Keeley is proud of his language-recognition skills!

The following is a guest post by Alisa Mullins, who has been writing for PETA since 1991.

Talking to dogs can really enhance our relationships with them. They understand a lot more than we think. By talking, I don’t just mean "sit," "stay," and "come." I mean giving dogs cues to let them know what’s expected of them, providing them with the opportunity to do "right" before being scolded or corrected for doing "wrong."

I learned this lesson years ago from my late borzoi, Magic. Magic had been abused by a worker at the "reputable" kennel where she was born, and it took her a long time to realize that if someone stepped over her when she was lying on the floor, that didn't mean she was about to receive a swift kick to the ribs. Perhaps because of her early abuse, Magic was very sensitive about being pushed and pulled. If you grabbed her by the collar and tried to pull her out of the car to go to the vet's, she would yelp and writhe, as if she had been stabbed with a red-hot poker. So we learned to simply tell her to hop out of the car. It worked like a charm.

When you and your dog are out on a walk, it's natural to tug on the leash when you want to change direction or get your dog to stop. But here’s something new to try—talk to your dog before yanking on the leash.

My current dog, Keeley, taught me this one. He is very intuitive and prides himself on knowing which way we're going to go when we're out walking. So I started giving him a little warning when we were about to change direction, to save him from the embarrassment (there's no other way to describe the look on his face) of choosing the wrong way to go. Just as we are about to turn, I say in a perky voice, "This way!" He knows that means to look at me to determine which way I'm about to go.

When we approach a busy street crossing, I say, "Hold up"—he knows that means "stop" and looks at me for the signal for when it's time to cross, which is "OK!" At that point, he leaps forward with obvious glee. Unlike many humans I know, he actually likes being told what to do, especially when the alternative is an unexpected jerk on his leash.

I've started talking to him even in tense situations like, for example, when the mail carrier (whom Keeley despises, just on principle) approaches. I say calmly, "Leave him alone—he's authorized," and miraculously, Keeley seems to understand that now is not the time to go on red alert (well, at least most of the time—we're still working on this one).

For some of you, all of this may seem like common sense. But, hey, some of us are slow learners—unlike our dogs.