Bones Would Rain from the Sky: Deepening Our Relationships with Dogs Read online

  expression shifting from relaxed to somewhat worried. For a while, we played the simple game of approaching and doing simple things like sit and down in exchange for food, and soon I was able to pet her, tug gently on her collar and run my hands down her back. A touch near her rump made her dance away, neatly placing her hind end well out of my reach; at the same time, she wagged her tail and bumped my hand with her nose-a combination of gestures that I read as, "Please don't touch me there, though I still want to be close to you." Her owner spoke up, noting that she'd forgotten to tell me that Chelsea did not like to have her hindquarters touched by strangers, a detail that did not surprise me. In my experience, dogs who are fearful or anxious often do not want their hindquarters touched. Some, like Chelsea, just move their bodies out of reach; others protect themselves with growls or more. As bodywork therapists and trainers like Linda Tellington-Jones have known for a long time, emotional patterns are often correlated with physical patterns. We do this ourselves, holding the tension created by our emotional states in various places, such as our jaws, our neck and our shoulders. For fearful dogs and horses, it is quite common to see "goosiness" in the hind end. Like the classic chicken-or-the-egg scenario, it's hard to say whether goosiness in the rear helps create the fear or the fear creates the goosiness, but in working with dogs who are fearful, teaching them to feel comfortable with having their hindquarters (in fact, their whole body) handled is an important part of the treatment program. Far from the original instructor's assessment of aggression caused by "dominance" (which would more accurately describe a very confident dog using aggressive behavior to get her way), what I saw in this puppy's behavior was a lack of confidence. Each time I asked for a little more or touched her in a new place, there was a flash of concern in her eyes and she drew back, though I did not push her to the point where she felt the need to add barking to further warn me. Her barking retreat was also a classic sign of low confidence. But the tasty tidbits quickly helped to convince her that this wasn't so bad after all. I asked the owner to take off the leash and turn the puppy free in the training room. Chelsea began to cautiously explore the room, sneaking up stealthily on the box of dog toys in one corner. Her behavior was an interesting

  blend of curious investigation and an occasional fearful retreat when she encountered something strange, like the pile of jumps in one corner. Waiting till her attention was turned elsewhere, I quietly stood up, being sure to arm myself with more chicken. At first, the dog didn't notice this change as she blissfully snuffled along the carpeting, eyes half closed, no doubt reading fascinating sagas of other dogs who had come before her. She was within six feet of me when she realized something had changed. Despite our previously pleasant encounter with me sitting, I was now standing, and that changed everything. Her eyes grew wide, and she began to bark while she backed away to what she considered a safe distance. "Oh my God!" the worried owner gasped. I knew she was concerned that the dog might attack me. Smiling, I reassured her that everything was fine. And it was. I didn't doubt that if at this moment I were to back the puppy into a corner or try to forcibly restrain her she might feel the need to snap toward me or perhaps even bite, though I suspected she'd simply try to get away. Chelsea wasn't a little killer honing her deadly skills in preparation for an adult career as a canine terrorist. She was simply uncertain and anxious in certain situations, like those that contained strangers and odd items like a moving chair. And as the owner confirmed when I asked, this was Chelsea's pattern of behavior in such situations: bark and retreat. Given her ever-increasing size and the pure volume of her barking, this behavior had worked rather well-at least from the dog's point of view-to resolve scary situations. Approaching people or dogs quickly retreated in the face of such a fierce-sounding display. Backing away as far as possible left the dog feeling a little safer. But in the long run, this pattern of bark and retreat had not given the dog any skills for dealing with scary situations. Chelsea was not being a bad dog. She was simply using the best solution she had for coping with what she did not understand. Unfortunately, her solution had earned her the label of "aggressive," and was one that without a caring breeder's insistence on a second opinion might have resulted in her death at an early age. As she matured and grew more confident, bark and retreat might still be all she ever did, and it was possible she might never bite a

  single soul. But to underestimate the potential for serious problems would be to underestimate what happens when a dog feels he is pushed into a situation that can be handled only by fighting or fleeing. 2(0 Any situation that creates anxiety, anger, pain or fear in a dog is a situation where a bite might be triggered. The most dangerous dog behaviors are the aggressive behaviors (especially fearful ones) that are managed, but not dealt withand resolved by providing the dog with new skills for coping with the triggering situations. (actually, within any relationship, the combination of intense emotion-especially fear or anger-and inadequate coping skills for the situation that provokes such feelings is a minefield of potential.) Closed doors, locked gates, carefully controlled environments and even complete agreement of family members to protect the dog or manage the behavior do nothing to defuse a potential time bomb. Accidents happen, dogs get free, people make mistakes. Here in a comfortably sized training room, Chelsea had the room to retreat to a safe distance and still keep me in sight. At home, in the more crowded spaces where walls and furniture might block escape routes or trap an already anxious dog, there might not be-to Chelsea's mind-any option but to snap or bite. At the moment, she also benefited from my desire to keep her feeling safe. In another situation, a well-meaning but uninformed person who simply wanted to greet her or who stumbled toward her might accidentally pressure Chelsea past her ability to cope, and without meaning to, trigger a snap or an actual bite. Chelsea was not a dog with deep fear, just a dog with a fair amount of insecurity. If Chelsea's alarming behavior had been correctly interpreted as a lack of confidence and handled in ways meant to build her confidence and not simply punish her fear, she might have sailed through without any real problems. The puppy's strong genetic soundness and her early socialization came shining through as I worked to build her confidence. Within a few minutes, she was able to stand in front of me, happily nudging my hand for more food. Knowing that her owner had faithfully done the obedience training at home, I began to put the puppy through her paces, asking her to do everything she

  knew: sit, down, stand, stay, heeling and coming to sit in front of me. (nothing like being asked to do what you know how to do to restore confidence to anyone who's feeling anxious: "I know how to do that!") She knew her stuff and was a delightful partner in our work together. As she realized that I would not hurt or frighten her but instead made things very enjoyable, she threw herself into the spirit of the game. Initially, I moved careful- ly, making all my gestures and movements slow and deliberate. But as Chelsea's confidence and trust in me grew, I moved faster, made my gestures larger and quicker. In less than ten minutes, we were able to romp around the training room like lunatics, whooping and laughing and dancing around, mixing up commands as fast as I could think of them and she could comply. The out-of-control, fearful, retreating puppy was actually a genius who thoroughly enjoyed working with people. What alarms me in cases like this is not the dog's behavior, but the sad reality that the dog's behavior was badly misunderstood and misread as "aggressive." In Chelsea's case, the lack of understanding from a professional trainer nearly resulted in her death. Only her breeder's insistence that the owner seek a second opinion from another trainer (in this case, me) saved the puppy's life. Unfortunately, this misunderstanding is not uncommon. And it is the dogs who pay with their lives for our failure to understand what they are often trying to tell us in their behavior- that they are uncertain, afraid, lacking the skills they need to share the complicated and confusing human world. can You hear me? A few years ago, I received a letter from a woman who was seeking help with her dog Baron, a very large breed that at maturity weighed 125 pounds or mor
e. From her description, the dog sounded like a pretty normal dog with good socialization and training. Apparently, Baron had been limping, and when she examined his paw and leg, he had growled at her. Shocked, she immediately yelled at him and pushed him to the ground in a "dominant down" to remind him who was the "top dog" before running him through a series of obedience exercises for ten minutes or so (although he was still limping). When she reached for his paw again, he growled before she even touched the foot. Again she yelled at him and threw him to the ground. The third attempt resulted in a short growl that stopped when she yelled at him. Finding nothing, she took

  Baron to the vet. When the vet tried to examine the dog's paw, there was no growl before Baron silently grabbed the man's hand, doing no damage, leaving nothing more than spit. Embarrassed and upset by her dog's behavior, the woman repeated the cycle of yelling, dominant down and obedience work. Eventually, after a struggle, the dog was immobilized and his paw was examined. Nothing serious was found, though the dog continued to limp for many days. In her letter, she stated her deep concern that this dog was potentially aggressive. Although she had embarked on a course of handling the dog's paws many times a day, punishing all growls or mouthing by the dog, Baron was still growling. In her mind, a growl allowed to exist only opened the door for more aggression, and to her way of thinking, the dog's mouthing of the vet's hand proved that she was right to think so. Having sought help from local trainers, she was horrified by the recommendations she had heard, which included putting an electric shock collar on the dog to teach him not to growl when his paw was touched. Her question to me was this: "How do I teach my dog never to growl or put his mouth on me even if he is in pain?" Every now and then, I get letters that make me very sad; this was one of them. While the woman was without question well meaning, the philosophy that lay at the heart of this dilemma was beyond what I could address in a brief response. If I took away her voice or ability to write, how might she communicate when she was hurting or afraid? What she was asking for was not only unrealistic but unfair-a dog who never, ever communicated with her except in ways she found acceptable. Unable to see the dog's growl as a communication, the woman ended up fearfully interpreting the growl as a threat and was quite worried that this "aggression" would get worse. Threats (real or perceived) frighten us; in our fear, we often strike back against a perceived attack. Sadly, many "training" techniques are little more than thinly disguised attacks on dogs who have perhaps threatened us in some way, with such justified attacks meant to teach them "respect," which really means meekly submitting to us no matter what we do to them. This approach reminds me of the scene in The Maltese Falcon where, for the second time, Humphrey Bogart has slapped Peter Lorre. When Lorre threateningly complains about this insult, Bogart responds, "When

  you're slapped, you'll take it and like it." Most of us, in similar situations, would probably meekly do as this put down the pancakes and No one gets hurt73 dog did. If you warned someone that you were afraid of having your hand touched, and they disregarded this but grabbed your hand anyway, you might raise your voice: "I said leave me alone!" If in response to this understandable outburst, they attacked you and threw you to the ground and then made you recite multiplication tables, you might find that a very frightening scenario indeed; that is hardly a normal response to your verbal warning. If this scenario were repeated, you'd probably learn that allowing your hand to be examined was the lesser of two evils, but your trust in that person would be damaged. Our lack of trust and understanding must be terribly confusing for dogs, who are communicating to us in the clearest way they know how: fully canine ways. From the dog's perspective, this is a very different story. If we were able to go back in time and witness the events, keeping our eye on the dog at all times, we'd find another version of what happened. The dog is limping, a clear sign that something is painful. As the woman reaches for his foot, some subtle changes occur in the dog's expression and body. Unseen, his tail droops slightly. He turns his head away from her, perhaps licking his lips, or-depending on his temperament-may hold his head over and near the foot, protecting it from contact much like a dog uses his head to cover a toy he does not want taken away. Like anyone anticipating a touch in a painful area, he holds his breath; his lips might compress slightly, and his ears slide back and down. In each and every one of these signs, he is saying, "Be careful. This is a problem for me." But intent on her examination, she does not notice these things. The dog probably tries to pull the paw out of her hand, but she does not let him. As she examines the foot, the dog-having had all his more subtle signs disregarded-growls. To his relief, the woman apparently understands the growl and lets go of the foot. What happens next is not at all what the dog expects: The woman roars at him and pins him to the ground. From the dog's point of view, this act of aggression is shocking and without any rationale. She snaps a leash onto his collar and begins to insist that he heel, and sit, and lie down. Anxious to appease her inexplicable wrath, not wanting

  to trigger another aggressive act by her, he complies. Finally, she appears mollified, but to his dismay, she reaches for his foot again. In addition to the pain in his foot, he now has another concern: his unpredictable owner who may attack him without provocation. Anxious and hurting, upset and confused, he does not wait till she has touched the foot-he growls as soon as she begins to reach for him. When once again she screams and throws him to the ground, he begins to understand that she is responding to his growl. From his canine point of view, this makes no sense. In all his body language, he is clearly indicating a warning, not a challenge to a fight; yet her response is (from a dog's perspective) abnormal, dangerous, clearly aggressive. When he growls the third time, he pays attention to verbal warning and thus avoids her aggression. Though he is still afraid, though his paw still hurts, he decides that allowing her to examine his foot is not as bad as being attacked by her. When he gets to the veterinarian's office, he again tries to warn all involved using many subtle gestures, but his communications go unheeded. He makes the warning as clear as he can, though he now knows better than to growl-his owner has taught him that growling is not acceptable. What amazes me is that the dog-despite what he might very rightly view as attacks on him physically-still remains cooperative, still inhibits his behavior, does not do what he's well capable of doing: biting. This is a very large dog whose mouth easily encompassed the veterinarian's entire hand, a dog with sufficient jaw pressure to have badly maimed or even bitten off fingers without much effort. But he did not even leave the tiniest bruise-exerting no pressure whatsoever, he simply holds the man's hand, trying to make his point very clear: "Please, don't do that." In working with dogs, I've more than once caught a flash of surprise and relief in a dog's eyes when he realized that I heard and heeded his subtle communications, that there was no need to growl or bite. Clients are often surprised when I cheerfully assure them that it's a good sign that their dog is growling before he bites (or is simply growling without the bite). While I'd much rather that a happier

  relationship existed between client and dog so that growling wasn't necessary, it's good to know that the dog is still willing to offer warnings, giving us a chance to change our behavior. He's letting us know just where the tricky spots are, net simply attacking. "Be careful," he tells us, "you are treading on thin ice." Though their method of communicating may sometimes be alarm ing if we do not understand that growls and snaps are valuable messages, I am grateful that dogs keep trying. In any relationship, feedback (even unwelcome feedback that indicates great frustration and anger) is an opportunity to examine the underlying problem and work to find a resolution. To ignore what others tell us about their frustration or anger or fear is emotionally cruel and will eventually erode relationships at a very deep level. Dogs who do not warn but bite are difficult on many levels. Be grateful for and do not punish growls, but do work to resolve whatever has prompted the growl. Punishing or suppressing a growl does not change the underlying feeling, no more than biting back "Damn!" in the pre
sence of delicate Aunt Tillie changes the feeling that prompted it. Punished into silence, the dog learns to not give you that very important warning signal. Though it may be more surprising to us when he bites "without warning," we forget that we've told him we don't want to hear any warnings! A growl can simply be a trigger for us to indulge in our own worst fears, or it can be an important signal and an opportunity for greater understanding. We have to be willing to accept that not all of our dog's communications will be happy and pleasant messages; a dog may need to tell us he is afraid or hurting or angry. If we turn a deaf ear to all but what we want to hear, we are going to miss opportunities to help our dogs resolve or learn to handle whatever it is that has frightened, hurt, irritated or angered him. If, as is far too common, we actually punish the dog for these communications, we will seriously undermine the relationship. No relationship can thrive when communication is blocked.