Let Them Figure It Out

I recently watched a video of a parent and a toddler walking along a boardwalk covered in hanging strings.

The adult walks through them without hesitation… and keeps walking.

The toddler follows—hesitant, confused, a little overwhelmed because he's suddenly caught up in string.

At one point, he panics.

The parent pauses, walks back toward him… and then turns around and keeps going.

No picking him up.

No clearing the path.

No doing it for him.

Just… giving him the space to figure it out.

At one point, he returns to the toddler, picks him up out of the tangled mess and puts him back on the other side where he started, prompting a total reset.

And eventually?

This tiny human, all on his own, figures out how to get through the strings and his dad claps for him as he makes his way through.

Now, this wasn’t even a dog video—but if you work with dogs every day like I do, you can’t not see the connection.

Because I see the opposite of this constantly.

Dogs that never get the chance to figure anything out.

Dogs who get untangled by their owners instead of learning how to move their own bodies.

Dogs who get picked up instead of being shown how to step over something.

Dogs who are fully capable of jumping into a car… but wait to be lifted.

Dogs who hit the end of a leash at a pole and just freeze—because no one ever let them learn how to go around it.

And one of the most memorable examples?

A 7-year-old dog who couldn’t go up or down stairs.

Not because he physically couldn’t.

But because years ago, when he was just a tiny puppy, he hesitated once… and from that moment on, his owners carried him. Every single time. This dog weighs 65 pounds.

For seven years.

Sure, he can jump onto the bed, climb the porch steps, and run like the wind. But for seven years, his owners told themselves that he just couldn't do it, so they carried him instead.

This issue came up during a problem solving training session where we stopped barking at the doorbell by teaching the owners how to say no and use a squirt bottle. I wasn't called for lack of obedience. I was called for problem behavior. After the dog no longer barked at the doorbell, we turned to the other issues, which one of the owners said was a hinderance and the other said she didn't mind: that this athletic dog could NOT walk up or down the stairs and had to be carried.

So I put a leash on him and I started walking up the stairs.

He hated it for a moment, because for years nobody ever made him do it, but started his ascent up the stairs, stepping carefully like he was unsure they were stable enough to hold him.

When we got to the top, I gave him all the praise. "What a good boy! Good job buddy! I knew you could do it!"

Then immediately, I started walking back down.

He hated that too, but because he had a leash on, he went with me willingly. Careful, for the first few steps, but then more confident.

And then we did it a third time…

…and suddenly, he was doing it on his own. Confidently. No hesitation.

I took the leash off and walked to the top of the stairs, called his name and he walked on up as if he'd been doing it for years.

Then I walked back down the stairs and looked up at him, said, "come on, bud" and guess what he did?

Walked right on down like he'd been doing it for years.

Three minutes.

That’s all it took.

But here’s the part that stuck with me:

His owners weren’t relieved.

They were upset.

Because their dog was uncomfortable for about 60 seconds during the first walk up and down.

And that right there is the problem.

We have become so uncomfortable with discomfort that we rush to remove it—for ourselves, for our kids, and especially for our dogs. Even if it only lasts a minute!

But discomfort is not the enemy.

It’s where growth happens.

Your dog feeling unsure for a moment while learning how to navigate stairs is not cruelty.

Your dog figuring out how to untangle themselves is not neglect.

Your dog experiencing something new, pausing, thinking, and working through it—that’s learning.

That’s confidence being built in real time.

Instead, what happens when we do everything for them?

We create dogs who:

• Don’t problem solve

• Don’t adapt

• Don’t handle stress well

• Look to us for everything

• Panic the moment something feels unfamiliar

And then people wonder why their dog is anxious, clingy, reactive, or constantly seeking reassurance.

Here’s the reality:

Life is uncomfortable sometimes.

For humans and for dogs.

We walk on surfaces we don’t love.

We encounter sounds, sights, and situations that make us pause.

We figure things out as we go.

And dogs are more than capable of doing the same—if we let them.

This doesn’t mean never helping your dog.

If they truly need guidance, we step in.

If they’re overwhelmed beyond their ability to cope, we support them.

But there’s a big difference between:

• Helping a dog learn

  and

• Doing everything for them

Dogs are not babies.

They are intelligent, capable animals that were designed to move, think, adapt, and solve problems.

When we treat them like fragile infants who can’t handle a moment of discomfort, we take that away from them.

And in doing so, we often create the very anxiety and instability we’re trying to avoid.

Sometimes the best thing you can do for your dog…

is step forward, give them a clear direction—

…and let them figure it out.