Do I Love My Friendly Dog More Than I Loved My Reactive Dogs?

Sep 13

7 min read

Brown-and-white American Foxhound and pitbull mix dog outdoors by a fence, with text overlay asking if a friendly dog is loved more than reactive dogs.

There’s no doubt life with a friendly dog is easier than life with a reactive dog. Since adopting Archie - my first friendly dog - I’ve been thinking about how different life with him is than it was with either Jake or Shadow Dawn.

I met with a new client this week whose dog, though reactive, was also super sweet. His mom told me she wanted more people to be able to experience his true personality. That’s something all of us want for our reactive dogs. But first, we want them to feel better.

Archie is a sweet, happy-go-lucky boy who is always up for a good time. I don’t have to think through every potential trigger encounter before leaving the house. I don’t have to constantly scan the environment, calculate distances, or wonder whether an ordinary outing might become too much for him. That’s a level of freedom most reactive dog parents don’t have. I didn’t have it with my reactive dogs, Jake and Shadow Dawn, because Jake needed to avoid other dogs and Shadow needed to avoid other dogs and people.

Happy tan-and-white dog with teal collar stands on a turf-topped table in an indoor space decorated with rainbow flags. — My sweet boy, Archie

When I walk Archie, people can meet him and dogs can say hello. I can have people come to my house without worrying about what he’ll do. Archie and I can go places together - like the dog friendly Autumn market we went to last weekend - that neither of my other dogs could have felt comfortable attending.

So many people find Archie delightful - which he is - but so were Jake and Shadow Dawn. The difference is that very few people knew them that way. It makes me sad to think about how fear made their lives smaller when Archie’s is so expansive.

Sometimes, because Archie is so much easier to take outside and I get so much positive feedback about him, it makes me wonder if that affects my love for him. Specifically, do I love my friendly dog more than I loved my reactive dogs?

The answer comes surprisingly easy and the answer is no.

I don’t love Archie more than I loved Jake or Shadow Dawn. My love for him feels different because it isn’t tinged with the sadness of knowing he’s struggling to feel safe the way it was with my reactive dogs. I get to give Archie the life I would have loved to give to Jake and Shadow Dawn. There are some bittersweet moments to be sure.

Black-and-white senior dog lies on a cobblestone patio with a leash and a coffee cup nearby, looking relaxed and alert. — My beloved, Jake

I loved Jake and Shadow Dawn and I loved our lives together even though I wanted so much more for both of them. I gave them the best life I could and knew they loved me as much as I loved them.

Archie’s life has more dogs, people and adventures in it which I love being able to provide for him. I love Archie as deeply as I loved all my dogs. What’s different is that so many other people get to know and love him, too.

My lifestyle today is undeniably different from what it was with Jake and Shadow Dawn. The lessons my reactive dogs taught me about patience, compassion, love, grief, resilience and commitment make me a better mom for Archie than I might have been had I met Archie first, and for that I am deeply grateful.

Life With a Friendly Dog Is Easier

There is a lightness to living with a socially comfortable dog.

I can take Archie to more places. I can make plans with fewer layers of management. When someone wants to greet him, I don’t have to immediately assess the person, the surroundings, my dog’s body language, our escape routes, and all the ways the interaction could go wrong.

That doesn’t mean I stop paying attention or advocating for him. Friendly dogs still have preferences, limits, and moments when they need help. But I don’t carry the same constant vigilance that comes with caring for a reactive dog.

That vigilance is exhausting—even when it becomes so familiar that you barely recognize how much energy it consumes.

Blue nose pit bull in blue harness and black booties lies on wooden floor in a cozy room with bookshelves, looking alert. — My beautiful Shadow in her winter boots

Living with Archie has allowed me to see just how much planning, adapting, and emotional labor went into creating safe lives for Jake and Shadow. I didn’t experience it as a burden as it was simply how our life worked. Now that I have something different, I can acknowledge the contrast honestly, not just for myself but in how it affected friends and family.

Life with an easy dog is easier. It’s just that simple.

Ease Is Not the Same as Love

We sometimes confuse difficulty with depth.

When a relationship requires tremendous sacrifice, vigilance, and persistence, it can feel especially significant. You work hard to build trust. You learn to recognize tiny changes other people would miss. You celebrate moments that might look completely ordinary from the outside: a softer body, a quicker recovery, a glance back at you, or the decision to move away instead of reacting.

Those moments mattered enormously with Jake and Shadow.

Brown-and-white puppy sits on a couch with blankets, looking calmly at the camera in a cozy living room. — Baby Archie

But hardship is not what made me love them. And Archie doesn’t need to struggle in order for our relationship to be meaningful.

Love isn’t measured by how much management a dog requires, how carefully we must organize our lives, or how many obstacles we overcome together. A dog does not have to be challenging to be deeply loved—and a dog does not have to be easy to be completely lovable.

My Reactive Dogs Gave Me a Different Kind of Relationship

Sharing your life with a reactive dog requires you to become well versed in canine body language.

You learn the meaning of an ear angle, weight shifted toward or away from something, a tightly closed mouth, and subtle changes in breathing that tell you your dog is beginning to struggle. You learn to notice what your dog is communicating before the barking, lunging, growling even begins.

You also learn that trust isn’t built by making a dog endure what frightens them. It’s built by listening, creating safety, and showing them—again and again—that you have their back.

Black dog chews a colorful plush toy on a couch in a cozy living room. — Jake loved destroying his toys

Jake and Shadow taught me to pay attention in that way. They taught me to advocate even when other people didn’t understand. They taught me that a smaller life could still include play, comfort, connection, and joy. They helped shape the trainer I am today and the compassion I now bring to other dogs and their people.

I’m grateful for all of that even as I wish it didn’t have to be.

I want to be very careful here because reactive dogs are often credited with giving us beautiful lessons in a way that can unintentionally romanticize their suffering. I treasure what Jake and Shadow taught me. I became a dog trainer because of Jake and I love this work. At the same time, I would give it all up if it meant they never had to struggle the way they did.

Both things can be true.

The Hardest Part of Living With a Reactive Dog

When people talk about living with a reactive dog, they often focus on what the person can’t do.

You may not be able to relax on a busy restaurant patio. You may walk at odd hours, avoid certain neighborhoods, carefully manage visitors, or decline invitations. Vacations, veterinary care, housing, and even a simple walk around the block can require extensive planning.

Those limitations are real, and reactive dog parents deserve patience and compassion. Living in a near-constant state of anticipation can affect a person’s physical and emotional health. It can be isolating. It can also bring grief for the life you imagined having with your dog. I’ve been there.

Smiling woman hugs a blue nose pitbull dog on a blue couch, with a small plush animal hanging on the wall. — Shadow Dawn loved cuddling

For me, the greatest heartbreak wasn't that my own life was harder. It was knowing that a dog I loved was suffering emotionally.

Reactivity is not just inconvenient behavior. A dog who explodes at another dog, panics when a visitor enters, or remains hypervigilant on every walk isn’t trying to make life difficult. Their behavior is communication. They’re communicating fear, anxiety, frustration, overwhelm, or a desperate need for more distance.

The painful part is seeing that the world doesn’t feel safe to them, no matter how much you wish it did.

I would never choose that suffering for a dog simply because navigating it can build an extraordinarily close relationship. If I could have given Jake and Shadow the ease Archie experiences, I would have done it without hesitation.

A Smaller Life Is Not a Lesser Life

At the same time, a reactive dog’s life should not be judged only by the experiences they cannot comfortably have.

Dogs don’t need crowded patios, bustling festivals, dog parks, or greetings with strangers to have worthwhile lives. Those are human ideas about what a “good dog” ought to enjoy.

A fulfilling life can be built from quiet walks, sniffing, play, predictable routines, safe relationships, peaceful spaces, and activities chosen for that individual dog. Management isn’t failure. Sometimes management is one of the kindest ways we can say, I understand you, and I won’t put you in situations you can’t handle.

Jake and Shadow had limitations. They also had personalities, preferences, humor, pleasures, and relationships that could never be reduced to their reactivity. They weren't walking behavior problems I happened to love. They were dogs I loved who also struggled with their behavior because they were struggling emotionally.