My Dog Thinks He’s My Life Coach

My Dog Thinks He’s My Life Coach

By Hasnain Shah

If you’ve never had a dog stare you down with the kind of intensity normally reserved for TED Talk speakers, you’re missing out on what I live with daily. My golden retriever, Max, is not just my dog—he’s convinced he’s my life coach. And honestly, he may be doing a better job than the actual human mentors I’ve had over the years.

Max has never charged me $199 an hour to “unlock my potential,” but every day he manages to shove advice down my throat in his own furry, slobbery way. Some of it is questionable—like encouraging me to eat socks—but most of it, surprisingly, makes sense.

Lesson One: Start Every Day With Enthusiasm

Max wakes up at 6 a.m. sharp, not because he has an alarm clock, but because the sun rises and therefore, in his mind, so should everyone else. He doesn’t shuffle out of bed groaning, hitting snooze seventeen times. He bounds into my room like he’s about to announce a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

If I ignore him, he brings reinforcements: a wet nose shoved into my armpit, the sound of toenails clicking impatiently on the hardwood floor, and if all else fails, the dreaded paw-to-face maneuver.

Max’s logic is simple: life is happening now, and you should meet it with excitement. Coffee? Optional. Positivity? Non-negotiable.

Lesson Two: Hydrate (Aggressively)

Max drinks water like he’s training for the Hydration Olympics. He’ll lap up an entire bowl, sigh deeply, then look at me like: “Your turn.” I realized one day, while refilling his dish for the fourth time, that my daily water intake consisted of three sips of coffee and maybe a Diet Coke.

Now, whenever I reach for another coffee, I feel his eyes on me. He doesn’t say it, but I know he’s thinking: “That’s bean juice. Where’s your water, champ?”

Lesson Three: Don’t Hold Grudges

If I step on Max’s paw, he yelps dramatically, shoots me a look that could win an Oscar, and then—thirty seconds later—brings me a toy. Grievance forgotten. Can you imagine if humans operated this way? Entire family feuds would end in under a minute. World peace might finally happen.

Max’s coaching tip here? Forgive quickly, preferably before lunch.

Lesson Four: Celebrate Small Wins

You’d think Max just landed on the moon every time he successfully catches a tennis ball. The level of celebration is outrageous. He zooms around the yard like he’s won the Super Bowl, ball still clamped in his mouth, ears flapping in triumph.

Meanwhile, I beat myself up if I check two things off my to-do list instead of ten. Max is teaching me that sometimes, catching the ball is enough. You don’t need confetti cannons. Just wag your tail and enjoy the moment.

Lesson Five: Rest Without Guilt

Max naps like it’s a profession. Middle of the day? Nap. Five minutes after his last nap? Another nap. He doesn’t spiral into an existential crisis about productivity. He just snores loudly, sometimes on his back with his legs sticking straight up like he’s auditioning for a yoga calendar.

Max’s philosophy: Rest is not laziness. Rest is preparation for the next adventure—or at least for the mailman’s arrival.

Lesson Six: Be Fearless in Asking for What You Want

Max has zero shame in making his needs known. Hungry? He’ll sit by his bowl and bark. Bored? He’ll plop his favorite toy in my lap until I surrender. Want affection? He’ll wedge his 80-pound body onto me like a furry paperweight.

Meanwhile, I once agonized over whether it was “too much” to ask a coworker for a stapler. Max would say: “Closed mouths don’t get fed—or belly rubs.”

Lesson Seven: Love Without Conditions

Max doesn’t care if I’m having a bad hair day, if I snapped at someone, or if I still haven’t folded laundry from three days ago. He greets me with the same ecstatic tail wag every single time I walk in the door, even if I just went outside to get the mail.

This, perhaps, is his greatest coaching tip: you don’t need a reason to love someone. You just do.

So yes, I have a dog who thinks he’s my life coach. And while I haven’t started charging others for his motivational seminars (yet), I’m convinced he’s onto something.

Whenever I’m spiraling into stress, procrastination, or self-doubt, Max is there—tail wagging, tongue lolling, eyes sparkling—as if to say: “You’ve got this. And if you don’t, that’s okay too. Now, how about we go chase that tennis ball again?”

Because in Max’s world, there are no failures. Just lessons, snacks, and naps.