The Forest That's No Longer Ours

At first glance, it was supposed to be just an ordinary walk in our favorite forest. The car, the familiar turnoff, the usual trail. But even before I opened the door, Moli already knew. She froze, alert, tense on the seat – ears up, head high, nostrils flaring, working rhythmically and quickly. Getting out of the car was out of the question. Before I even moved, she had already scanned the forest’s scent map. And next time in that forest... the same thing happened.

At first, I thought she was just being stubborn. Maybe it was a whim, a phase, maybe she simply preferred running elsewhere. Maybe she had a bad experience in that forest? Got scared of something? I tried to “convince” her: treats every meter, playing with a ball, searching for treats in the underbrush… It wasn’t working; she wouldn’t be bribed. What finally helped was going together with another dog – a French Bulldog, an Australian Shepherd, a German Shepherd. That, however, was problematic: it’s much easier for me to run with just one dog. The Bulldog can’t keep up due to limited stamina. The Aussie has so much energy I can’t keep up. And the GSD – Ebi – is our veteran, nearly 11 years old. I had to move our training to another location.

One time, when I saw her again – frozen, sniffing, consciously not crossing a certain boundary – I stopped asking, “Why don’t you want to go?” and started asking, “Why am I forcing you?” Today, having connected some dots, I want to share the results of my little “investigation.”

The Invisible Threat

I’ve long known that there are wolves in our area. It’s neither news nor a secret. I never really worried about it. Wolves naturally avoid humans, don’t seek contact, and our dogs had never seemed to sense them either. I hadn’t noticed any obvious signs of wolf activity during our walks or bike rides. That is, until something growled at me from a fern patch along a little-used forest path. A short, low, guttural growl that resonated in my bones. Something shifted in the brush, and that was it. No follow-up sound, no chase. I didn’t even know I could cycle that fast.

That’s when it hit me. Our favorite forest, with its seldom-used side paths, permanent wetlands, flooded zones, and inaccessible areas – it's an ideal habitat. Just as it’s perfect for hares, deer, eagles, boars, and stags, it’s also perfect for wolves. Moli simply knows that this is not a place to enter lightly. Her instinct tells her that this territory belongs to someone else. Alone, her chances of survival are slim. In a group, decision-making shifts. And primitive dogs aren’t afraid to make their own decisions.

Breed Differences in the Face of Threat

The Australian Shepherd moves forward because it was bred to follow humans and make joint decisions. It has a built-in “umbilical cord” to its handler. Does it sense that there might be a wolf? Maybe. But it doesn’t rely on instinct. It sees the handler go, so it follows.

The French Bulldog doesn’t read the tension in the situation. Not because it’s “stupid” or “brave.” Its threat detection system is muted. It might not even register the chemical trail left by a wild predator. It acts as a passive member of the group, following rather than deciding. Bulldogs, though lovable, are known for their limited ability to read animal communication.

The German Shepherd is a breed strongly oriented toward cooperation with humans and following commands. Its primal instincts may be somewhat muted by generations of breeding for obedience and work. Ebi has undergone IPO training, which can also affect her reactions to danger.

The Depth of Canine Wisdom

What we sometimes mistake for “fear” in primitive dogs is something much older and deeper – survival instinct. Not arbitrary. Not neurotic. Real. Moli doesn’t need to have seen a wolf to understand its presence. It’s not about a specific experience, but about a chemical, scent-based language of danger, encoded in the brain over generations. The smell of fur, droppings, pheromones. This language instantly triggers analysis mode.

In primitive breeds like the Chongqing Dog, this instinct is not dulled. It’s clear and vivid. You can’t distract it with a ball. You might try to ignore it, but it will return – as refusal, tension, loss of contact. And if we don’t respect it, the dog will start leaving us out of its decisions. And that choice deserves respect.

A Chongqing Dog doesn’t look for confirmation in the eyes of a human. It looks for signals in the air, on the ground, in space. It’s a primal decision, inseparable from the breed’s character. Sometimes, we are simply their companions.

Maturity and Mutual Trust

This change in Moli’s behavior – from carefree puppy to a dog sensing real danger – happened in winter, around January. She was about a year and a half old and entered a key stage of development. For a primitive dog, it’s the moment when instincts dormant in puppyhood awaken in full force, and the dog becomes an adult responsible for its own survival and safety. Moli stopped seeing the world through the eyes of a young dog and started functioning like an adult female, ready to make independent decisions.

We want our dogs to trust us. But do we trust them? Do we respect their decisions, instincts, communication? Do we truly want to “un-spook the forest,” or should we sometimes simply say: “If you feel this place isn’t good today – let’s go somewhere else”? Working with a primitive dog is a relationship, not obedience training. It’s a two-way effort. I’m teaching her to live in my world. But I’m also learning to live in hers.

New Paths, New Possibilities

Although it used to be our favorite forest, the Barycz Valley offers many other options. We found a new spot – a place where we both feel good. Will we ever go back to that forest? Maybe. But not out of stubbornness or to “fix” something. Only if she tells me: “Now it’s okay.”

Mindfulness

At our kung fu school, my shifu, Shi Heng Zhi, taught us not only martial arts, but also the fundamentals of Chan Buddhism – the tradition on which the teachings of Shaolin are built.

One of the notable representatives of the Chan tradition, Master Sheng Yen, often emphasized that true practice begins with mindful presence – being fully aware of the here and now.

In a way I never expected, Moli has become my guide in this very area. She helps me notice things I wouldn’t perceive on my own. She teaches me to pause in places I used to overlook and to pay attention to subtle signals emerging from the space around us.

Our walks have more and more become a form of "walking meditation" – a mindful walking practice described by Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh, in which each step becomes an act of presence, a rooting in the present moment. Sometimes we must allow ourselves to be led. To trust. And to listen to those who sense more than we do.