Long ago, a group of wolves stood silently in the woodline. The weather had been cold, and they hadn’t eaten in several days. From a distance, they watched early humans silhouetted by firelight. The smell of cooked meat tickled their noses, only increasing their hunger. Wolves, with a natural distrust of outsiders—especially the two-legged variety—wrestled between fear and the driving force of hunger. For some, hunger won.
These wolves moved cautiously, silently approaching the humans. At the slightest sign of detection, they retreated—only to try again. Man had something they wanted. Those who had the patience and stability to inch closer, over time, would eventually be touched by the human hand. These wolves became the first domesticated dogs.
To domesticate means to take a wild animal and condition it to accept human touch. Dogs were the first species to do this, predating the domestication of horses by 3,000 to 4,000 years. While there are several theories on how this occurred, this progression—from wary wolves to trusted companions—is widely accepted.
In tribal cultures, women were primarily responsible for raising both children and dogs, typically within or around the main camp. Eventually, young men would leave the camp in hunting parties, accompanied by adult males and dogs. These dogs provided early-warning security—sensing, seeing, hearing, and smelling what humans could not. Chief among the threats they helped detect? Other wolves.
The dogs that traveled closer to the front of the group during hunts had first access to scraps. Those near the back got less. Over time, dogs adapted to this system.
The HEEL position is a natural adaptation—an ancient form of communication passed from wolf to dog. In the wild, dogs roam in packs 4–12 hours per day, searching for food and water while simultaneously avoiding threats. This is done silently, often at speed, and with tight coordination between group members. If I can condition a dog to move when I move, stop when I stop, and consistently show that I lead it to resources while avoiding danger, that dog will begin to focus on me more than any external threat or resource.
Crucially, this communication is nonverbal. Survival in the wild depends on silence. Whether it’s a rabbit fleeing before we can chase it, or another predator sensing our presence, noise means danger and loss.
Dogs key in on the front paws of the dog in front—watching which direction they point. That directional focus communicates where the lead dog is scanning. Anything outside that scope—or behind it—is irrelevant. When the lead dog stops, it communicates a discovery. He won’t move his whole body. He will only shift his head or ears. Unnecessary movement risks exposure. A tremendous amount of silent information is passed between canines via ear position and body posture.
Humans, being primates, communicate through facial expression. Dogs have adapted to read our faces very well. Their 240-degree field of vision allows them to track our feet and facial expressions simultaneously. The sweet spot—where they can see both—is just behind our heels. And so, the HEEL position was born.
With time and consistency, the dog learns that following at the heel offers the best chance to avoid threats and find resources—without leash tension, corrections, or stress. It simply becomes their way of moving through the world with us, as they have done for thousands of years.
One of the biggest problems today—for both dogs and humans—is our obsession with controlling space. Dogs, without us, live in a world without fences, backyards, or leashes. We don’t try to defend the entire forest when camping, yet when we give our dogs houses, we inadvertently give them territory to defend—space to hoard food, toys, affection, and attention. Every intruder—two- or four-legged—becomes a threat to those resources. The instinct to silently scan for prey and threats has been replaced with incessant barking. We yell from behind our dogs to stop barking—creating even more confusion and stress.
The fix is brutally simple. The dog needs to follow you out the door, around the block, and back in. Not the other way around.
This one quiet act—done without words, without tension—communicates leadership more clearly than any treat or command. Outside the home, they look to you to determine what’s a threat and what’s a resource. Back inside, they continue that quiet trust. This is how the bond was originally formed.
After working with 3,500+ dogs, we don’t use commands or treats. Regardless of why we were called, the first thing we do is get the dog to walk on a loose lead—in and out the door. This is the foundational issue for nearly every dog in our country.
We need to remember how this relationship started—and get back to it.