Boulder Dog

My recent post, Lunch with Turid Rugaas: Am I Driving My Dog Crazy? initially stirred a wave of reactions from readers as you can see in the comments section of the post. As naturally happens, though, after a few days of spirited back-and-forth the dialogue ebbed and I moved on to other topics.

Then, Dr. Ian Dunbar, much to my surprise and delight, last week posted a reply to Lunch with Turid Rugaas entitled Can Too Much  Socialization Ruin a Puppy?, on the go-to doggie website, Dog Star Daily. This sparked a new round of comments to his blog and conversation on at least one online dog-training group that a Twitter friend pointed me to.

To begin, I want to clear up any misperception that some readers might have taken away from my post, namely, as Ian put it, “Wow! Puppy classes can damage my puppy and so I won’t enroll her in a class.” I certainly didn’t intend to convey that message. I agree wholeheartedly that socializing a puppy, literally from the first days of a puppy’s life, is not only “not damaging” but optimal, and that well-run puppy classes are an essential ingredient in a puppy’s healthy development. I shudder to think where Sadie and I would be today if not for Puppy Kindergarten Classes.

Looking back, despite the self-doubts I shared (over shared, probably) in Lunch with Turid Ruaas, rationally I do know I did the best I could with Sadie considering that her beginnings were less than ideal and my learning curve felt as steep as if I were trying to scale Mt. Everest. Thankfully, Nana Will and Gigi Moss, both excellent reward based dog trainers, began guiding Sadie and me up the mountain within a few days of her coming home.

Now, nearly three years later, Sadie and I still meet with Gigi for weekly socialization sessions in our ongoing effort to build Sadie’s confidence and ease in the world at her own pace. Sometimes Sadie’s tempo is snail slow and other times she surprises with a bold leap! There is no doubt that, as Ian said, “Living with a fearful dog abruptly causes a lengthy lifestyle change and for many months and years, the owner’s life revolves around rehabilitation and protecting the dog from her fears.” Indeed!

All that said, Turid Rugaas did touch a nerve. History, and not a few hours of therapy, have taught me to listen-up on those rare occasions when, out of the blue, an emotional tsunami hits. So what did the onrush mean this time? As I see it now, Lunch with Turid Rugaas was an early draft of my attempt to discern an answer to this question. (Perhaps I clicked publish prematurely. Oh! The perils of blogging.) Hindsight and the clarifying and heartfelt comments I received, and especially Ian’s thoughtful post, have helped me to distill my thoughts and feelings. Let me try again. 

It’s clearer to me now what pulled at my heart and set my psyche rumbling. It wasn’t so much Turid’s comment about too much doing, although I think that is important and worth exploring in another blog post, rather it was her story about the German Shepherd she rescued. To my ears it seemed that Turid and the GSD felt deeply connected. They were relaxed and present to each other. They had bonded.

So what vein of emotion did this tap for me? Longing. I have longed to feel bonded with Sadie, something I’ve experienced easily with all my other dogs, including my first dog who was painfully shy, and most of my friend’s dogs. I think its one of the most wonderful aspects of having a dog. But to say connecting with Sadie has been difficult, well, that’s an understatement.

I’m reminded of a colleague, Sharon, whose daughter, Kathy, had colic as an infant. Sharon describes how Kathy seemed to be in her own world of hurt and could not be comforted. Sharon tried everything. Nothing worked. Kathy cried and cried. Endlessly. Kathy would arch her back and push away from Sharon when she picked her up. Sharon confessed that her feelings of frustration and helplessness at not being able to comfort her daughter nearly overwhelmed her capacity to empathize with Kathy. Sharon of course didn’t emotionally abandon Kathy, but she did feel deeply deprived of the bonding experience so many new mothers and babies enjoy.

My story with Sadie is similar. True, she didn’t have colic, but she did have, well, for lack of a better word, issues in addition to being globally fearful. Sadie did not like being touched. She did not cuddle or seek out affection or attention of any kind. She was so hyper-vigilant, constantly scanning her environment for signs of danger, I often felt as if I did not exist to her. Sadie easily startled. Relaxing, just laying down in one place for more than a few minutes wasn’t in her repertoire. Nothing I did seemed to help. Sadie did not, could not, make eye contact. It took hours of playing “watch me” with lures and treats for Sadie to finally lift her eyes to mine just for a nanosecond. 

Like Sharon with Kathy, I felt little satisfaction in my relationship with Sadie, in particular during our first year together. My capacity for empathy, precisely that which a troubled dog desperately needs from her person, was taxed maximally. Sharon didn’t sign up for a colicky baby, and the last thing I wanted was a fearful dog who also seemed, well, mildly autistic. Detached. Unreachable. Nonetheless, I knew I had to persevere if Sadie and I ever hoped to see a better days together. And, we are seeing better days. You can read about some of some of our successes here, here, and here. 

Still, Sadie’s fearfulness probably would have taken less of a toll if I knew after our difficult outings we’d snuggle in front of the fire or watch a movie and share some popcorn. Or, I think I could have responded more skillfully to her personality issues if I weren’t perpetually on guard, as she was perpetually on guard, anticipating the next new scary thing, and worried I wouldn’t know what to do to help her, especially early on. 

Oh no! I would think to myself, deer in the headlights frozen, watching the woman in the mint green parka stare at Sadie as walked towards us on Pearl Street. Please avert your eyes from Sadie. Pretend she doesn’t exist. Pleeeease. Sadie does not like being stared at. It scares her. She barks at people who fixate on her. And people do gape because, I guess, either they are afraid of dogs, or because Sadie is, well, a looker. Being out and about with Sadie was, and still is, though thankfully to a much lesser degree, walking a gauntlet. 

So there you have my back-story to Lunch with Turid Rugaas. Maybe it’s my story only, but…  maybe not. I don’t know. But, I do wonder about the toll that caring for a fearful dog, an aggressive dog, a crazy dog takes on the dog’s person. Moving through the world, trying to see it through Sadie’s fearful eyes, protecting her from her fears, devising coping schemes for when frightening things do happen, and building her confidence continue to be huge undertakings. 

I had forgotten what it was like to luxuriate in the company of a well-adjusted dog. A few weeks ago while Sadie was visiting her friend Romeo, I took my friend Pat’s three-year-old standard poodle, Baxter, for a hike. Baxter was confident, socially appropriate with other dogs, and loved meeting people from whom he avidly sought head rubs and butt scratches. He walked beautifully on a front buckle halter, and when off leash stayed near by and came when called. What a joy and what a difference to walk the stunning Sanitas Valley Trail and be able to take in the beauty of the surroundings with Baxter. 

I don’t mean to give the impression that Sadie possesses none of Baxter’s exceptional attributes. She too has good doggie social skills, walks nicely on a leash, and her recall is dynamite. The difference was that I didn’t have to be vigilant for Baxter all of the time. I wasn’t worried about scary things, like a lone runner, suddenly popping around the corner. I wasn’t constantly reconnoitering. Baxter and I were boon companions. Equals in spirit. That walk was a little taste of heaven. 

There is a lot of invaluable information available, especially on the web, for how to help fearful and otherwise troubled dogs. Two of my favorites you can find here and here. Nonetheless, unless I’m missing something, I’ve found little written that explores the doubts, worries, anxieties, frustrations, disappointments, and yes, triumphs, that are part and parcel of life with a fearful dog. 

As I picked my way through the aftermath of my lunch with Turid, questions such as these kept surfacing:

What is it like for you to care for a fearful dog? How do you deal with the heartbreak? Or, how did you overcome the heartbreak? Has anyone with a fearful dog just felt, “Hey, no sweat. I’m up for this!” I’d love to hear your story! What’s worked for you and your dog? What have you learned about what’s helpful not only for your dog, but for you? How have you adjusted your expectations of what your dog is willing to do and capable of doing, and not? How have you come to terms? What is your story?

Am I the only one curious about questions such as those? Am I alone in wanting to hear these stories? To learn from them? Am I the only one who senses that sharing such stories might be consoling and healing for people in the trenches with their fearful dogs? I’d love to know what you think. Maybe we can begin a conversation.

In the meantime, I promised Sadie a hike with her buddy Romeo. So here I go a reconnoitering!

Tags: Dog Star Daily, Fearful dogs, Gigi Moss, Ian Dunbar, Nana Will, Puppy classes, Puppy kindergarten, Puppy socialization, Scared dogs, Shy dogs, Turid Rugaas