You take them on long walks. You play fetch until your arm is sore. You send them to daycare. You try so hard to “wear them out.”
And yet… nothing changes.
They still pace the house.
They still follow you from room to room.
They still pop up at every sound.
They still explode on leash.
They still feel wired — like their body never truly lands.
So you think, maybe they just need more exercise.
But what if the problem isn’t that your dog has too much energy?
What if they’re actually exhausted… and completely overstimulated?
This is the piece most people miss: tired doesn’t always mean calm.
There are two very different kinds of tired. There’s physical fatigue — the kind where muscles are sore and the body feels heavy — and then there’s nervous system regulation. A dog can be physically exhausted and still have a brain that feels like it’s on fire. Still scanning. Still alert. Still waiting for the next thing to happen.
Because calm isn’t created by burning energy.
Calm is created by safety.
And safety lives in the nervous system — not the legs.
I see this dog every single week.
The one who can’t settle. The one who stares at their owner constantly, like they’re on duty. The one who lies down for thirty seconds and then springs back up. The dog who struggles to listen, loses their mind around other dogs, crashes at night but never truly rests.
Owners describe them as “high energy,” “crazy,” “non-stop,” “needs more exercise.”
But what I often see isn’t excess energy.
It’s dysregulation.
It’s a nervous system stuck in fight-or-flight.
And honestly? Modern life makes this almost inevitable.
Today’s dogs live incredibly stimulating lives. There’s always something happening — daycare, dog parks, busy trails, long walks on tight leashes, fetch sessions, cars, noises, people, training, constantly being rushed. From the outside, it looks normal and satisfying. It looks like we’re doing everything right.
But to the nervous system, it can feel like never getting to exhale.
Imagine drinking energy drinks all day long and then someone saying, “Okay, relax now.” You couldn’t. Not because you don’t want to — but because your body literally can’t.
That’s how many dogs are living every day.
Biologically, your dog only has two primary states. There’s the sympathetic state — survival mode — where adrenaline, cortisol, chasing, reacting, and high arousal live. That’s where fetch lives. Rough play. Reactivity. Intensity. It’s designed for short bursts, not all day long.
Then there’s the parasympathetic state — rest and digest — where breathing deepens, thinking happens, learning sticks, and the body heals. This is where sniffing lives. Chewing. Slow wandering. Sleeping deeply in the sun.
This is where calm lives.
If a dog spends their entire day bouncing between stimulation and more stimulation, their body never fully comes back down. And a nervous system that never comes down will always look anxious.
This is where the “more exercise” trap happens.
When a dog looks wild or restless, our instinct is almost always to add more activity. Longer walks. More fetch. More daycare. More playdates. We try to tire it out of them.
But high-intensity exercise floods the body with adrenaline and dopamine. It can look like relief in the moment… and then rebound into even more arousal and anxiety later.
So instead of creating calm, we accidentally build stamina.
We don’t get a calmer dog.
We get a better athlete.
And at the same time, we miss something important.
Because most dogs aren’t lacking movement.
They’re lacking fulfillment.
Fulfillment isn’t the same thing as calm. It’s what creates calm.
It’s the satisfying, breed-specific stuff — sniffing freely through a field, exploring at their own pace, solving little problems, chewing something that feels good in their body, using the instincts they were born with. It’s having choices. It’s being allowed to exist without constant pressure to perform.
Those moments tell the nervous system, I’m safe. I’m satisfied. I don’t need to stay on high alert.
And that’s what finally allows a dog to settle.
Real calm doesn’t look like a dog passed out from exhaustion. It looks like a dog who chooses to lie down. A dog who isn’t scanning the room. A dog who isn’t demanding constant engagement. A dog who can simply exist — neutral, soft, steady.
That kind of calm isn’t something we force.
It’s something we teach the body to feel.
So if your dog always seems “on,” try shifting the goal. Instead of asking, "How do I burn more energy?" Ask, "How do I help their nervous system feel safe enough to settle?"
Start adding more decompression walks. Long sniff breaks. Quiet time outside. Enrichment toys. Place work. Structured rest. Short, intentional play sessions instead of constant hype. Less chaos. More rhythm.
Not more stimulation, but more balance.
And if you’re reading this thinking, this is my dog — please know you didn’t do anything wrong.
We’ve all been told, “A tired dog is a good dog.” It sounds logical. It’s just incomplete.
Because what our dogs actually need isn’t exhaustion.
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