Training My Reactive Dog: A Spiritual Journey by Kristin-Luana Baumann
 |
| Image / Thirdman |
Training My Reactive Dog: A Spiritual Journey
I am desperately holding on to Bear’s leash, while the dog swirls through the air, growling, barking, lunging, turning, like a black, curly daemon. I don’t think I have ever felt so powerless before. A sharp pain shoots into my forehead, an expression of my exasperation. It stays there for a couple of minutes, capturing my full attention, until it slowly pulses away.
What makes my dog react with such volatility? Is a pack of wolves attacking him? A group of armed robbers attacking me? Nothing of the kind. It is another dog walking by, calmly and on leash, with its owner. That’s it. All I am trying to do is walk my dog through my quaint little town in the Pacific Northwest, politely greeting other dogs and owners, and having a good time together.
I have a memory of the opening scene of the animated movie 101 Dalmatians (1961): people and dogs enjoying life in a city park. The main dog character, Pongo, is up to all kinds of mischief – but all very cute and in good cheer. Good cheer, that is what I am aspiring to. But right now, this looks like an unachievable dream. Bear and I are not enjoying ourselves. My dog is reacting to every other living being like it is a monster threatening his very life, and all I can do is hold on to him with all my might, so to hopefully avoid a clash of the titans.
Reactive. Later, I learn that is the word for my 10-month-old Portuguese Water Dog’s inappropriate behavior. According to the American Kennel Club, dogs that respond to common occurrences with excessive levels of arousal are deemed reactive. Reasons for reactivity can be genetic, lack of early socialization, traumatic experiences, fear and frustration, or a mix of these. Portuguese Water Dogs tend to be sensitive and high-energy, but Bear is more than that. He shows extreme reactivity, especially to dogs, but also to people, and this behavior is more pronounced when he is on a leash. If I think about it, a bird hopping on the sidewalk, a rabbit munching on the grass, could also have the same effect.
At home, with no distractions, Bear is the sweetest dog. He loves to learn tricks, loves to please, loves to hang out with my husband and I, even though we are just an empty nester couple, spending lots of time with quiet activities, like reading and writing. Sometimes I sit on the couch, and Bear lies on the floor. He sits up and looks at me expectantly. When I look back, he jumps in my lap, hugs me, and cuddles. He is a good dog! But when out and about, we need to be careful. We walk in the very early morning to avoid any and all encounters with other dogs and people. Oftentimes, that strategy works, but occasionally, we meet another lost soul and their handler.
I see a small light moving towards us in the predawn darkness. It looks like a headlight. The head turns to the side, and for a moment, the light illuminates a leash and a dog-shaped silhouette, a German Shepherd, maybe. Bear and I tense up. I look around – is there an escape route? No, we are on a city trail that's maybe 10 feet wide, with no side trails, streets, or driveways. I keep Bear on a short leash, right beside me, on the far side of the path. The headlight takes the same precaution. We pass each other quickly, owners ignoring each other. The two dogs burst out in growling, barking, lunging, and snapping.
We continue straight on until the commotion settles. The pain in the head hits me again like a sharp arrow. This is too stressful. I pause and wait until the throbs of pain subside. A raindrop falls on my cheek. Very good: the more rain, the fewer people! I adjust my hat, and we continue our walk in light but steady rain. Bear dances from one side to the other, sniffs here and there, looks left and right; up and down, back and forth: a bird, a car, a leaf in the wind, a – something. There is so much for Bear to discover and absorb, as I keep watch for possible disruptions. Walking used to be relaxing for me, a time to let go of all my daily worries, a time to dream, a time to pray. Not anymore. Now I am first and foremost the handler of my dog.
What should my husband and I do about Bear’s reactive behavior? We can’t sign up for a class with other people and dogs present. We tried. It was “Puppy Obedience 101”. The class took place in a huge hall in an industrial park. It looked like a sports gym; I remember basketball hoops on the short walls and markings on the floor. Other than that, there were just some chairs placed against the long sides and some dog mats and toys in a corner. It smelled like disinfectant. We were ten families with dogs in total, and only mine was acting up. Bear was lunging and barking without ceasing. I was so embarrassed.
The trainer was a young, sporty woman. She walked up to us and said,
“You need to control your dog.”
I stared at her; a big “How?” in my eyes.
She grabbed a spray bottle filled with water.
“Try spraying water into his face. Show him who is the boss. Don’t give him attention when he misbehaves.”
I took the bottle and nodded.
I did my best. I am a middle-aged white woman and too short to reach the highest shelf in the kitchen. But I imagined myself in the shoes of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, the epitome of relaxed strength and coolness as far as I am concerned. With as much casual indifference as I could muster, I spritzed water into my dog’s face, while standing tall and pretending not to look at him. The water did startle him for a moment, but after those heavenly 20 seconds of quiet, he just started barking again.
We did not finish that course.
The trainer was so kind to offer us a free consultation. My husband came, too. We sat in a small white room with two red sofas. Bear was allowed to be off-leash. He accepted the presence of the trainer. He just walked around calmly and sniffed.
“Did you have dogs before?” The trainer asked.
My husband responds. “Yes, Shadow. She was a Portuguese Water Dog as well. But she was different from Bear. We had no difficulties.”
“Looks like Bear feels he needs to take charge. But being a pup, his choices are not the best. You need to show him that you are in charge.”
She gave us some examples. Don’t let the dog walk through the door before you. Don’t let him pull the leash. Make him earn his food: train him while feeding him.
“Does Bear sometimes try to sit on top of you?”
“Yes”, I say.
“Because you feed him and take care of him, he might think you are his resource and try to guard you, especially when strangers are around. It’s called resource guarding.”
Resource guarding. Another new word for us. Dogs display threatening or aggressive behavior when they think somebody wants to take away their food, toys, or people.
The trainer turns to my husband. “Does Bear try the same with you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“It can be more extreme with male dogs and female owners.”
What? Do our difficulties have something to do with Bear’s understanding of gender roles?
An image pops into my head. I am sitting at my tiny kitchen table in a guest apartment in Trier, Germany. In my first career, I was a stage director in the German municipal theater system. To my knowledge, I have been one of the first four female stage directors in Germany. I am in my mid-twenties. This is only the second time I am directing as a freelancer. On the opposite side of the table sits one of my actors. He is about my age. He knocked on my door, uninvited, just when I was about to make myself lunch. Now we are sitting over cups of coffee, as I am contemplating whether I need to invite him to lunch or not.
He states bluntly, “If you want to make it as a director, you need to change your working style.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know how it is. Directors need to mistreat actors; otherwise, nobody takes them seriously. You are much too kind.”
Well, there would be no lunch invitation for him.
I don’t remember how exactly I got him out of the door, but I did. He was right about the “abusive genius” expectations in German theater at the time, but wrong to think that I would ever consider behaving that way.
Much later, I followed the call to be a pastor in America, a male-dominated domain just as the theater world. Thankfully, abusive behavior is not expected of me here. However, I sit with devastated parishioners as they confide in me how hard it is for them to accept a woman pastor. I choose to see the humor in these situations: They trust me as a pastor while at the same time telling me that they doubt I should be one.
“Yes, I understand”, I usually respond, and “You will get used to it, I’m sure.”
Breaking through glass ceilings was not easy, but in the end, I gained respect and authority in my profession. And now I have a dog who thinks he needs to take over when we meet another dog on the street, because, in his mind, I am not capable of managing the situation. Truth be told, he has a point. The more reactive Bear displays, the less I am able to control him. It is a vicious cycle. At a later vet visit, we received a recommendation for a personal trainer and signed up with her. We need to learn how to break through that cycle.
I am holding the clip that connects Bear’s harness with his leash. At any moment now, the trainer will call out to me, and I will unleash Bear, who will then meet another dog, also unleashed. The other dog is older, male, and calm. Bear is muzzled, because we have no idea if he will be aggressive or not. I hear the call and unleash the dog. Bear charges right on with high speed. Oh no! It looks like he will attack. But no, as soon as Bear is within sniffing distance of his dog companion, his demeanor completely changes. He instantly relaxes and starts sniffing, showing curious interest appropriately. It is safe to unmuzzle him. The dogs play with each other. Bear is having the best time of his life. At later training times, Bear meets up with other dogs off-leash. He is always friendly. We are quite perplexed.
“It looks like Bear’s reactivity stems from anxiety and frustration”, says the trainer. “His exaggerated fear at first encounters, combined with the frustration of being on leash, is the obstacle that hinders him from building the relationships he longs for.”
The sessions with her and her dogs are super helpful, but also expensive, and she is often booked out. My husband and I are looking for daily guidance, too.
Just a week later, I found a class for reactive dogs online and purchased it. It calls for two things: Manage and train. Managing means avoiding encounters outside of training so that the unwanted behavior does not become more ingrained. Training involves setting up encounters in controlled circumstances and keeping the dog under threshold by scattering treats. The sniffing for the treats calms the dog down, and outbursts can be avoided. It’s like dog yoga. I spend a lot of time now in large parking lots. Bear and I observe how people get out of their cars and walk into a store. I scatter treats. Bear sniffs and eats. It works. No barking, no lunging, no snapping. We go from 80 feet distant to 60, to 40. Success! I feel less tense. However, unexpected encounters can be just as horrific as before.
One morning, Bear and I walk on the boardwalk of the large street by our house. Later in the day, it will be busy with commuters, but not yet. I enjoy the early peace and quiet. Suddenly, we see a group of six dogs and two dog walkers coming around a bend. I hold my breath in apprehension. The boardwalk is narrow, but there is a driveway nearby. I walk Bear into the driveway and start scattering the fragrant fish skin treats, but it is too late. Bear is too tense to eat. As the group strolls by, he explodes. I hold him tight. He tries to escape my grip with high lunges and fast sideways movements. His growling and barking sounds deep and dangerous. He snaps at me. The pain in my head is back, sharper than ever before. Finally, Bear calms down, and the pain subsides. I am quite bitter: Why are they out on the street before 6AM? Can’t they give my dog a break? This is our time! I am envious, too. How come those six dogs walk that calmly together? They hardly even glanced at Bear. I am exhausted and full of doubt. I am no dog trainer; I didn’t sign up for this. What if I can’t do it? Maybe I’m not the right person for Bear. Maybe we’re not the right family.
On our way home, we encounter a blackbird. Bear jumps and lunges. I gasp in fear. Not again! What am I to do? Where did I put the treats? Is Bear still approachable? My heart is in my throat. I break out in a cold sweat. I frantically search my pockets for the treats, like a headless chicken. I find them. I open the bag. The intense smell of the salmon skin hits my nose and shocks my brain into action. I stop. I understand something.
I am just as frightened as Bear is. I am afraid of a blackbird. This is ridiculous! Here I am, thinking I am training the dog, but he is training me to become just like him. I am now full of fear and frustration, just like he is. I feel so inadequate, almost ashamed. Back home, I talk to my husband, the words keep pouring out of me. I review the whole history of the training experience through the lens of me following the dog’s lead and not vice versa.
“Well, you followed Bear’s emotion, and that didn’t work. Now try the opposite”, he says. “Guide Bear with your emotion.”
At our next outing, during the day, just around our property, a little white dog and his owner walk towards the apartment building on the other side of the large street. I see them, and I am alert. How will Bear react? No, I tell myself, wrong question. How will I react? I need to be confident, open-minded, joyful, and strong. Dwayne Johnson! No, Roselyn Sanchez, Dwayne’s love interest in the movie The Game Plan. She has the strength of a ballerina and a teacher – that’s my kind of strength! But how do I get there?
I praise that white little dog with gusto.
“What a beautiful dog! Bear, look at this creature, made by God, just like you and me. Look how cute his gait is as he saunters towards the door of the building. How relaxed his owner holds him on the leash. Now he opens the door. Surely, they just had the most satisfying walk. Now, they go inside; the little doggy gets a treat and settles down. How wonderful!”
During my accolade, Bear paces once back and forth, barks three times, and then he sits down and calmly watches the little white dog disappear into the house. Success! I can turn this around. I am so elated, I feel like dancing. I waltz right and left, and then I start skipping. Bear skips, too, kind of. We awkwardly bump into each other, but it doesn’t matter. I can influence the dog’s behavior, and now I know how. We run the rest of the way home. We both know how to do that.
From then on, I laud and applaud everything and everybody we encounter.
Nursing home staff walking from car to workplace: “Thank you for caring for the elderly! You are doing works of comfort and mercy”.
Music students being dropped off for class: “I am grateful for the gift of music. Music is balm for the soul. You and your cello touch people’s hearts.”
Blackbirds hopping in the grass: “Sweetest bird! You walk, you fly, you sing, you care for your young, and you are beautifully dressed in glossy black feathers!”
Whatever I see, I am ready to laud it! I feel a bit crazy saying these things out loud, and I am glad that only Bear hears me. But it helps. Bear is much more relaxed now. He looks to me for guidance. My words of praise, combined with treats, keep him well-regulated.
They change me, too.
I have been worried lately not only because of Bear, but also due to other significant factors. Children and their parents are dying in bombings in Europe and the Middle East. People are being arrested without probable cause in my own country. Bees are disappearing, and with them, flowers and fruit trees. All these tragedies put a heavy weight on my shoulders. They make my breathing flat and my skin thin. The world is at a turning point. What will the future bring?
It is understandable to worry. But it doesn’t improve anything. Training Bear through praise has helped me let go of my worries, most of the time. I stay in the moment and am grounded in an attitude of gratitude and wonder. God made a beautiful world! And this is the truth, beyond and despite all failures and harmful actions by humans. To focus on praise and not on worry is a much healthier place to be. It is a much sounder foundation for working towards a better tomorrow. So, I practice praise now not only for Bear, but also for myself.
“Thank you, Compassionate One, for providing me with shelter. I live in a house among beautiful tall trees. I have electricity, running water, internet, and enough food for many days. May this become true for all people.
“I laud you, Spirit of Love, for family, colleagues, friends, and pets. May all who are lonely find companionship.”
“Praise to you, Creator, for the gift of nature. It brings me beauty, inspiration, and a sense of awe. May we all learn to take good care of the world and all that is in it.”
~~
It is a fresh spring morning. The birds are greeting the sunlight with delightful chirping. Bear and I are walking towards the crossing with the city trail. It is about 20 feet away when a woman and her Golden Retriever cross over. Bear tenses up, stops, and looks.
I say, “What a beautiful dog!” and then grab a handful of treats, adding “Scatter” before throwing them onto the ground. After a second, Bear turns around, sniffs, and eats the treats while the other dog passes by.
A dog approaching frontally while on a leash would still be a problem. But even then, Bear’s reaction would be manageable, not headache-inducing anymore. We continue on this journey, together and with gratitude, one step at a time.
© Kristin-Luana Baumann
 |
| Kristin-Luana Baumann |
Comments
Post a Comment
Please be supportive and kind in your comments.