Malamute Humor

Every Alaskan Malamute I’ve lived with has had a sense of humor. It’s always subtle, but living with them, you learn to recognize it.

Toward humans, their humor is usually seen in how they express defiance (or what I interpret as stubbornness, one of their well-known traits) by “talking back” when you ask them to do something. “Woo, woooo. You want me to do what…?! Maybe. Let me think about it.” Eventually, they comply, but only because they want to and only when they’re ready.

I learned this early on with Maia and Meadow when I took them to agility lessons. One of the most challenging pieces of agility apparatus is the A-frame. The dog must climb up a steep incline and immediately go over the top and climb down the other side. Many dogs are initially fearful of it and require several attempts for success. Both Maia and Meadow completed it on their first try, no hesitation. But the second time I pointed to the A-frame, they balked, as if to say, “I showed you I could do it. Why do I have to show you again?” They climbed the A-frame in subsequent sessions, but I had to up my game in terms of treat rewards before they would.

They knew exactly what they were doing.

When Conall was younger, his humor was often expressed by his bouldering when we were running trails. He’d see a huge boulder or rock formation near the trail and without any prompting by me, find a way to climb it. Then he’d pose on top while I laughed and took photos. Every time we passed such a boulder he would climb it and grin from the top until his photo was taken. A real ham.

Humor also comes out in their play with each other. Usually they wrestle, play-biting the other’s neck, baring teeth with mouth wide, pushing gently with a paw, chasing briefly, grumbling quietly. And always showing off for me and visitors.

Malamutes love to tease and taunt each other. They do something they know will get a rise from the other Mal, creating their “gotcha” moment, then savor it with an internal Malamute laugh before moving on. Often, it’s the younger dog tagging the older one with such gotcha moments, but the older one can be equally devious in their teasing.

In April 2025, a few months after moving into our new Idaho house, my current two Malamutes Conall and Chann amused me with an example of this type of humor.

Conall had recently turned ten, and Chann would turn two in a month. Conall’s age and bad knees (partially torn cruciate ligaments in both) limited his ability and desire to wrestle with Chann, so they found other, more subtle ways to play, showcasing their senses of humor.

I was downstairs in my home office. I heard Conall quietly woofing from the upstairs balcony that looked over the open living room/office/kitchen area.

Knowing Conall only goes upstairs without me when he and Chann are playing, I stepped into the living room and looked up to see Conall peering at me between the railing slats. He was clearly seeking my attention. And my help.

I walked under the balcony to the base of the stairs and looked up. There, near the top steps, sat Chann, blocking Conall’s path down.

Chann’s favorite new game in our new house: King of the Stairs. He plays it with me as well as Conall.

Chann’s aim in all instances: block his opponent from going up or down the stairs, requiring them to maneuver past him to reach their goal and making that a challenge. Especially for another Malamute, because they’re highly conscious of space and avoid invading the personal space of dogs (and people) at all costs. Conall would never just push Chann aside. Knowing this, Chann places himself on the steps in a way that’s just blocking enough to frustrate Conall’s efforts to go up or down without making body contact.

It’s a delicate Malamute dance.

This sort of game requires much more thought and finesse than tug-of-war or ball retrieving. Chann must notice the opportunity, then set himself in a position to block Conall’s path. He does this with the right amount of cheekiness and charm so that Conall doesn’t get angry. It’s a game, after all, meant to be fun.

Instead, Conall enlists me to frustrate Chann’s game by getting my attention, knowing I’ll come to his rescue. That way, the ultimate joke’s on Chann.

These days, since Conall rarely goes upstairs anymore, the blocking game is played near the dog door that leads into the fenced yard. There are mats placed on both sides of the door. Conall often snoozes on the inside mat, frustrating Chann’s efforts to go out or come in, and Chann naps on the outdoor mat with the same impact on Conall. When I hear the dog door flaps moving just a little, repeatedly, that’s my signal to come assist whichever dog is blocked by the other.

King of the Stairs is a lot like the game Maia and Meadow—the two female Malamutes I had before Conall and Chann—frequently played. They were just two years apart in age. I called their game Queen of the Switchback. When running trails with the girls, Maia, who was older, was always the lead dog. I followed Maia, with Meadow bringing up the rear. That was their preference; I had nothing to do with creating that sequence and running rhythm.

But if we came to a section of trail with switchbacks? Meadow would quietly drop back, let the rest of us get a short distance ahead, and just as we turned the elbow of the switchback, she would run straight down through the undergrowth, timing her descent so she popped out onto the trail right as Maia arrived. A quick neck wrestle with playful growls ensued before Meadow stepped aside, let us all pass, and resumed her usual position as sweep.

Meadow never tired of this game. I came to know the exact spots Meadow would set her traps for Maia, and I laughed out loud every time, watching it play out. My laughter, I believe, prompted Meadow to continue her game and Maia to play along, knowing Meadow’s pounce was coming but pretending to be surprised every time.

I think age dynamics play a role in these games. The older dog of the pair—Maia before, Conall now—feels responsible for keeping me safe by being alert and sticking close to me, usually within sight. The younger dog, free of that responsibility yet understanding it, gets to be silly and play tricks on the more serious older dog, often temporarily blocking their access to me.

Maybe I’m just easily entertained, but living with Malamutes (or any dog, for that matter) has always kept me smiling and laughing at their antics in the house, the yard, and out in the big world. I could watch them wrestle and play all day.

Powerful medicine against all that ails our world.