Enrichment for high-drive dogs

Providing enrichment for a dog on restricted exercise

Kaytee's Vet Appointment

Despite a few weeks of restricted exercise — and a course of antibiotics and anti‑inflammatories Kaytee’s toe remained swollen.

When we arrived for her x‑rays, the nurse calmly took her lead and turned to guide her out the back. Before she’d even taken a full step, Kaytee launched herself straight onto the examination table without hesitation.  She had decided she wasn’t going anywhere without me and this was the logical solution,  The nurse’s face was a picture: a perfect blend of shock and disbelief.  Unfazed I reassured her, of course, that this is very typical of Kaytee and,  a little belatedly, gave her the health and safety brief,  “expect the unexpected”.

Despite her swollen toe and lameness, Kaytee’s spirit has not been dampened, and she is still very much uncontainable, opportunistic, and just a little bit theatrical.

I collected her later that afternoon and was relieved to hear she had been a model patient. Even better, the x‑rays confirmed that her toe wasn’t fractured after all, but a soft‑tissue injury; painful, certainly, but far less serious than we’d feared. The downside, of course, was the vet’s instruction to continue with restricted exercise for several more weeks. For a young, high‑drive border collie who spends much of her time airborne, this is challenging, to put it mildly. Managing her enthusiasm while keeping her calm enough to heal has become a daily balancing act, equal parts creativity, negotiation, and strategic deployment of enrichment for high-drive dogs!

This is  how we have managed.:

DAY ONE OF ENRICHMENT FOR HIGH-DRIVE DOGS

A short lead walk early in the day helps keep some sense of normal structure, even though Kaytee can’t have her usual off‑lead sprinting. Lead walking has always been a source of mild frustration for her. She doesn’t pull.  She learned as a puppy that any tension on the lead means a change of direction or losing forward motion. However, she has developed her own creative interpretations of walking nicely. At intervals she runs on the spot, as if sheer enthusiasm might propel us forward faster, or she slips behind me in a classic little herding manoeuvre, presumably hoping to influence my pace. Recently she has added a new behaviour to the repertoire: grabbing at her lead. This is, frankly, infuriating.

Since she’ll be having daily lead walks for the next few weeks, I decided to use this time to work on improving her lead manners. It serves a dual purpose: it makes the walks more pleasant for me, and it gives Kaytee’s brain something meaningful to do. For a dog like her, mental work is often more tiring, and more satisfying, than physical exercise, so turning these short walks into training sessions feels like a productive way to channel her energy.

After her walk, Kaytee settles on her bed with a long‑lasting chew, a deliberate choice to mirror the downtime that normally follows her morning exercise. Predictability is soothing for her and keeping that familiar routine seems to help her accept the reduced activity without becoming too frustrated. Mid‑afternoon she has a short spell in the garden to stretch her legs and check that the world is still in order, before resting again until dinner.

To replace our usual evening training sessions at agility or obedience, we’ve switched to working on static positions and proofing. It’s quieter, calmer work, but still mentally engaging. I’m using food rather than toys as both distraction and reward, partly to keep her arousal levels low and partly because she’s missing the physical outlets she’s used to. These little sessions give her something purposeful to do and help maintain the structure she thrives on, even when her body needs to take things slowly.

Kaytee loose leash walking

DAY TWO

By the second day, Kaytee had fully clocked the new routine and was already trying to negotiate the terms. Her morning lead walk followed the same pattern as before, short, steady, and punctuated by her creative attempts to “assist” with the pace. She’s beginning to realise that grabbing the lead earns her a brief pause and reset, so she’s thinking twice before resorting to that particular tactic. I am using food rewards for remaining in position and walking nicely.  Forward motion, as a reward isn’t particularly reinforcing for Kaytee as she simply doesn’t want to be on lead, so hopefully the food rewards will be more successful.

Afterwards, she settled with another long‑lasting chew, though with slightly more dramatic sighing than on Day One. The novelty of enforced calm is wearing thin. Still, the predictable sequence of walk–chew–rest seems to help her accept the situation, even if she’d prefer to run.

Mid‑afternoon brought a quick potter in the garden, where she got the opportunity to watch Jill herding Holly with her ball. This is a favourite pastime which doesn’t involve running so I’m happy for her to continue with this activity so long as she remains calm.  She’s moving comfortably, which is reassuring, but we’re still keeping everything short and controlled.

In the evening, we continued with our static training, positions, stays, and proofing with food distractions. We returned to a little bit of work with the dumbbell, which we haven’t done for many months.  Just simple holds in a present position.  She was enthusiastic about this and did well. 

Without the physical outlets she’s used to, these sessions are becoming the highlight of her day. They give her a sense of purpose, and they give me a dog who is mentally satisfied enough to settle afterwards.

dumbell retrieve

DAY THREE

It was a beautiful day, so we took a short drive to a different location for our walk.   A small change of scenery to keep things interesting without increasing the physical demands. After our gentle stroll, we sat together on a bench for a while. Kaytee settled quickly and seemed to enjoy the warmth of the sun, though she did eventually decide to join me on the bench. Hardly surprising; elevation is one of her core values. Realistically, it’s impossible to prevent her from jumping altogether, and the bench was considerably lower than the vet’s examination table, so I chose not to worry about it.

Back home, a stuffed frozen Kong was waiting for her lunchtime enrichment. One unexpected benefit of this enforced rest is that Kaytee has finally put on a little weight. Keeping condition on such an active dog is always a challenge, and she had become a bit lean, so this small gain is actually a positive outcome of the situation.

In the evening, we did some “place” training while I weeded in the garden. I wanted her to enjoy some fresh air and company, but her preferred method of “helping,” circling me like a sheep, wasn’t exactly low‑impact exercise. Asking her to stay on her mat gave her a job to do, kept her movement controlled, and allowed us both to enjoy the garden without risking her recovery.

Kaytee joins me on a bench

DAY FOUR

By Day Four, the routine was beginning to feel familiar.  Not necessarily welcome in Kaytee’s opinion, but familiar enough that she was no longer trying to renegotiate every element of it. Our morning walk was steady and uneventful, which for Kaytee counts as a major achievement. She still offered the occasional hopeful burst of “on‑the‑spot trotting”, but the lead‑grabbing was noticeably reduced. We are definitely making progress.

Afterwards she settled with her chew, though she kept one eye on me in case I suddenly announced a surprise agility session. No such luck. The rest of the morning passed quietly, and by lunchtime she was ready for some garden time.  She decided to respond to next door’s dog barking which she rarely does, that is Holly’s job.  This is clearly a subtle sign that the frustration is starting to show through the cracks.

The afternoon was spent mostly resting. At one point I had a moment of distractedness and forgot to close the top half of the stable door — something Kaytee was more than happy to remind me of. She appeared beside me with that unmistakable “I’ve taken the liberty…” expression, clearly very pleased with herself. Oops. Another reminder that with Kaytee, any lapse in human vigilance is simply an opportunity waiting to be seized.!

In the evening, we kept things simple with more low‑arousal training: a few minutes of stationary behaviours, some impulse‑control games, and a bit of shaping work to keep her brain ticking. She enjoys these sessions far more than she enjoys the restricted exercise itself, and they seem to take the edge off her frustration. By bedtime she was settled and content.

Place training

DAY FIVE

By Day Five, Kaytee had fully embraced her role as Chief Compliance Officer — not in the sense of following the rules, but in the sense of monitoring me closely for any momentary lapse in enforcing them. She is, after all, a collie. If there is a loophole, she will find it; if there is no loophole, she will create one. 

Our morning walk was steady, though she was noticeably more enthusiastic than the previous day. The reduced lead‑grabbing continues to feel like a small miracle, and she’s beginning to offer more moments of genuine loose‑lead walking rather than her usual “I am absolutely walking nicely but also vibrating with suppressed speed” routine. Her self‑control is impressive, even if it’s held together by sheer willpower.

Afterwards she settled with her chew, and the rest of the morning passed quietly, and by lunchtime she was ready for another enrichment activity — this time a snuffle mat, which she approached with the intensity of a dog who has never once been fed in her life.  Kaytee loves her food. 

The afternoon brought a short spell in the garden, where she supervised me with great seriousness. She’s moving comfortably, and the swelling continues to improve, but her enthusiasm still far exceeds her physical allowance. Managing that mismatch remains the daily challenge.

In the evening, we kept things calm and she settled in the living room with me and Cora.  Cora was stretched out, snoring on her bed and Kaytee nudged her gently, before biting at her paws in a gesture to get her to play.  Cora opened one eye but refused to move, thankfully.

DAY SIX

Kaytee’s morning walk was calm and controlled, and she offered some genuinely lovely loose‑lead moments. For a dog who normally measures success in metres‑per‑second, I feel like we are getting there. 

The rest of the day continued in the same theme and passed quietly. A short garden break, a bit of sunbathing, a brief bark to next door’s dog, that will have to stop!

Later in the afternoon, I spent a little time at the bottom of the garden planting up the tortoise enclosure. I’d put a few puppy panels around the gate to stop curious collie noses poking through to investigate the tortoises. As I worked, I suddenly became aware of a pair of eyes peering at me through the slats of the gate. Kaytee’s eyes. Of course.

Before I could process the situation, it dawned on me: she had jumped the panels. Not nudged, not squeezed, not barged — jumped. I asked her, in my best disapproving‑but‑not‑really‑surprised tone, what exactly she thought she was doing. Naturally, she responded in the only way Kaytee knows how: by pinging straight back over the panels again, as if demonstrating that the first jump had been entirely intentional and easily repeatable.

I groaned. She looked pleased with herself. And the tortoises, thankfully, remained unbothered.

In the evening, we spent a few minutes of “place” work, some calm shaping, and a little impulse‑control practice gave her the mental outlet she needed. And yet, beneath the surface of this steady routine, I can feel the ache of missing our normal life together. The partnership. The movement. The shared purpose. Kaytee is coping, perhaps better than I am, but we are both waiting for the moment when she can run again, think at speed again, be herself again.

For now, we take it one quiet day at a time.

DAY SEVEN

Feeling encouraged by her improving lead manners, I decided today, Kaytee could join the others on the group walk. On the lead, naturally. In theory, this sounded sensible. In practice, the journey, the rising excitement of the pack, and the sheer electricity of arriving at a favourite walking spot with a group of collies and a terrier was a recipe for disaster.

Kaytee began by banging the crate door with her swollen paw, impatient to get out and join the fun. Her barking echoed around the van, each yelp a clear statement of her opinion on restricted exercise. And when I finally opened the crate, she exploded out like a bullet, twisting my finger painfully in her collar as she launched herself towards freedom.

She was off and running before I could even breathe. My heart sank, this was exactly what she mustn’t be doing. I called her, properly called her, and in spite of her frustration, the days of rest, and the sheer temptation of the moment, she turned on a sixpence and came straight back to hand. Immediately. No hesitation. No negotiation. Just perfect, obedient recall.

And that, of course, made what I had to do next feel even worse.

I clipped her lead back on, my stomach twisting with guilt even though I knew I had no choice. She looked up at me with bright, hopeful eyes, as if waiting for me to say I’d changed my mind. I stroked her head, told her she was a good girl, and quietly mourned the fact that doing the right thing for her recovery meant denying her the thing she loves most.

She settled well that evening after enjoying a little massage, she stretched out on her bed with a soft sigh that suggested she was content, even if she’d prefer a day filled with speed, purpose, and sheep.

REFLECTION

I’ll be honest: I’m struggling with the restricted exercise far more than Kaytee is. She has adapted to the slower pace with surprising grace, finding comfort in the structure, the chews, the training games, and the extra moments of stillness. I, on the other hand, am itching to get back to training. I miss our agility. I miss our agility.

It’s not just the activity itself, it’s the connection. The shared partnership. The way she reads my body like a sentence and responds before I’ve even finished the thought. Agility is where we meet each other fully, where her brilliance and my cues weave into something that feels like a conversation in motion. Losing that, even temporarily, leaves a quiet ache.

The sheep needed penning this week, and for the first time in a long while, I couldn’t call Kaytee to help. That moment caught me off guard. It wasn’t just inconvenience; it was absence. A reminder of how much of our daily life is built around partnership, trust, and the simple joy of working together.

I miss my dog.  Not the dog lying on her bed or supervising the garden or offering perfect “place” during training. She’s still here, still herself, still bright and funny and full of opinions. But I miss the version of her who flies, who thinks at speed, who works beside me with that fierce, joyful purpose that only a collie truly understands.

This is temporary. She will heal. We will return to the work we love. But it’s okay to acknowledge that the waiting is hard, and that the quiet between the usual beats of our routine feels a little empty.

For now, I’m holding onto the small moments, the soft sighs, the gentle training, the sun‑warmed bench, the cheeky reminders about stable doors.   Trusting that when she’s ready, she’ll come back to full speed with all the enthusiasm she’s storing up.