Most dog owners know the benefits of walking your dog. Depending on the breed, it can be a quick 30‑minute stroll or a 2‑hour marathon. When I first owned Sherlock, I was very confused about how I should walk my dog.
Some people told me the dog should walk right next to me at all times—no sniffing around, no barking, no distractions—just pure discipline and total focus on me. Then there’s the other school of thought that says sniffing tires a dog out more than walking ever does, because it engages their nose, which is their most powerful sense. Sniffing makes the brain work, turns a simple walk into a mental workout, and can actually calm a dog more than just running in circles.
Early on, I used to keep him tight to my side, matching every step, and quickly learned that I couldn’t keep up with his natural pace. I felt bad that he had to walk so slowly next to me, as if I were limiting him. Both of us grew frustrated and unfulfilled—me because I felt like I was dragging him, him because he couldn’t explore or move freely.
I realized the best way to walk Sherlock isn’t about choosing one extreme or the other. It’s about balance: structured walks where he follows every command I give while exploring, “read the world,” and burning off mental energy. That combination is what made him calmer, happier, and more connected to me. I decided to train him to walk off‑leash and still be comfortable walking on‑leash whenever I want him to.
It started with two years of walking on leash—teaching Sherlock how not to pull and how to listen to instructions. I drilled six core commands into him, all of which I now consider absolutely imperative.
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A good recall – He must want to come back to me when I call. No matter how tempting the squirrel or how far ahead he has roamed, “come” means he turns around and runs back to me. That single command has saved us from countless close calls and is the foundation of his freedom and safety.
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Stop – He must be able to stop walking the moment I say “stop,” usually in a firm, strong tone. Whether it’s an oncoming car, a cyclist, or a loose dog, “stop” freezes him instantly so I can assess the situation and guide him safely.
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Stay – He must stay in place, whether I’m right beside him or a few steps away. “Stay” gives me control at crossings, busy paths, or when I need him to wait calmly instead of rushing ahead.
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Let’s go – A simple cue to signal that we’re moving forward with the walk. It helps me shift him from sniffing or staring at something and gently redirect his focus so we can keep going together.
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Heel – He must walk close to my side, either on a short leash or with me holding his collar (he’s tall enough that I can reach it comfortably). “Heel” is the default mode in busy areas, where I need him right next to me for safety and control.
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Leave it – When I want him to disengage from something—an object, a person, or another dog—“leave it” means he moves away without investigating further. The basic idea is that he stops engaging the very thing he’s sniffing or staring at and looks back to me instead.
Once he became reliable with these commands, I started letting him off‑leash in short bursts—maybe five minutes at first. Over time, we gradually increased the duration as he proved he could stay under control. Now, he can walk off‑leash, enjoying his "Sniffari", while I still maintain authority over his movements. He’s happy to explore at his own pace, and I’m happy that he doesn’t have to be locked into mine every second.
Walking off‑leash, however, requires the owner to stay alert and mindful of the surroundings. When I see a dog or person approaching from afar, I either bring him close to me by holding his collar or put him back on leash. I know he’s not aggressive, but I won’t take a chance simply because of his size—he could still cause serious harm in a single accident. In crowded places, I keep him on leash at all times as a basic safety rule.
Has he ever gone off‑script and not listened to a command? Of course. Just like us, he makes mistakes from time to time. He’s not a bomb‑sniffing dog that can never be wrong; he’s just a regular floof in the neighborhood. I’d say Sherlock is about 98% well‑behaved off‑leash, and that feels like a win to me.
Recently, I read that dogs sniff every blade of grass and mark every post and tree because it’s their way of updating their “social life.” They’re checking who’s been here and what’s changed in the neighborhood. It’s like scrolling through Instagram or Facebook and updating their own status. When I think of it that way, those long, sniff‑filled walks suddenly make even more sense—and feel a lot more like a shared adventure than a chore.
In the end, walking Sherlock taught me that good dog walking isn’t about perfection. It’s about patience, consistency, and a little bit of trust. When you blend structure with freedom—teaching solid commands on‑leash, then giving your dog space to sniff and explore off‑leash—you get a walk that’s safe for everyone and fulfilling for your dog.
Now, when I see Sherlock trotting calmly beside me one moment and then happily nosing through the grass the next, I know we’ve found our rhythm. Our walks are no longer just about exercise; they’re our daily ritual, our time to connect, and our way of moving through the world together—one sniff at a time.