small group is counterproductive because it makes it unstable. Thus, aggression within a pack of free-roaming dogs is rare, and when it occurs rooted in distress more than dominance—the intensity of aggression increased in trapped feral dogs and was not consistent with the known status they had in the group.

Add the human factor!

Owned dogs live more like captive wolves than free-roaming dogs: in a confined space arbitrarily tossed together with other dogs and no choice to leave. People assemble their groups without considering or understanding each dog’s individual needs and characteristics, whether there are incompatible personalities. On top, people remove the autonomy to signal ritualistically via various punitive collars. Decisions people make can cause lot of distress and resulting conflict in a multi-dog home.

Dogs relationship with other dogs can be funky to begin with. From the day they are born they are natural competitors at the milk bar as well as facilitators for entertainment. Of course that is the case with free-roaming dogs as well, but they rely on each other when they belong to a group and have resource autonomy past weaning. Owned dogs never do. Owned dogs rely on humans and other dogs are surplus, rivals even depending on how people run their joint. It is exclusively the humans who have control over their basics needs. People schedule feedings and divvy up other resources. Restricting free access to toys, bones, or any other form of enrichment is still common. Space and social interactions are very important to dogs and that, too, people control. All this promotes conflict. Free-roaming dogs at food dump sites were observed to co-exist peacefully; in a study with owned dogs that involved two plates with food, the test dog chose the plate the person pointed at when he was alone, but when a life-size dog was placed in the room he chose the plate closest to that regardless where the person pointed at. We really do impact our dogs relationships with each other and not always a good way.

How can we do it better? In our home we gave our dogs autonomy as much as possible and they had free access to many resources. We also made sure that each dog we added was compatible with the ones we already had.

In this clip Will told the dog who sniffed her to buzz off. Even though he was polite, she said no and he got it.

This dog’s intention was affiliate, but Will wasn’t interested. It didn’t matter because this dog did not belong to us. Had he, it would have mattered that they get along.

When we see our dogs give signals of deference we want the emotion behind it to be affiliate. An owned dog should never feel threatened by the ones with whom he lives. A pup might submissively plead in an exaggerated way to gain access to a possession that an older dog has—you see a bit of this with my friends dogs.

It wasn’t about a possession but politely soliciting for interaction. It was assuring status without feeling fearful and, at the same time, a calculated move to get what she wanted. It is ritualistic communication to prompt another to relinquish a possession or interact. The superior decides when grovelling is good enough and, until then, might hard-stare, growl, or curl her lips, but that, too, is part of the normal interplay of dominance and submission without the intent to harm, without aggression, and without instilling fear.

Ritualistic status communication happened a lot in our house. Will typically used a prop to selectively teach a rookie that this was her house and her rules. Will had no interest in toys so it never was resource dominance but ritualistic status signalling. She was successful, but only with puppies. Davie, our authentic queen, never needing a prop—every dog who passed our door’s threshold offered deferential signals even though she was physically the weakest. She also didn’t have seniority when she joined us as a 16-week-old pup and, yet, she controlled the entrance space to the family room we all hung out so effectively that 3-year-old and 140-pound Newf was too afraid to enter. She did this with her eyes only: from a distance she stared hard enough to peel wallpaper. Davie was status-high by nature—in relation to dogs. Toward us humans she displayed the same deferential signals that she received from dogs. She granted us status, and it was affiliate. Davie wanted to belong and asked politely if she could. Thus, she also responded when we told her to cut it out and let Baywolf join us. Between people and dogs there is natural hierarchy, but more about that in a moment.

The hallmark of status dominance is a quiet self-assured presence that gets results. That is in contrast to who people label as the alpha. That dominance equals aggression is a misconception.

Years ago the owner of a local daycare facility hired me to teach her staff the finer art of dog-speak. One dog who stood out was a male husky who lay perched on a large wooden platform in front of an older golden retriever. That golden was quite distressed in this environment and shouldn’t have been there, and I felt that the husky sheltered the old fella—simply by being there. He was alert but not vigilant, there were no overt “buzz off” signals, and still every dog respected this two-dog bubble. Meanwhile a young large physical whippersnapper was throwing his weight around, body checking and barking specifically at two males about his size. He was the dog the staff labeled dominant. I pointed out that they got the wrong dog; that the authentic ruler of the roost that day was the husky. Perhaps because he had life experience, but I bet it also was his nature. Authentic self-assured dogs (as people) don’t sweat the small stuff, aren’t swaggering around with a showy bravado, but pursue what they want and use space with conviction. They are able to influence the behavior of others without confrontation, and this can be visible at a young age.

So the deeper we look the more it becomes apparent that the theory that there is one alpha who keeps everyone in line is dumbed-down conjecture. Forget it. Instead, watch the interplay between your dogs. Pay attention to the back-and-forth communication as well as the outcomes. Who wins? Who wins consistently? Who defers consistently? Watch who controls space. Maybe you have a dog like Davie in your group, and maybe you don’t. In fact, in the majority of households I step into there isn’t a clearly definable top dog but who wins is fluid—which perplexes my clients because of the misconception that there is an alpha in every pack.

How does this story play out between dogs and humans? Dominance isn’t an issue. Honestly. It isn’t. Since domestication dogs have carved out an ecological niche that is dominated by humans. Perhaps even genetically, by now dogs understand their dependency for survival. This makes people automatically status high. There is a natural hierarchy by virtue of species. Just think of the social freedoms we have in relation to dogs, including using space as we wish and, I repeat, having complete control of all resources. It’s us who have bank accounts and advanced thinking brains. Some of you might argue that the latter is debatable, but at large adult humans are better in adapting to new situations than our emotionally and mentally less flexible children and dogs. The provision of safety when circumstances change is a key aspect of leadership.

We have unmatched front limb dexterity to physically control dogs.

We have the power to provide or to let starve, to caress or to hurt.

We alone decide:

When and what we feed our dog—or if at all.

When and where we walk our dog and whether she is on a prong or shock collar or a comfortable body harness.

Whether our dog has the freedom to use our living space or if she’s locked up in a cage or put outside on a chain.

Or whether we’re going to keep her period. Surrendering, rehoming, and reselling, can be done without having to provide any sort of explanation, and rarely is someone investigating the reasons when owners want their dogs killed. At least physical abuse and dumping a dog is not legal anymore in many places, but in reality that is not enforced or only minimally fined.

How much more dominant do you want to be?

And then… there are dogs who are dominant. Yes, including to humans. Recall that daycare facility with the self-assured husky and the young wannabe who bullied some of the other dogs? That showoff not only irritated the dogs he picked on, but also the staff. At one point a young employee stepped in front of him to block him from bothering yet another dog, and she instantly received a tense, hard, unblinking, direct and sustained “Get out of my light” stare. Completely respecting the husky’s bubble, otherwise being great with people including the new to him me-person he affectionately wriggled up to, he gave that staff member who tried to control his action an unequivocal message that she had overstepped the boundary he had set for himself. This dog was sweet with people until someone did something he didn't like, and then calmly, with lot of self-control, made that clear. The staff member backed off, and that affirms social dominance. It wasn’t over anything material but who is, and who isn’t, in charge of his actions. Witnessing this, I wondered how he was with the people who owned him. Whether he deferred to them. Asset yearners want to be in the asset holders grace, and this staff member, like people in general who don’t belong to a dog’s intimate group, wasn’t perceived as a provider. Possibly even a hindrance. Thus, deference was inessential.

I hope that I convinced you that the “one just must be the pack leader” is dumbing down these complex social interactions. Using that mantra as an excuse for aversive control is unethical and inhumane—and potentially makes a dog aggressive. A human-created aggression rather than the dog being dominant.

We also must not make the mistake to equate deference with obedience. Obedience is a human construct dogs innately neither understand nor bother with. Boss dog Davie couldn’t have cared less whether the dogs she lived with sat before they ate or only peed at a designated spot. She didn’t care whether they rolled in dead things, and she joyously joined in a squirrel chase instead of calling her mate back. If we want obedience we must teach it. Patiently. And we must rethink what we teach. I belief that a few functional cues are necessary to successfully navigate our human world, but much of what we demand of our dogs is irrelevant.