Once upon a perfectly ordinary nervous system, humans decided animals were multifunctional appliances.

“This is my dog,” they say.
“He regulates my vagus nerve, holds my trauma, fetches my socks, listens without judgment, absorbs my panic attacks, and files my taxes. Emotionally. Spiritually. Possibly legally.”

The dog blinks.
He was planning to sniff a bush.

Somewhere along the algorithmic highway, responsibility slid downhill. Fast. Gravity-assisted. Humans, exhausted and overwhelmed, looked around and thought: You know who seems calm? The creature with no mortgage.

And so the burden shifted.

Dogs became therapists without consent.
Horses became healers with sore backs.
Cats became emotional support philosophers who never signed up for Plato.

Working dogs already carry more than most people ever will. Service dogs with ulcers behind their bravery. Police horses asked to override every instinct screaming RUN while humans applaud their composure. Therapy horses trained to go slow, steady, compliant—against bodies built for flight, play, and chaos.

Now Instagram joins in, wagging its finger:

Let your pet regulate you.
Use your animal to ground yourself.
Borrow their nervous system. Yours is tired.

Borrow.
Interesting word.

Borrow implies return. Rest. Repair.

What I mostly see is extraction.

No “both sides.”
No “how is the dog today?”
No pause for personality, consent, preference, limits.

Just purpose.
Human-shaped purpose.
Assigned hourly.

Animals are not emotional ATMs.
They don’t dispense regulation on demand.
They don’t exist to hold what humans refuse to learn how to carry themselves.

Yes, animals co-regulate. Naturally. Beautifully.
In relationship.
In reciprocity.
In presence, not pressure.

But when regulation becomes a job description, something breaks. Usually quietly. Usually inside the animal. Where no one is filming.

A dog can walk with you through hell.
But they should not be asked to be the fireproof vest.

Care flows best when it circulates.
Not when it’s siphoned.

If Bark had a message for the feed, it would be simple:

Heal with us.
Not through us.
And never at us.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to lie down in a sunbeam and regulate myself.
Revolution starts with naps.