Every once in a while, someone tells me their dog is “out of control” or “hyperactive” or “too much.” And almost every time, when we slow down and actually look at what’s happening — it’s not a broken dog. It’s a dog doing something completely natural, in a world that doesn’t quite have room for it yet.
We’ve all seen it. That sudden burst of wild energy — sprinting in circles, bouncing off the couch, skidding across the floor with pure, unfiltered joy (or something that looks a lot like it). We call them the zoomies. The technical term is FRAPs — Frenetic Random Activity Periods — but I think “zoomies” says it better.
Here’s the thing though: not all zoomies are created equal. And not every dog who gets the zoomies is having the same experience. That’s where it gets interesting — and where most of the “my dog is hyperactive” conversations start to unravel a little.
As a family dog mediator, one of the frameworks I use to understand dogs is LEGS — looking at a dog’s Learning history, Environment, Genetics, and Self. It doesn’t replace getting to know the individual dog, but it helps us ask better questions. And when it comes to zoomies? Those four pieces tell very different stories depending on who the dog is.
Let me introduce you to two dogs.
Biscuit
4-YR-OLD CAVALIER KING CHARLES SPANIEL
Biscuit lives with a retired couple in a quiet house. He’s well-loved, walks twice a day, and spends most of his time napping or being carried. He’s never had to “work” for anything — food appears, cuddles are plentiful, and life is predictably calm.
Every evening around 7pm, Biscuit loses his mind. He tears around the living room for about 90 seconds, then collapses on the rug like nothing happened. His owners are convinced something is wrong with him.
[Low stimulation environment] [Companion breed genetics] [Minimal learning outlets]
Remy
2-YR-OLD BELGIAN MALINOIS MIX
Remy was adopted at 10 months from a shelter. He’s smart, intense, and picked up basic commands in days. He’s in a busy family home with kids, a fenced yard, and an owner who works from home. He gets a 45-minute walk every morning.
Remy zooms multiple times a day, often after being crated, after greetings, and sometimes seemingly out of nowhere. He also barks, jumps, and has been called “unmanageable” by two trainers.
[High-drive genetics] [Shelter history (stress)] [Under-stimulated mentally]
Same behavior on the surface. Completely different dogs underneath it.
So What Are the Zoomies, Really?
At their core, zoomies are a release valve. The body has built up energy — physical, emotional, or nervous — and it needs somewhere to go. Fast. That’s it. It’s not aggression, it’s not defiance, and it’s not your dog “acting out.” It’s a physiological response to an internal state that has nowhere else to go.
For Biscuit, those 7pm zoomies make total sense. He’s a dog — a living creature with a body built to move and a brain built to sniff and explore — and he’s spent his whole day… doing none of that. The zoomies are his 90-second negotiation with a lifestyle that doesn’t quite match his biology. It’s not dramatic. He’s not suffering. But his body still needs that outlet, even in small doses.
Remy’s story is more layered. His zoomies carry more urgency, more frequency, and more “noise” around them — the barking, the jumping — because what’s backing them up is bigger. He came from a stressful start. He has genetics that were bred for high-output work. And he’s in an environment that — despite being loving and busy — isn’t speaking his language yet. His zoomies aren’t just a release valve. They’re an alarm bell going off multiple times a day.
Where Humans Get Stuck
When we see zoomies — especially intense, frequent ones — the human instinct is to stop them. Redirect, correct, confine. And sometimes that’s appropriate in the moment, especially for safety. But if we’re only ever trying to stop the behavior without asking why it’s happening, we’re essentially putting tape over the warning light on the dashboard and calling the car fixed.
Biscuit’s owners were ready to put him on calming supplements. Remy’s family had tried three different “no-jump” protocols. Neither approach was wrong, exactly — but both were aimed at the symptom, not the source.
Here’s what changed for each of them:
For Biscuit —
We added two small things: a sniff walk before dinner (slow, on a long lead, letting him follow his nose) and a 5-minute scatter feed in the garden where he had to search for his kibble. Nothing dramatic. But it gave his brain something to do. The evening zoomies didn’t disappear — and honestly, they don’t need to. But they shortened, and his owners stopped dreading them because they understood what they were seeing.
For Remy —
This one took more unpacking. We looked at his whole day — not just the exercise, but the mental load, the predictability, the moments he felt in control of something. We introduced structured problem-solving games, gave him a job during the family’s morning chaos (going to his mat, holding a stay while the kids left for school), and built in decompression time after high-energy events. The zoomies reduced significantly. The barking and jumping — which were tangled up in the same overstimulation — followed.
MEETING THEM HALFWAY — WHAT THIS LOOKS LIKE IN PRACTICE
→ Ask when the zoomies happen — timing often tells you exactly what’s backing them up
→ Consider what your dog’s breed or mix was actually built to do — and whether any of that is happening in their daily life
→ Look at the energy going in before you try to manage the energy coming out
→ Sniff time, search games, and choice-based activities can do more than physical exercise alone
→ Not all zoomies need “fixing” — some just need understanding (and a clear path so nobody gets knocked over)
What Biscuit and Remy Have in Common
Despite being completely different dogs with completely different needs, both of them were doing exactly what dogs do: communicating through behavior. Neither was being difficult. Neither was trying to make anyone’s life harder. They were both just… dogs, doing the best they could with what they had.
And both of their families, once they understood that, stopped fighting their dogs — and started working with them instead.
That’s the shift I hope for every time I sit down with a family. Not “how do we stop this behavior” but “what is this behavior trying to say, and how do we make space for that?”
It doesn’t mean anything goes. It doesn’t mean structure and guidance aren’t important — they absolutely are. It means we earn that structure by first showing up curious, not corrective.
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Every dog is different. Every household is different. And the path forward always lives somewhere in that middle ground between who your dog is and what your life looks like. That’s the work — and it’s some of the most rewarding work there is.
If you’ve been watching your dog and wondering “is this normal?” — chances are, it is. The question worth asking is just: what are they trying to tell me?
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