Cesar Millan gets it—if you’ve got the stick, I need it more than sleep.

The stick in your paw isn’t just bark and splinters—it's power, status, and temptation all rolled into one.

Subtitle: Why do dogs obsess over the same stick? Here's what's really going on behind our fetch-feud logic.

“That one? Yeah, I want THAT one.”

You might be holding a stick from the local park—standard, splintery, not even slightly peanut-butter-coated. Yet the second your fingers grip it, boom—I must have it. Not the one near your foot, not the dozen on the ground, not even the one I personally found earlier. The one you currently have? Game on.

Hoomans call it fixation. I call it priority Bark-one.

Let me set the scene:

We’re at the oval. You toss a stick. I chase it. Then, SURPRISE! I see another stick. Bigger. Juicier. Okay fine, it’s the same size and smells like foot, but it’s the one in your hand that I now want more than beef jerky on a stormy night.

It’s not just because I’m a Rottweiler with strong opinions and stronger jaws (though that helps). It’s science. Kinda.

Old Me: Run, grab, drop, repeat.
New Me: Strategically claim the stick of power.

Turns out, even us dogs understand a thing or two about social currency. And in my world, the stick in YOUR hand is social gold.

• Attention Magnets: If you’re looking at it, touching it, swinging it around like it’s Excalibur—I’m going to treat it like treasure.
• Pack Leader Bias: I trust your choices (except your dinner ones—kale? Really?). If you’ve picked it, it must be the stick.
• Control Games: Tug-of-war and keep-away are top-tier enrichment activities. That little grin when I lunge at it? Yeah, I saw that. You love the game too.

What started as a way to stretch my legs turned into a full-blown drama series: Game of Sticks: The Bark Awakens. Every tossed piece of tree is now part of a bigger story about status, strategy, and who controls the backyard battlefield.

Don’t believe me?

Next time we’re in the yard, try this: Pick up any stick—not even a special one. Hold it with mild interest. Watch me abandon ALL other toys to laser-focus on it like it’s made of shredded roast chicken. It’s not coincidence. It’s canine psychology and a bit of cheeky theatre.

“Why do you want the one I’ve got?” - every hooman ever
“Because you want it. Duh.” - me, every time

But here’s the fetch twist, hoomans:

I don’t just want the stick. I want the game. The eye contact. The chase-and-switch. The shared moment where we’re both locked in playful, primal competition. And yes, maybe I want to see if I can win (spoiler: I usually do).

Real talk from the pawpit:

It’s less about wood, more about worth. The stick in your hand is valuable because it carries your scent, your attention, and your intention. In that moment, it’s not just debris—it’s a ticket to connection.

For us dogs, fetch isn’t always about fetching. Sometimes it’s about outsmarting. Sometimes it's about bonding. Sometimes it’s just because I feel like messing with you, respectfully.

Want to level up playtime?

• Play some keep-away. Make it fun, not frustrating.
• Switch up the toys, but always handle them with interest.
• Give me a “job” to claim and protect—not just chase-and-drop.
• And please, never underestimate the power of a decent stick.

Because while you see an old branch, I see a game, a challenge, and a reason to burn off my zoomies before dinner.

Mic drop from the mud pit:

It’s not about the stick. It’s about the story we write with it.

Off to dig a hole big enough for my stick collection,

Thor 🐾

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