Dinner was on the table, and as part of our evening routine, both dogs were happily engaged with their nightly chewies. Deuce had settled into his treat, while Rio was lingering nearby—clearly monitoring the situation, as if anticipating an opportunity.
Sure enough, I caught a glimpse from the corner of my eye: Deuce walked into the kitchen, chew still in his mouth, when Rio launched herself forward with startling speed and precision. In one fluid motion, she snatched the pig’s ear right out of Deuce’s mouth and claimed it as her own.
Deuce and I were equally stunned—motionless, wide-eyed. This behavior was completely out of character for Rio. She quickly curled up on a nearby bed, chomping the prized item as if her life depended on it.
When I approached her, it was clear she had no intention of giving it up. She guarded the chew intently—shoulder blocking it from me, eyes tracking my every move. I know better than to challenge a dog guarding an item, particularly one this high-value. I paused to assess my next step.
I asked Rio to go to her crate. She refused. Of course she did. In her mind, she had rightfully acquired the prize. But from a behavior standpoint, allowing her to keep it uncontested would only reinforce the act of taking and guarding.
Knowing that force could escalate things, I instead asked her to move to a second bed, one just next to the chew. It took several firm prompts, but she complied—though clearly agitated and hypervigilant. I crouched down near the original bed and asked her to stay. I didn’t try to remove the pig’s ear but needed her to offer a behavior—some sign of cooperation.
She held her position. I gently moved the bed with the chew slightly closer to me. She remained composed. I softly told her, “Take it.” She did, and I stepped away.
Meanwhile, I redirected Deuce to his crate and gave him an assortment of other chewies. Thankfully, he accepted the consolation without protest. Once Rio had finished her chew, she acted as though nothing had happened. But I was still unsettled.
I asked her to go to her crate—this time with a firmer tone than usual. She complied immediately. I left her there for a few minutes to decompress. The incident had clearly stirred up tension for all three of us.
When I finally let her out, I kept my interactions with her brief and neutral. Not to punish her—too much time had passed for that to be effective—but because I needed space to cool down. Emotions matter in training too, especially mine.
But here’s the reality: this cannot become a pattern. Rio must learn that Deuce’s chewy is not fair game, and she must also learn that guarding from humans is unacceptable.
The path forward involves consistent, careful training—definitely not the most glamorous work, but absolutely essential. The protocol centers on trading: teaching the dog to willingly give up a high-value item in exchange for something of equal or greater value. The key lesson is that surrendering an item doesn’t mean permanent loss.
It’s worth noting: resource guarding between dogs is normal, natural behavior. However, when it risks triggering a fight—or when a dog starts guarding from humans—it becomes a safety issue. Some dogs are persistent guarders and need to be taught, item by item, that relinquishing doesn’t lead to deprivation.
In Rio’s case, it’s primarily the highest-value items—like pig’s ears and marrow bones—that trigger guarding behavior. Until the training is complete, I’ll be enforcing stricter management during chew time and carefully working with her to shift her associations.
Training dogs isn’t just about preventing bad behavior—it’s about helping them feel secure enough to make better choices. That’s the work. That’s the commitment.