Bones Would Rain from the Sky Page 23
MY, WHAT BIG TEETH YOU HAVE!
Fear makes the wolf bigger than he is.
GERMAN PROVERB
WHEN LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD NOTICES that Grandmother has eyes much larger than remembered, her concern is quickly assuaged with a smooth assurance that it’s simply “all the better to see you, my dear!” Puzzled by Grandmother’s unusually large, oddly shaped ears, the dimwitted child is convinced with a smiling explanation—“All the better to hear you, my dear.” But even dear, dull-minded Red can’t help but notice the fangs, the collection of dental stalagmites and stalactites gleaming white and sharp, and at that moment she comes to understand that maybe the hairs on Grandma’s chin aren’t just personal hygiene choices. Something is very wrong, and while little Miss Hood is slow enough on the uptake to qualify as fit prey for any alert predator, even she knows that fangs usually don’t spell fun.
Within the context of the dog/human relationship, aggression is a topic that brings to mind J. R. R. Tolkien’s wise advice: “It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations if you live near him.” The dragon, in this case, is not the possibility that our dogs may rise up against us in violent ways without warning or cause. Though the dog’s potential for aggression is very real and to be respected, normal, healthy dogs do not suddenly go berserk or “turn on their owners” or act aggressively without reason. Instead, the dragon lurks in the form of our lack of understanding.
Many aspects of our relationships with our dogs parallel our human relationships or are so similar that in many situations we might safely cross out the word dog and substitute child, lover or friend and still be appropriately guided as to what a loving action or response might be. When a dog snarls or growls or snaps or bites, we find ourselves in a strange land where we are not quite sure how to move safely. Quite sensibly, we may find ourselves afraid in the presence of throaty grumbles and bared teeth. Whether this is an archetypal response to a predatory threat or just a commonsense desire to keep our skin intact, it doesn’t change the fact that few of us look upon a growling or biting dog with equanimity.
Our lack of understanding about what lies behind our dogs’ growls, snarls, snaps and bites can create very serious problems within our relationships with our dogs. Where understanding is absent or incomplete, fear slides in to fill the gaps between what we know, and we live in an uncomfortable place where we cannot distinguish threat from invitation. Unable to understand the behaviors that may frighten, threaten and possibly hurt us, we remain unable to understand the dog himself. The dog unfortunately bears the brunt of our misunderstanding and fear; when in doubt, we tend to assume the worst. At the very least, we may find ourselves bewildered and frightened by a dog’s aggressive behavior, and confused as to how best to respond. Frustrated, we may end up simply managing the unwanted behavior instead of working toward a resolution. At the other end of the spectrum, a dog may end up dead, his epitaph simply—and quite possibly inaccurately—just this: “He was aggressive.”
The ancient Celtic tale of the dog Gelert is one that bears repeating. A knight’s hunting hound, Gelert, was prized for his skill as a ruthless killer of wolves, yet also a faithful and kind companion to the knight and his family. The story tells of the wolf who has crept into the child’s room, and the fierce battle between the loyal hound and the wolf. In their struggle, the baby’s cradle is overturned, the child unhurt but hidden under the bedding. Wolf and dog lock in mortal combat, and blood flows freely. At last, in a dim corner of the room, the hound manages to kill the wolf. Hearing the sounds of a struggle, guards and the child’s nurse rush in to find Gelert standing alone in the middle of the room, covered in blood. Surveying the scene, not noticing the dead wolf’s body hidden in the shadows, not looking beneath the bedclothes of the top pled cradle, all present leap to the conclusion that Gelert has killed and eaten the child. Stunned and furious, the grieving knight orders that the dog be killed on the spot. It is only after the dog is dead that the child is discovered alive and well. The wolf’s body bears grim testament to the loyalty of the dog and the fears and faithlessness of men.
Aggression is a heavily loaded word, conjuring up various images depending upon the mind of the speaker and of the listener, and it is not particularly descriptive or informative. Labeling a behavior as simply “aggressive” tells us nothing about the situation and the motivation behind the behavior. “That dog is aggressive” might mean that given the opportunity, he would rip your throat out. It might as easily mean that the dog growls when someone tries to clip his nails, or barks wildly at other dogs on the street, or fiercely defends a car from threats such as people walking past with shopping carts, or that he has killed a squirrel, or that he has bitten someone breaking into his house. These and other behaviors are often labeled as aggressive, but they are not all the same, nor should they be handled in the same way.
So, why do dogs act aggressively? No matter how fearsome we may find their behavior, we can find some relief in the knowledge that dogs act aggressively for the same basic reasons we do: fear, pain, irritation, anger, protection of territory (in humans, this is known as war), protection of family (usually puppies are being guarded, though bitches experiencing false pregnancy may protect completely imaginary or substitute puppies, such as toys; dogs can and do protect other family members of whatever species), self defense, protection of possessions and resources, sexual conflict, social status, hunger. And like humans, dogs can act aggressively in abnormal ways due to biochemical imbalances, various diseases, genetic defects, psychological and/or physical abuse, drugs or chemicals, and for reasons science cannot explain. Like their human counterparts, such abnormal dogs are rare but can be extremely dangerous.
Having already established that dogs act as they do for a reason (whether a good reason or not, whether the reason is one we can understand or even vaguely apprehend), it’s safe to say that any behavior we might care to tar with the broad brush of “aggression” has a reason behind it. In cases of aggressive human behavior, the situation in which the crime is committed along with the motivation or intent behind the criminal act all are weighed in society’s final determination of just how serious a particular act may be. (Keep in mind that in human society self-defense is a justifiable motivation for something as terrible as murder.) As with all behavior, the context in which the behavior occurs is critically important to our understanding of what prompted the growl, snap or snarl. If we are unable to place the “aggression” within its proper context, we will undoubtedly view it from just one perspective—ours, and from that limited and often fearful perspective, we will undoubtedly be wrong.
At the root of all aggressive behavior (not predatory behavior) is this simple truth: There is a problem, a conflict on some level—physical, mental or emotional. If we can keep that uppermost in our minds when dealing with aggression issues, then we pull away the mystical shroud of aggression as something only experts can understand. Though expert help may be needed to resolve an aggression issue, all of us are capable of imaginatively projecting ourselves into the dog’s point of view and perhaps understanding how he might be perceiving a conflict. Whether that conflict or problem is crystal clear to you is another story, but as previously discussed, dogs can be counted on to tell you their truth at the moment. If a dog is acting in any way that seems aggressive, he has a reason. Normal, healthy dogs don’t tend to go tilting at windmills or fighting nonexistent battles. Not even Boxers shadowbox. Illness, pain, biochemical disorders, seizure disorders and disease can make dogs act aggressively in abnormal ways. (The first step in dealing with any aggressive behavior is a thorough physical examination to rule out these possible causes. Yet even in such cases, the aggressive behavior is an important message that something is wrong.)
THAT KIND OF DOG
When dealing with aggression in any form, we need to tread carefully, alert for the stumbling blocks of our own (often false) assumptions. If we truly seek to understand a dog’s behavior, then we cannot ever forget
that all dogs are dogs. To the extent that we have a sanitized view of our dogs, we will inevitably be shocked, horrified and gravely disappointed by our dogs when they act in doglike ways. I’ve met many bewildered dog owners who told me, “I couldn’t believe Duke could (choose one or more: bark, growl, snarl, snap, bite, attack, kill)! I didn’t think he was that kind of dog.” I’m not sure just what “that kind of dog” might be. All dogs are the same kind of dogs—dogs who can bark, growl, snarl, snap and bite.
Every dog—regardless of parentage, pedigree or personality—possesses the full repertoire of normal canine behavior. I’ve never met a dog incapable of growling, barking, snarling, snapping or biting. These are all normal dog behaviors, and an integral part of canine communications. (Ironically, these same behaviors serve to prevent serious violence between dogs!) The difference from dog to dog has to do with the dog’s individual personality, his social experience, his genetics, his upbringing, his health, sex, age, diet and the situation. The only difference between individual dogs and the larger groups of individual breeds is the readiness with which various behaviors can be triggered and the extent to which a dog will carry his aggression. Dogs created to guard may be more quickly triggered to act in aggressive ways than dogs bred to work as bird dogs or as ladies’ companions. But this does not guarantee that guarding or working breeds will bite or that lapdogs and retrievers won’t. A familiar parallel can be found in our understanding that men are most likely to act violently, though women are certainly equally capable of the same behavior. And while adults are more likely to be dangerous than are children, the truth remains that children are capable of dangerous—even deadly—behavior. To point to any individual dog or breed or group of breeds and make assumptions is about as helpful to your relationship with a dog as an evaluation of violent domestic crime statistics will be to your marriage.
Folks who’ve bought the whitewash job that certain dogs or breeds are nonaggressive are invariably shocked when their dog, who did not read the propaganda, acts in a way that proves that Aunt Tilly’s lapdog is as capable of snarls, snaps, growls and bites as a street dog in the Bronx. Konrad Lorenz wrote of looking out his window onto a grisly scene of bloodied snow where two dogs had caught a deer and savagely torn it apart. He turns and looks at his four-year-old granddaughter asleep before the fireplace, peacefully snuggled up with his large dogs—the same two dogs who had killed the deer. A dog is a dog is a dog.
We want to believe in the Lassie myth, to focus only on the dog’s gentle, forgiving, loving nature. Of all the rocks on which we may stub our emotional toes, this is a big one. We do not want to think that the dog lying at our feet is a predator and a powerful one at that. It may be that we’d prefer that the people and animals we love most dearly have no dark, ugly side; we idealize them with this simple “Oh, he’d never do that!” or “She’s just not that kind of person.” In any relationship, such sanitized, idealized views of another being does not lead to deeper understanding or a more intense connection but to the inevitable disappointment that occurs when we are unable to embrace both the potential for both light and the dark contained in all of us. This is not to say that all dogs will sooner or later act in aggressive ways, no more than all humans will eventually harm another person. The dark potential that lurks within each of us needs to be recognized, and our relationships shaped to encourage the joyful lightness of being, not trigger the ugly possibilities.
POISONOUS PUPPIES
Myths and misconceptions about dogs and their capacity for violence are widespread, and some contain a grain of truth at best but, like most tales of terror, are created from a lack of understanding that leads to fear. I was once carrying a ten-week-old German Shepherd puppy through a crowded flea market. Very tired after a busy morning of meeting people and taking in the sights, he was glad to lie in my arms as we made our way back to the car. A man approached, and in response, the puppy’s tail wagged madly against me. “Is he friendly?” he asked, and assured that the puppy was, he reached out to pet him. The tuckered-out puppy mustered enough strength to lean toward the man and cover his face with kisses while the man told me about his own dogs and how much he loved them. “What kind of dog is this, anyhow?” he inquired between sweet coos directed at the pup. Informed it was a baby German Shepherd, he reared back as if the puppy had become a cobra. “Whoa! They’re venomous when they grow up, aren’t they?”
Though admittedly I’d never heard anyone label a dog venomous before or since my flea market encounter, I’ve heard many other variations on the theme. As everyone knows, some dogs eventually grow up and turn on their owners. According to popular wisdom, some breeds are inherently vicious; others are baby killers. These and other falsehoods do not serve dogs or us well; when they lurk in the back of our thoughts, it takes only a spark of misunderstanding for our fears to catch fire. While nearly everyone you meet can tell you tales of biting dogs and deadly attacks, the truth is that as a species, dogs do amazingly well in trying to live with humans. In fact, they do a better job of peacefully living with humans than humans do.
To be quite fair, when we look at the subject of aggressive behavior in our dogs, we ought to consider our own behavior. In his seminars, veterinarian and dog behavior expert Dr. Ian Dunbar leads the audience through a simple exercise designed to increase their appreciation for the degree of “aggression” that is present in our human society. He first asks how many audience members have ever been angry or had an argument with someone; naturally, all hands are raised. He asks how many have ever been angry enough to raise their voice or even yell at another human (the equivalent of a dog growling or barking)—again, all hands go up. How many have ever gotten so angry that they have physically contacted another person in anger? A few less hands go up. Finally, Dunbar asks who has ever seriously hurt another person, sending them to the hospital. No hands go up. His point, of course, is that obviously humans are argumentative, and there’s a fair degree of “aggressive” behavior among the average group of human beings. And yet, only rarely does that “aggression” escalate beyond clear expression of anger, fear, irritation or the defense of property or self. Damaging attacks on others and murder are, fortunately, quite rare—even among humans. The same is true of dogs. Just as human society has rules and taboos that prevent us from seriously injuring or killing each other, thus enabling us to live in relative peace, our dogs also have normal inhibitions of aggression.
With the exception of rare individuals and the breeds specifically bred for fighting, the average dog doesn’t enjoy arguments or altercations or fisticuffs any more than the average human being does. Being angry, defensive or afraid are not pleasant states of being for dog or man; dogs are wise enough to try to avoid or quickly resolve encounters and situations that create these uncomfortable feelings as much as possible, though the same cannot always be said of humans. While capable of “murder,” dogs rarely fully employ their considerable aggressive potential and, like us, restrain and inhibit their actions so that communication is clear with a minimum of damage (if any).
To put the matter into the proper perspective, Dr. Dunbar points out in his 1998 video, Dog Aggression: Biting, that more children are killed each year by their parents than by dogs. Dunbar offers these upsetting statistics: In the United States, roughly two thousand children die every year at the hands of their own parents, but less than a dozen are killed by dogs. And yet people don’t look at children and whisper, “Be careful. Parents can turn on you.” (Perhaps they should.) Thousands of children are severely injured or killed in automobile crashes each year, and yet, as Dr. Dunbar notes, we don’t ban Fords or Hondas or any other vehicle.
While dog bites and attacks are a serious problem that should not be ignored, our sometimes knee-jerk reactions to any behavior that we think even smacks faintly of aggression reveals a terrible lack of knowledge about dogs and aggressive behavior. History teaches us that what we fear and do not understand does not fare well at the hands of man. Dogs are no exception.
WHAT IS AGGRESSION?
What constitutes aggression? Operating strictly from the viewpoint of the dog/human relationship, the easiest definition of aggression is probably this: Behavior that threatens, alarms or actually harms us. While the academics and behaviorists who just fainted are being revived, let’s think about this. I’m perfectly well aware that my definition of what constitutes aggression may be highly unsatisfactory to behaviorists and trainers. But it seems to me that working from within the only context in which behavior will be interpreted—that of a relationship—defining aggression as any behavior that threatens, alarms or harms another is fair. Feeling threatened or scared is hardly conducive to intimacy.
We need to allow for the possibility (on both sides) that an innocent behavior could be misinterpreted and though not meant to, still have the result of being threatening or frightening. Some of this has to do with the differences between dogs and people—direct eye contact is considered a challenge dog to dog, but a sign of interest and attentiveness in the Western world. (In other human cultures, however, direct eye contact is considered rude.) On an individual basis, any gesture may be misinterpreted depending on the individual’s experience (or lack of). For example, a person leaning over to greet a dog may seem a kind, nonaggressive behavior to us, though from a fearful dog’s point of view this well-intentioned gesture could be interpreted as a terrifying threat. Equally so, dogs find themselves bewildered by our frightened or angry responses to their behaviors that were not meant to threaten or scare us, such as dogs growling in play or rumbling with nearly inexpressible pleasure or even the delightful “smile” which to the naïve eye may appear as a fearsome snarl. One of our friends has taken literally years to understand that if one of our dogs lying near her offers a warning growl to another dog, the growl is not meant for her, though never once in all these years have any of our animals threatened her in any way.