Vet reveals the shocking reason you should never hug your dog

A vet has warned how a ‘hug’ can make a dog feel, and it’s not necessarily what you would expect
A vet has warned that it could be a bad idea to ‘hug’ your dog, as it could have the opposite effect on them to what us humans feel.
There’s nothing nicer than coming home from a long day at work to your furry friend scurrying as fast as they can to the door to greet you.
Your natural reaction is usually to bend down and give them a big cuddle, and whilst it might look like they’re loving every second – it might not be what they’re really feeling.
Dog experts are now warning owners to find different ways of showing their love.

According to a vet who spoke to Psychology Today, a hug can actually make a dog feel quite anxious and trapped – this is because a dog’s primary defence is to run away.
Psychologist Stanley Coren explained: “Yes, your dog may leap into your lap and kiss your face, cuddle against your neck, and beg you to rub her belly.
“But that’s not ‘hugging.’
“In my experience, many dogs don’t enjoy having a human move one or two arms around their shoulders and squeeze.
“That’s the hug we are talking about.”
Behaviour Vets author Lauren Novack believes dogs who do enjoy hugs are a complete ‘exception’, reports Daily Paws.
She said: “When dogs don’t like something and politely ask for space over and over again to no avail, they’re likely to escalate their communication to growling or biting.
“I don’t want dogs to be stressed, and I don’t want humans to get bitten. For most dogs, hugs are stressful.”


Stanley previously analysed 250 photos of dogs being given hugs, and he found that in 80% of the images, the dogs showed signs of looking stressed.
And he noted that this can be indicated by a dog lowers their ears, closing their eyes, or turning away from the source of anxiety.
And the psychologist has now revealed some much better alternatives.
He said: “The clear recommendation to come out of this research is to save your hugs for your two-footed family members and lovers.
“It is clearly better from the dog’s point of view if you express your fondness for your pet with a pat, a kind word, and maybe a treat.”
And the last thing we want to do is upset our furry babies, so we’re definitely going to take this advice on board!

I Found Tiny Childrens Shoes on My Late Husbands Grave Every Time I Visited, Their Secret Changed My Life

When Ellen visits Paul’s grave, seeking solace, she’s puzzled by the sight of children’s shoes resting on his headstone. At first, she dismisses it, assuming it’s a mistake by another grieving family. But as more shoes appear over time, the mystery deepens. Determined to understand, Ellen eventually catches the person responsible—and her life changes in an instant.

The first time I saw the shoes, I thought someone had made a mistake. A small pair of blue sneakers lay beside Paul’s headstone, neatly arranged as if left with intention. I figured a grieving parent had misplaced them. People do strange things when they mourn—I know I did. After Paul passed away in a sudden accident, I spent an entire week making jam that I knew I’d never eat. It was the only thing that made me feel like I was doing something, anything.

But those shoes were different. They didn’t belong, and I moved them aside before placing my flowers by Paul’s grave. It wasn’t until my next visit that I noticed something unusual: there were more shoes. This time, tiny red rain boots. Then, during another visit, I found dark green sneakers. It was too deliberate to be random. And it didn’t make sense. Paul and I never had children. I tried to convince myself it was a mistake—a grieving parent finding comfort in placing shoes at the wrong grave—but deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

As the shoes multiplied with each visit, it felt like an invisible hand was pulling at the fragile threads of peace I had stitched together. Frustrated, I stopped visiting for a while, hoping that by staying away, the shoes would disappear. They didn’t. Instead, they kept coming. When I finally returned, six pairs of children’s shoes stood in a neat row beside Paul’s headstone, like a haunting tribute I couldn’t comprehend.

My sadness turned into anger. Who was doing this? Was this some cruel joke?

Then, one cold morning, I finally saw her. She was crouched beside the grave, gently placing a pair of small brown sandals next to the growing collection. Her long, dark hair swayed in the breeze as she carefully arranged them, her movements slow and purposeful.

“Hey! You!” I yelled, charging toward her, the flowers I had brought slipping from my grasp, forgotten.

She flinched but didn’t run. Instead, she stood slowly, dusting off her coat before turning to face me. That’s when my breath caught in my throat.

It was Maya—Paul’s old secretary. I hadn’t seen her in years, not since she abruptly left her job. She had always been warm and cheerful, but the woman standing before me now seemed burdened with a sorrow I recognized all too well.

“Maya?” I whispered, the disbelief heavy in my voice.

She nodded, her eyes red with unshed tears. Without a word, she reached into her coat pocket and handed me a worn photograph. My hands shook as I took it, my heart pounding in my chest.

It was a picture of Paul, smiling down at a baby boy cradled in his arms.

“His name is Oliver,” Maya said softly. “He’s Paul’s son.”

I stumbled backward, the world spinning as the weight of her words sank in. My husband, the man I thought I knew so well, had lived a secret life—with a child.

“You and Paul were…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

Maya nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I never wanted to hurt you. But after Paul’s accident, Oliver started asking about his dad. I told him Paul was watching over him, and every time Oliver gets a new pair of shoes, he asks me to bring the old ones to his daddy.”

The shoes… they were a child’s way of staying connected to the father he had lost.

I wanted to scream, to demand answers from a man who could no longer give them. But standing there, staring at the shoes left behind by a little boy who would never know his father, I felt my anger start to melt into something else—something softer.

Maya looked at me with guilt etched on her face. “I’ll stop bringing the shoes. I never meant to upset you.”

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