The Bark Side Chronicles: (Chapter 9) Small Dog, Big Wisdom (AKA Dog Training Tips)

-Jedi Wisdom From My Dog

A whimsical illustration of a dog dressed as a Jedi, wielding a tennis ball lightsaber against a starlit backdrop, with the humorous title "The Bark Side Chronicles: Jedi Wisdom from My Dog."

Small Dog, Big Wisdom — Why Mila Might Be the Wisest of Us All

In every pack, there’s a leader.

In our pack, her name is Mila.

She doesn’t lead with volume. She doesn’t charge ahead barking orders. She doesn’t care about titles or fetch-based hierarchies. Instead, she leads with one arched eyebrow, a strategic side-eye, and a permanent seat atop her pillow castle—usually flanked by sunlight, fleece, and righteous indignation.

At nearly eight years old, Mila has evolved beyond the chaos. She doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone. She’s lived through the puppy years, the leash-pulling phase, and the time we briefly tried dressing her in seasonal sweaters.....ok well we still do this and she's not happy about it. She’s earned the right to judge us all in silence.

And oh, how she does.

The Jealousy Games (A.K.A. Toy Wars)

Our household has an unspoken rule: no two dogs may ever be content with separate toys at the same time. And no one dog can ever get belly rubs with out the other becoming a little "Jelly Belly".

I’ve seen Milo calmly chewing on a squeaky cupcake toy, minding his own business, when Mesa suddenly sprints over like it’s the last sugary sweet on Earth. Doesn’t matter that Mesa has a toy in her mouth already—no, now that cupcake has value. Milo must have sensed it, because he grabs it tighter, and then it’s on. Tug-of-war, chase loops around the kitchen island, and the inevitable moment when someone knocks over a chair, a water bowl, a lamp. Or drags a throw rug halfway down the hall. Again.

Reverse the players, and it’s the same story. Mesa finds an old rope buried at the bottom of the toy bin. Milo decides it’s now an ancient long lost treasure from the temple of doom. They can be surrounded by twenty toys, but only the one in the other’s mouth matters.

And what does Mila do?

She watches. One paw crossed over the other. Not a muscle moved. Occasionally, if one of them gets too close to her pillow perimeter, she’ll issue a low growl—not a threat, just a reminder: you may be big, but I am not to be trifled with.

Wisdom is knowing that all toys squeak the same.

A glamorous Chihuahua named Princess Mila gracefully accepts a treat while dressed in an elegant white gown, capturing hearts with her regal charm.

The Laser Pointer Trials

Now, if you ever want to watch pure unfiltered chaos take form, shine a red laser dot on the floor near Milo and Mesa. "I learned the hard way. This is an outdoor activity."

It’s like flipping a switch.

Mesa becomes a missile with ears. Milo, ever the determined fool, sprints headfirst into walls in his pursuit of the mysterious, uncatchable dot. They skid across tile. They leap in unison. They fight over who saw it first. They pause only long enough to look at me like, “Human! Move the dot again!”

And where is Mila during this frenzy?

Nestled on the couch, barely lifting her head. Her eyes track the beam—not with excitement, but with existential disappointment.

You can almost hear her inner monologue:

“You two are chasing a light you will never catch. This explains so much.”

The Fortress of Solitude (And Judgment)

Mila’s preferred battlefield is psychological.

Her pillow fortress is situated just high enough to give her a commanding view of the living room, hallway, and kitchen doorway. From there, she can monitor food activity, dog drama, and incoming Amazon boxes. It’s a strategic outpost—and it’s strictly off-limits to the others.

Mesa tried once to jump up there beside her.

Once.

With a single curled lip and a swift air-snap that came nowhere near making contact, Mila sent her retreating faster than a pup who farted too loud. She didn’t even get up. Just shifted slightly, sighed dramatically, and reclaimed her stillness.

And Milo? He knows better. He bounces around the couch like it’s a trampoline playing "the floor is lava" . He hops on, hops off, tries to bait Mesa into chasing him. But he never, ever invades the throne.

Sometimes I watch her watching them, and I swear… she’s not just resting. She’s studying. Taking notes. Calculating where she fits into the dysfunction, and how to avoid contributing to it. All the while protecting her cotton kingdom.

She could run. She could chase. She could bark and she does sometimes when the bounce a little to close. But why waste energy when you already know how it ends?

Two playful puppies Milo and Mesa engage in a friendly tug-of-war with a rope toy, displaying both mischief and camaraderie in the hallway.

Not Lazy—Strategic

There was a time I mistook Mila’s calm for laziness.

When Milo was learning to “sit” and “stay” for treats, Mila stayed curled on her blanket, uninterested. I thought maybe she didn’t know the commands.

Then one day, she walked over, sat perfectly, gave one single paw, stared me down—and waited for the treat. She learned from observation.

She didn’t need the practice. She needed me to catch up.

She isn’t aloof. She’s discerning. She doesn’t ignore. She evaluates. She’s not detached. She’s selective with her energy.

There’s wisdom in that. A kind of mature clarity we could all use.

The Quiet One - Who Keeps Us Together

I am beginning to think that Milo is the heart of the family, Mesa the excitement—but Mila? Mila’s the soul.

When things get too loud, she restores the balance. When Mesa gets too wild, Mila shuts it down. When Milo gets anxious, she grounds him—sometimes just by being in the same room.

She doesn’t demand attention, yet she draws it. She doesn’t need affection, yet we all feel the need to offer it. She doesn’t chase the spotlight. Somehow, it still finds her.

She’s the anchor in a house of sails.

Final Thoughts: The Wisdom We Almost Missed (Dog Training Tips I Learned)

It took me some time to realize the truth: Mila doesn’t waste energy because she doesn’t need to. She already knows who she is. She doesn’t need a toy to feel important or a laser to feel entertained.

She’s not trying to be seen. She’s already sure of her place.

And in that stillness—in that almost imperceptible confidence—is a lesson I almost missed:

“Sometimes the wisest voice isn’t the loudest. It’s the one that knows when to speak... and when to simply observe.”

So here’s to Mila: our quiet queen, our snarky little sage, the 14-pound philosopher on a pillow throne meditating. We may be louder, younger, and faster—but we’re all still learning from her.

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