In this episode of The Canine Deep Dive, cynologist Bart de Gols tackles one of the most misunderstood topics in modern dog training: what it really means to live with a high-drive dog. Too often, people assume that a Malinois, German Shepherd, Husky, or Cattle Dog lying quietly at their feet is a picture of calmness. But as Bart explains, that supposed “calm” can often be the silence of trauma. When drives are crushed through harsh methods or chronic deprivation, the dog doesn’t become balanced—it enters learned helplessness, a state first identified in the 1960s where animals give up because nothing they do matters. Science confirms the cost of suppression. Chronic stress elevates cortisol, shrinks the hippocampus, and over-activates the amygdala, leaving dogs anxious and less capable of learning. Dopamine, which fuels play and motivation, collapses, draining joy and initiative. What looks like obedience is often the stillness of defeat. Yet Bart draws a sharp distinction. Suppression is abuse. Correction is biology. In wolves, mothers, and even human societies, fair corrections are normal tools of communication. They are swift, proportionate, and never designed to break spirit. Misused corrections that extinguish drive are abusive. But fair, well-timed corrections serve as neurological interruptors, pulling a dog briefly out of its primal mind and giving it a chance to re-engage cognitively with the handler. Still, corrections must never be the first choice. The ethical path begins with drive fulfillment: Huskies need structured running, Malinois need controlled bite work, Shepherds need tracking and guarding tasks, herding dogs need outlets for movement. Cognitive work—scent games, problem-solving, and engagement training—further balances the brain, linking dopamine and oxytocin release to the handler. Structure and predictability add stability by lowering stress hormones. Corrections only have a place when the dog is lost in reactivity and cannot self-regulate. Used then, fairly and sparingly, they preserve drive while redirecting it. Harsh suppression collapses cognition. Ethical corrections open it. Bart also calls out responsibility across the chain. Breeders must stop marketing high-drive dogs as “easy companions.” Owners must accept that such dogs are a lifestyle, not a hobby. Trainers must refuse to sell suppression-based “calmness” programs that amount to breaking spirit. The moral truth is clear: you cannot erase drive—you can only channel it. Suppression is abuse. Corrections, when used after enrichment and engagement, are simply part of biology. Bart leaves listeners with this message: your dog is not broken—your expectations are. You cannot ask a Husky not to run, a Malinois not to work, or a Shepherd not to guard. These drives are not quirks. They are living expressions of genetics sculpted by centuries of selection.