"Under control" off-leash dogs can still be a problem

We can't expect strangers to trust our animals' training on blind faith.

Jan 18, 2025

On a recent scroll through my Instagram explore tab (yes, I should really know better by now), I came across a video by a big-name dog trainer. I won’t link the post here because it doesn’t deserve any more traction than it already got, but it was like dozens of other videos I’ve seen: Guy* walks down the street with multiple dogs in off-leash heels. He shows off a few of their commands. His voiceover is tinged with petulance. Anyone who asks him to leash his dog, he implies (or says outright), is either a snowflake or a baby or just doesn’t understand. His dogs are trained! They’re obviously never the problem!

(* These videos are almost all men, but that’s beside my main point, so I’ll leave it for now.)

It’s easy enough to dismiss obvious jerks and dudebros, but the belief that it’s okay to have off-leash dogs in on-leash areas runs deeper than trainers with inflated egos. Many fellow dog owners I’ve met—several of whom I otherwise respect—take a similar stance. “He would never approach a stranger uninvited.” “If someone is uncomfortable with us simply playing in this park, that’s their problem.” “I always recall and ask her to sit when we pass another hiker.”

Allow me to push back on the idea that “under verbal control” means “above leash laws”.

A brief semantic interlude

Let’s get the sometimes-uncomfortable word “control” out of the way. As my dog’s handler, I have to be in charge of her actions in shared public spaces because we live in a human world with human social norms. I can’t expect her to understand my society’s expectations without help!

When I talk about having “control” of Scout, it’s not because I yearn to dictate her every move. When I ask other handlers to have “control” of their dogs, it’s not because I think our pets should never let loose or am obsessed with coercion. It’s because reasonable control is a necessary part of public respect.

My core argument: How can you expect a stranger to know your off-leash dog will remain under your control?

Theory of mind is the ability to understand that other people have internal experiences different from ours—literally that they have minds of their own. Perspective taking puts theory of mind in action: “It’s the skill that allows us to step into someone else’s shoes, see the world from their viewpoint, and adjust our behavior accordingly,” write Shayna Gaunt, MA, BCBA and Shira Karpel, M.ED, BCBA.

Most kids develop perspective-taking ability around four years of age. (Even domestic dogs show potential evidence of theory of mind.)

Why is this relevant? Because even if I know my dog is well trained and able to remain under my verbal control in the face of distractions, I can’t expect a stranger to know that!

Negative experiences can create justified wariness

We’ve had dozens of encounters where dogs who appear under control at first approach us later on. We see an off-leash dog ahead, the owner calls them back, they listen—I let myself settle. But as we get closer, the dog blows through their handler’s pleas, and I’m less prepared to intercept after letting my guard down. These situations are often worse than dogs who just sprint over the second they see Scout. (At least then I don’t have to play the “will they, won’t they” game in my head, attempting to assess risk like a reasonable person—read: not someone with trauma from owning a reactive dog—while also not willfully putting ourselves in a lose-lose spot.)

Just the other morning at the dog-friendly section of Cocoa Beach, Scout and I were playing tug near the shoreline when I spotted a person with an off-leash dog approaching in the distance. I moved our game away from the water to make room for them to pass and thought everything would be fine. Whenever the dog ventured more than a few feet ahead, the owner called them back.

Until the dog suddenly broke toward us.

Scout and I were as close to the protected dunes as we could go without venturing on them. We’d created at least thirty feet of open space. “She’s not friendly!” I called, using the phrase I’ve learned most quickly inspires people to take action. The man moved his hands about frantically, passing the leash from left to right. “Pookie! Pookie, back here, now!”

Pookie did not hear or did not care. I kept Scout behind me. As our interloper tried to dart past, I stepped forward and reached for her collar—a move she appreciated about as much as I appreciated her trying to ambush my own dog while we were minding our business on an otherwise peaceful morning—resulting in a chorus of angry barks. Her owner continued to call, face growing redder by the moment, for her to return to his side.

We experienced similar in Utah last fall. A border collie seemed reasonably under control until we were almost past their group on the trail—but almost doesn’t cut it. (You can read more of that morning’s reflections, particularly on how the owner reacted to my interception, here.)

As a result of these negative experiences, many of which have seemed “probably fine” before quickly devolving to “definitely not fine”, Sean, Scout, and I are unable to fully relax around dogs without visible tethers in on-leash areas.

Imagine it. You’re afraid of dogs. Someone you love is afraid of dogs. Whatever the details: Bad things can happen if a dog surprises you. So you research a new park ahead of time and confirm that pets must be on leash. Perfect, you think. You can smile at the pups from afar without being bombarded.

As you’re walking, you see me and my blue heeler in the distance. You’ve never met us before. You’ve never watched one of our training sessions; you don’t even know if we do train. You have no way of knowing Scout’s recall is strong enough to interrupt her mid-chasing a deer. You have no way of knowing I spent months teaching her a down in motion. You have no way of knowing she will listen to what I ask her to do.

You have no reason to trust in us—complete strangers—on blind faith.

Of course, that begs the question: Do you have reason to trust in a leash? (Dudebro’s video this morning included a charming roundup of leash failure clips in what I think was an attempt to say that tethers don’t do anything, anyway.) It’s true that leashes aren’t foolproof. A rambunctious puppy’s owner might lose her grip. A worn-out cord might finally break. Accidents happen. No one is trying to say leashes are impenetrable, perfect contraptions that instantly solve every problem we have with our pets.

But we are charged far far far less often by leashed dogs than unleashed ones. The majority of the time—even if a handler isn’t paying attention—it’s simpler to judge how far we need to move away to be “safe” from an approach: anywhere past the end of the tether. And if a leashed dog does break for us? It’s easier to intercept them by grabbing or stepping on their dragging umbilical cord.

It’s not a question of “leash without training” or “training without leash”. Both, together, are the best way to respect fellow visitors.

Leash laws aren’t perfect, but a little respect goes a long way

I know leash laws can be frustrating. I agree that we need more legal off-leash spaces with a culture of training and respect. Biological fulfillment is so important to me.

But it’s also important that my dog and I don’t unreasonably impact someone else’s experience in public. When most off-leash dogs Americans encounter are not under control, can anyone blame us for being edge when we see one up ahead—even if this is an exception where they actually won’t approach?

If a dog is truly well trained enough to be safely off leash, they ought to be well trained enough to be comfortably on leash. If we’re keeping them close to us, putting them in sit or down stays to wait, and recalling them before they run off… what’s the difference if there’s also a line on their collar?

Probably nothing to us (except maybe a little dismissal of ego and the urge to show off). But it could mean the world to a stranger sharing that space.

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