“Be More Dog!” 🐶 

This is my motto.

Should it be yours?

What do I mean by this?

I’m suggesting that being more dog-like is a powerful antidote to human distress. This idea encourages us to do more things that cause our tails to wag!

Be sure to read to the end of this piece to see how I manage to pivot from Dogs to Diogenes (my favourite Greek Philosopher) - You’re welcome!

Here are some key tenants as to what dogs might teach us:

Dogs live in the moment - “be here now” is what they do best. We could learn to avoid rehashing gripes about yesterday or worrying about tomorrow (future tripping). Instead we might contrast rumination and anxiety with the gentle discipline of presence. We would do well to:  Be here now - everywhere else is too painful.

Embrace joy and delight in the simple things. This may seem sentimental, but it is true: dogs show rapid positive affect shifts from small and tiny pleasures - food, touch, sunshine, a familiar face. They are master appreciators of “small gifts.” Getting out in nature is a fast way to get in touch with our inner-doggy!

Play. Dogs are playful. Play is not trivial in mammals (or for children); it is practice for life, a regulator of stress, and a builder of social bonds. Dogs use play to reconnect after tension and to test social rules safely. I suggest us adults remember to play too. Being creative and dancing badly alone in my kitchen are some of the ways I get back in touch with my silly side. We should take fun seriously!

Be relentlessly enthusiastic & seek adventure. Dogs are curious and exploratory. In safe contexts, many dogs approach novelty rather than avoid it, especially when accompanied by a trusted figure. That combination, novelty plus safety, mirrors how humans become brave socially. “Being more dog” is not just a private wellbeing mantra but a civic one. In psychological terms, dogs model what we might call “low-cost prosocial bids”: small, friendly signals that say “I’m safe; you’re welcome.”

Be unashamed - care not what others’ think. Be sincere to your authentic self. Our culture can make it feel embarrassing to admit we want contact. The dog doesn’t negotiate with embarrassment. The dog just approaches. The buddi bench is a small architectural protest against performative independence. Many adults feel self-conscious about talking to strangers. Many of us are trained to treat strangers as threats or inconveniences, and to treat friendliness as naïve. “Be more dog” becomes a small act of defiance against a culture of guardedness. The buddi bench philosophy, for example, gives permission to practise that defiance safely.

Dogs are also, importantly, not purely virtuous. They can be territorial, anxious, jealous, reactive, and aggressive if threatened or poorly socialised.  So can we! The ideal is not to imitate every canine impulse, but to learn from the dog’s social directness, presence, and readiness to reconnect.

John Dunne wrote a beautiful poem called “No Man is an Island” about our interdependence, a stanza of which I quote below: 

"No man is an island,

Entire of itself.

Each is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main.”

John Dunne

We might be wise to reject the illusion or fantasy that the self is a sealed, self-sufficient unit.  Many of us live in “atomised communities” with a tendency to celebrate the “self-made millionaire” forgetting that likely hundreds of people likely helped them achieve their material successes.

Like dogs, we are pack-animals. It’s vital to recognise the importance of community. Dogs are loving, loyal, affiliative, relational, and communal. So are we. We are involved in mankind whether we choose it or not; so let’s behave as if that is true. Donne’s central claim is metaphysical and ethical at once. “No man is an island” means that separateness is an illusion. We are, whether we like it or not, woven into a larger human fabric. Our lives are interdependent: economically, emotionally, culturally, and existentially.

In psychological terms, dogs behave as if Donne is correct. A dog does not relate to the world as a set of isolated egos behind social masks. A dog assumes connection is permissible. It offers contact first - tail wagging, proximity, playful bids - rather than waiting for proof of safety. That matters, because modern loneliness is often sustained by hesitation: “Will I look foolish? Will I be rejected? Will I bother them?”

buddi bench is, in effect, a small piece of public architecture that makes Donne’s truth easier to feel. It turns us being “A part of the main” from an abstract idea into a lived moment: two strangers sharing ten minutes, discovering that the continental connection is not theoretical - it is sitting right next to them.

In a culture that trains us to pass one another like sealed capsules, the bench is a tiny civic correction: it re-normalises neighbourliness. It says, without forcing anything:  “You are not an island.” Sit for a moment. Be human with another human.” And “be more dog” gives the emotional tone for how to do it: warm, curious, unashamed, friendly, present.

Dunne reminds us that when someone is struggling, it is not only “their problem.” Their pain reverberates through the social fabric, often invisibly, just as kindness does. A brief conversation will not abolish grief, addiction, anxiety, or despair; but it can prevent the further worsening that happens when distress meets isolation. In that sense, a ten-minute chat is not small. It is a modest yet exponentially powerful act of social responsibility.

Diogenes, one of my favourite Greek philosophers, advocated for us to “Be more dog.” Diogenes was sceptical of status, pretence, and performative respectability - connecting that to modern loneliness.

“Be more dog” is a good modern slogan for something Diogenes took with almost ferocious seriousness. He did not mean “be cute” or “be cheerful.” He meant: live with the blunt integrity of an animal in a world where humans are constantly performing, pretending, and negotiating status. He was austere and provocative but we can be a little more gentle.

A little background matters. Diogenes is associated with the Cynic tradition. The very word “Cynic” comes from kynikos, “dog-like.” That label was partly an insult from others and partly something the Cynics embraced as a badge of honour. If you want to understand “be more dog” in a Diogenes-shaped way, it helps to treat “dog” as a philosophical symbol, not a pet.

First, “dog” meant radical naturalness. Diogenes thought many human anxieties are not inevitable; they are manufactured by social convention. Dogs eat when hungry, sleep when tired, rest when they can, and are not ashamed of their bodily reality. Humans, by contrast, wrap basic needs in layers of stigma, etiquette, and self-consciousness. “Be more dog,” then, is a protest against the tyranny of “what will people think?” It is an invitation to live closer to what is necessary and true, and further from what is performative.

“Dog” meant shamelessness, but not in the vulgar sense. The Greek term often used here is Anaideia, a kind of “unembarrassability.” Diogenes practised public acts that offended polite sensibilities. The point was not merely to shock; it was to demonstrate how arbitrary our shame can be. If a behaviour is harmless and natural, why should it be morally unacceptable? He wanted to expose the way “respectability” can become a moral counterfeit: looking good rather than being good. In modern terms, he was suspicious of “virtue-signalling” (a common occurrence on social media!) before we had a name for it.

“Dog” meant vigilance and truth-telling. Dogs bark. They warn. They react to intrusions. Diogenes cultivated Parrhesia - frank speech - aimed at puncturing self-deception. He saw most people as sleepwalking inside inherited beliefs: about success, honour, possessions, reputation. The Cynic’s job was to “bark” at these illusions, especially in the powerful. In that sense, “be more dog” is: be willing to say what is true, even when it costs you applause.

“Dog” meant disciplined simplicity. This is the part people often miss. Diogenes was not only anti-convention; he was pro-training. He practised Askesis: deliberate exercises of hardship and self-restraint. Why? Because you cannot be free if you are dependent on luxuries, comforts, or other people’s approval. The dog, in this symbolism, represents someone whose happiness does not require elaborate conditions. Autarkeia - self-sufficiency - was a central aim: reducing what you “need” so that life cannot so easily control you.

“Dog” meant a critique of false hierarchies. Dogs do not care about your job title. Dogs are sensitive to hierarchy and boundaries, but not obsessed with status-symbols like some of us humans can be. They do negotiate dominance and submission cues, yet they are not preoccupied with prestige as humans. Diogenes admired the dog because the dog is comparatively untroubled by those status calculations. “Be more dog” is therefore not merely about living in the moment; it is about approaching the social world with fewer defensive anxieties and rituals. Diogenes made a career of mocking status. He treated “importance” as a social hallucination: a collectively agreed story that keeps people anxious and obedient. His “dog-like” stance refused to participate in the theatre of prestige. He would rather be mocked and free than admired and trapped.

“Dog” meant cosmopolitan belonging. Diogenes is often credited with calling himself a citizen of the world (Kosmopolitēs). Dogs wander; they are not focused on artificial borders in the way humans are. Human dignity is not something earned by rank, wealth, or pedigree.

If you push Diogenes’ ideas hard enough, “Be more dog” might also mean: recognise kinship with ordinary humanity, not just your in-group.

Two important cautions, because Diogenes is not a mascot.

He can be misread as endorsing crude anti-sociality. But the deeper aim was ethical clarity. He was not trying to be “against people”; he was trying to be against illusion and unnecessary suffering. The Cynic is abrasive because he thinks politeness often protects nonsense.

His shamelessness is not a licence for selfishness. It is a discipline: the capacity to act from principle rather than from fear of judgement. That is morally demanding, not indulgent.

A distilled Diogenes-friendly translation of “Be more dog,” it might be this: live simply, train your desires, tell the truth, care less about reputation, and organise your life around what is genuinely necessary for virtue and freedom.

“Be more dog,” then, is not just a quirky motto - it’s a quiet blueprint for community: approach, notice, wag a little (metaphorically!), and recognise that maybe strangers aren’t so strange after all.

Finally, perhaps “Be More Dog!” encourages us to lick peoples’ faces by way of greeting!?

OK - maybe not the last one!

Right, I’m off for “Walkies!" on my way to my local buddi bench!

Woof, woof! 🐶

#BeMoreDog #WeeklyWordsOfWisdom #SethBuddiBench

*“Be More Dog!” - Weekly Words of Wisdom! (WWOW!) Written & Published by Seth Hunter on the buddi bench Blog - Wednesday 10th June 2026