What Japan Taught Me About Dogs

As most of you know by now, I spent the first couple of weeks of May In Japan for my 30th birthday.

This is a trip I have dreamed about for most of my life, one that felt surreal to finally be happening. Like most people, I spent a lot of time before the trip thinking about the exciting parts - the food, the sights, the culture, the adventure of being somewhere completely different.

What I didn't anticipate entirely was how mentally exhausting it can be to spend every day in a place where you don't understand the language.

For the first few days, even simple tasks required a surprising amount of effort. Finding the right train. Ordering food. Reading signs. Figuring out whether I was standing in the right line or heading in the right direction. Nothing was impossible, but everything took more considerably thought and planning than it would at home.

Thankfully, I had tools.

Google Translate became my best friend. Translation apps helped me read menus and signs. Navigation apps helped me get around. Helpful locals occasionally pointed me in the right direction when I looked completely lost.

Those tools made an enormous difference.

And the longer I was there, the easier everything became.

I got faster with the apps. I started recognizing patterns. I learned what to expect. Situations that felt stressful and overwhelming during the first few days eventually felt routine. The environment hadn't changed—I had simply become more fluent in navigating it.

Even still, there were times when those tools failed me, too.

My phone died more than once while we were out exploring. A situation that would have felt overwhelming during the first few days of the trip ended up being mostly an inconvenience later on.

Not because I suddenly spoke Japanese. Not because I knew exactly where I was.

But because by that point I'd learned enough about the environment to figure things out. I recognized landmarks. I understood the train system better. I had learned enough common phrases in the language to be able to ask for help. I had an Improved general sense of how things worked and a noticeably higher level of confidence.

The tools had helped me build that confidence and understanding, and so that when they failed me I wasn't completely dependent on them.

Even after I had the tools figured out, there was another layer I still had to learn: culture.

Japan has countless social norms that aren't necessarily written down anywhere, but everyone seems to understand them.

For example, trains are remarkably quiet. Most people aren't having loud conversations. Phone calls are generally avoided. On escalators, people stand on one side to allow others to pass. You will not find any garbage cans throughout the city for your trash. There are expectations around personal space, noise levels, and public behavior that differ from what I'm used to at home.

If I hopped on a crowded train and started chatting loudly with a friend, I wouldn't be doing anything strange by American standards. Back home, that behavior is completely normal.

But in that environment, I'd immediately stand out.

Not because I was a bad person.

Not because I was intentionally breaking rules.

Simply because I would be following the norms of one culture while existing in another.

And somewhere between train stations and translation apps, I found myself thinking about dogs.

I tell my clients all the time that dogs don't speak English.

But another thing I often remind them is that dogs are almost never doing things that are abnormal for dogs. In addition to language, they also have their own culture.

Dogs bark.

Dogs chase things.

Dogs jump.

Dogs pull.

Dogs chew.

Dogs get excited.

Dogs become reactive when they're overwhelmed.

And yes, dogs bite.

None of those behaviors are unusual in the canine world.

The challenge is that our dogs aren't living in the canine world. They're living in ours.

They're expected to navigate neighborhoods, apartment buildings, coffee shops, sidewalks, visitors, children, delivery drivers, veterinary clinics, and countless other situations that make perfect sense to humans but not necessarily to dogs.

In many ways, we're asking them to learn a completely different culture.

That's why training isn't just about teaching commands.

It's about giving dogs tools to understand the world around them.

It's about helping them learn the language and expectations of the environment they're living in.

And just like my experience in Japan, the more tools they have, the more successful they will be, and the more experience they get using them, the less stressful life becomes.

That's another thing I think we sometimes get wrong about training. The goal isn't for dogs to be dependent on our prompts, treats, tools, or management forever.

The goal is for those things to help them develop understanding.

We use the tools to teach the skill. We use the structure to build the habit. We use the guidance until the dog becomes capable of navigating the situation more confidently on their own without the tool.

In other words, the tool isn't the destination, it's the bridge.

What once felt confusing becomes familiar.

What once felt overwhelming becomes manageable.

What once triggered panic or frustration becomes something they know how to navigate.

We never aim to suppress normal dog behavior.

The idea is to help dogs successfully live in a world that wasn't designed for them.

Because life gets a whole lot easier when you understand both the language and the culture.