It started out like my average Saturday morning: Nothing More sang me awake telling me “everything is better when you’re dreaming”, which also signaled to Zelda that it was time to get up for work. She has learned that the sound of my alarm = going to work.
I let her outside to go pee and then headed to the bathroom myself. I could hear her barking outside; her classic “intruder alert” type of bark. I assumed it was just somebody walking by that she didn’t like the look of. Until the barking persisted. I was growing concerned that her barking would wake my kids up, so I quickly finished up and hurried outside in my bare feet.
There was Zelda, in the middle of the yard. She looked almost relieved to see me. She ran to where I stood on the deck and then back to where she’d been standing in the yard. She did this a few times, looking from me to the back corner of the yard, where the fire pit is. It was all very classic “Lassie” type behavior, and what she was trying to communicate was clear to me: “look! Look over there!”
My eyes followed where she was trying to direct my attention, and then I saw it—the intruder. It was a cat. Just a big fat orange tabby.
I said to Zelda, “It’s a CAT! What are you waiting for? Chase it off! Go get it!” and like a shot she was off. She chased the cat over the fence and hopefully back to its home. After reaching the fence line and finding the cat efficiently out of reach, she trotted back to me with a look of pure satisfaction. She looked so proud of herself, and looked to me to tell her she was the “good dog” she knew she was.
“Great job Zelda,” I told her, “now next time maybe start with that.”
But Zelda isn’t a dog that takes matters into her own paws without input. She isn’t a cattle dog or a guardian breed. She isn’t the lead dog of the team. She’s a “yes man” type of dog—and that’s okay. However, this story has made me think about how a lot of dogs actually operate.
Her job, like all good family dogs, is to let me know when something is wrong. And she did that. She just needed a little bit of direction on what to do next.
Once I really thought about it, I realized Zelda didn’t fumble by not chasing the cat right away. She did exactly what I’ve taught her to do.
When we go for walks and a strange dog approaches, I put Zelda behind me and I handle it. When someone comes to our house, she sounds the alarm and I answer the door. When we’re working at the hotel, she lets me know someone is at the front desk with a gentle “woof”, and I go talk to them.
So of course when a cat shows up in the yard, her first job is the same: tell me.
Dogs come with built-in tendencies influenced by breed and personality. You see it when a Border Collie drops into a stalk over a ball, or when certain dogs are naturally more “alert first, act second.” That doesn’t go away—it just gets shaped.
Barking isn’t random. It’s communication. It’s information. It’s what dogs have been doing for us for thousands of years. Zelda wasn’t barking for no reason. She was doing exactly what she’s been taught to do: get my attention, and then we figure it out together.
So next time your dog is barking, it might not be “shut up” that’s needed. It might just be “okay, what are you telling me?”
Shara Walsh 