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🐾 5 Reasons I Think My Dog Might Be a Narcissist (And Honestly, I Blame Myself)

Listen.

I love my dog, Hope. She's sweet. She's adorable. She's also high-key manipulative, emotionally demanding, and just might be a full-blown narcissist wrapped in fur.

Now, before you call the vet or the Dog Whisperer on me, hear me out. I’ve been reading up on narcissistic traits (you know—well cuz . . . humans), and it hit me like a squeaky toy to the face: Hope checks way too many of these boxes. And the wildest part? I trained her this way.

Here are the 5 signs that my dog might need to be evaluated by a pet shrink—or at least taken off my lap for a minute.

Please leave a comment:

1. She Requires Constant Admiration (and Lap Space)

Narcissists thrive on praise, attention, and being the center of the universe. Hope? Same.
If I sit down with my laptop, she whines—like I’m cheating on her with a spreadsheet. At first I thought she needed food or water. Nope. She just needed me to put down the laptop and make her throne—er, my lap—available.

Forget the to-do list. Hope’s needs come first. Or there will be consequences. Whiny, guilt-inducing consequences.

2. She Gaslights Me on the Regular

Hope will stand next to her bowl and stare into my soul. I panic: Did I forget to feed her? I refill the bowl. She sniffs it like, “Ugh, no thanks.”
Turns out—she wasn't hungry. She just wanted me to stop what I was doing and focus on her. Classic gaslighting. Manipulative. Expert level.

I fall for it every. single. time.

3. She Feels Entitled to Nonstop Physical Attention

I call them “rubbies.” Hope treats them like a right, not a privilege.
She jumps in my lap (see #1), then aggressively nudges my hand over her snout and onto her neck like she’s saying, “You missed a spot, girlfriend!”
Three to five times an hour. Every day. It’s a full-time job with zero benefits and no lunch break.

She doesn’t want attention. She demands it.

4. She Only Listens on Her Own Terms

Narcissists believe rules are for other people. Hope? She agrees.
I call her inside, she ignores me. I have to go all the way to the fence, point to the door like a flight attendant, and say “Go inside.” Only then will she graciously comply.
I’m not her human—I’m her concierge.

5. She Gets Jealous and Tries to Eliminate the Competition

My daughter sits in my lap. Hope sees this as betrayal.
She doesn’t sulk—she scratches Grace like she’s saying, “I said what I said.”
Forget empathy. Hope’s out here like, “There can only be one.”

The Real Talk Moment (Because You Know I Always Bring It)

Here’s the kicker: I trained her that way.
I rewarded the whining, gave in to the guilt trips, and handed over the lap time like it was royalty dues.

And isn’t that the same with people?

If a narcissist controls your behavior—makes you tiptoe, apologize, shrink, rearrange your life to avoid their drama—it’s because at some point, you let them know you’d tolerate it.

So maybe Hope is just a product of my people-pleasing ways. Maybe she’s a four-legged mirror, reminding me: you teach people (and dogs) how to treat you.

As for now, she’s curled up in my lap, completely unbothered, because she knows I’ll rub her neck before I finish this sentence.

But I’m learning, y’all. Boundaries. Even with dogs.

Especially the narcissistic ones named Hope. 🐾