For every reaction, there is an equal and opposite reaction force.
—Isaac Newton (1642/3–1727)
—Isaac Newton (1642/3–1727)
Izzy has been reactive to dogs since the day she came home. Yes, it's way, way, way better now than it was. And we've progressed to the point that we can go to classes and dog shows and Izzy can keep it together and be happy and relaxed in the ring.
But still, if a dog gets too close, or surprises her, or tries to sniff her, or moves too fast, or —horrors of horrors—wants to play, and I'm not paying attention, Izzy will go off. She will bark, lunge, and make a snarly face that morphs my sweet google-eyed mutt into Cujette. Luckily (for all involved) she's a little dog and isn't a physical threat to most. And mercifully, most dogs seem to know she's completely cuckoo. They just roll their eyes, sigh, and mutter, "Freaky, freaky bitch." But still. I wish she'd chill out.
We began training in agility as a way to build up her confidence and tolerance of being around other dogs, and Izzy really loves it. We've also trained and competed in other dog sports, which she seems to enjoy with equal gusto. I've read everything I could about dog behavior and psychology. I've participated in behavioral and training workshops where I learned invaluable techniques and approaches to problem behavior.
And perhaps most importantly, I have learned to notice her threshold and I work with it. Basically, that means I am aware of how close Izzy can get to another dog (or any trigger) before she loses it. A dog down the street isn't a problem. A dog two feet away is. So I know how much time I have to give her something to do with her nervous energy before that (very scary two-pound) yorkie gets too close. Or I can choose to avoid the situation and turn to walk in another direction.
We even have a game, "Look at that" we play thanks to trainer Leslie McDevitt's work with reactive dogs. On cue, she will look at the scary thing coming down the street. She gets a treat for being a brave little soldier and noticing the oncoming dog without reacting. It wasn't long before she started initiating the game herself. She makes a point to turn her gaze to all sorts of dogs she sees and then to whip around back to me. "Hey! Hey! Did you see that? It's a DOG. Hellooooo, I said A DOG. RIGHT THERE. Are you blind, woman? Gimme a treat. NOW."
But even now, every once in a while, there are days like yesterday.
Lovely neighbors in our building recently adopted the sweetest (and most gi-normous) German shepherd in the world. Jack couldn't be gentler, and his doggie body language is clear and appropriate. He's never pushy, never snarky, never overbearing. He is what is known as a true gentleman. He currently shares his new digs with Amy, a little white toy poodle. Amy is staying until her owner is well enough to take care of her again. Both dogs are a delight. Izzy and I have taken long walks with them. Each time, after a brief introduction period, Izzy is fine with them. She doesn't interact, but she isn't worried about them. She takes on a live-and-let-live attitude, which is fine with me. And we can all walk together on the sidewalks and in the woods together without issue.
Yesterday, we were standing on a corner with two other dogs and their owner on the sidewalk. Izzy tolerates these dogs, and maybe even likes them. Thankfully, there are some exceptions to the rule. The other dogs saw my neighbor with Jack and Amy approaching and started barking and lunging. Izzy joined in, but I quickly moved her out of the way, so I could wait for my neighbor and enjoy her company on the walk home. Iz quieted down, but I should have known that she was still revved up.
When my neighbor caught up with us around the corner, Izzy lurched into overdrive. She lunged and barked and made her famous ugly face. I saw concern and shock flash across my neighbor's face as she pulled her dog back to her. And there it was. I was embarrassed and ashamed. My dog was acting so, so, so badly that my neighbor was worried about her seventy-pound dog around my seventeen-pound lunatic.
So, what did I do? After all this time working with her, you'd think I could keep myself together when this kind of thing hits the fan. But I didn't. I yelled. I jerked her leash. I yanked and pulled. She was so worked up that she didn't even notice the corrections on the leash (Duh.) And I felt sick because I knew I had put Izzy in a bad position by not giving her enough space to calm down from the first round of barking.
Eventually, we were all able to walk together and I could reward Izzy for calmly looking at Jack and Amy. By the time we came home, she was wagging her tail and paying no mind to the other dogs. We all rode up the elevator in our building without a problem. Thank goodness Izzy bounces back.
I apologized to my neighbor for our bad behavior. And she graciously said, "Everyone has a bad day, and Izzy had one today."
But here it is, a day later, and I still haven't bounced back. I am going over the "incident" again and again in my head, scolding myself that I shouldn't have made such a boneheaded mistake. And plus, I didn't present well. How could anyone think I was trainer after that sidewalk debacle?
Yes, Izzy has a tendency to react inappropriately to relatively benign things, but damn if she isn't willing to bounce back and try again.
So, taking a cue from my dog, I am going to take us out for a walk. I am armed with treats and a promise to pay more attention to Izzy and less attention to my ego. I am ready for my dog to teach me about bouncing back. With gusto.
But still, if a dog gets too close, or surprises her, or tries to sniff her, or moves too fast, or —horrors of horrors—wants to play, and I'm not paying attention, Izzy will go off. She will bark, lunge, and make a snarly face that morphs my sweet google-eyed mutt into Cujette. Luckily (for all involved) she's a little dog and isn't a physical threat to most. And mercifully, most dogs seem to know she's completely cuckoo. They just roll their eyes, sigh, and mutter, "Freaky, freaky bitch." But still. I wish she'd chill out.
We began training in agility as a way to build up her confidence and tolerance of being around other dogs, and Izzy really loves it. We've also trained and competed in other dog sports, which she seems to enjoy with equal gusto. I've read everything I could about dog behavior and psychology. I've participated in behavioral and training workshops where I learned invaluable techniques and approaches to problem behavior.
And perhaps most importantly, I have learned to notice her threshold and I work with it. Basically, that means I am aware of how close Izzy can get to another dog (or any trigger) before she loses it. A dog down the street isn't a problem. A dog two feet away is. So I know how much time I have to give her something to do with her nervous energy before that (very scary two-pound) yorkie gets too close. Or I can choose to avoid the situation and turn to walk in another direction.
We even have a game, "Look at that" we play thanks to trainer Leslie McDevitt's work with reactive dogs. On cue, she will look at the scary thing coming down the street. She gets a treat for being a brave little soldier and noticing the oncoming dog without reacting. It wasn't long before she started initiating the game herself. She makes a point to turn her gaze to all sorts of dogs she sees and then to whip around back to me. "Hey! Hey! Did you see that? It's a DOG. Hellooooo, I said A DOG. RIGHT THERE. Are you blind, woman? Gimme a treat. NOW."
But even now, every once in a while, there are days like yesterday.
Lovely neighbors in our building recently adopted the sweetest (and most gi-normous) German shepherd in the world. Jack couldn't be gentler, and his doggie body language is clear and appropriate. He's never pushy, never snarky, never overbearing. He is what is known as a true gentleman. He currently shares his new digs with Amy, a little white toy poodle. Amy is staying until her owner is well enough to take care of her again. Both dogs are a delight. Izzy and I have taken long walks with them. Each time, after a brief introduction period, Izzy is fine with them. She doesn't interact, but she isn't worried about them. She takes on a live-and-let-live attitude, which is fine with me. And we can all walk together on the sidewalks and in the woods together without issue.
Yesterday, we were standing on a corner with two other dogs and their owner on the sidewalk. Izzy tolerates these dogs, and maybe even likes them. Thankfully, there are some exceptions to the rule. The other dogs saw my neighbor with Jack and Amy approaching and started barking and lunging. Izzy joined in, but I quickly moved her out of the way, so I could wait for my neighbor and enjoy her company on the walk home. Iz quieted down, but I should have known that she was still revved up.
When my neighbor caught up with us around the corner, Izzy lurched into overdrive. She lunged and barked and made her famous ugly face. I saw concern and shock flash across my neighbor's face as she pulled her dog back to her. And there it was. I was embarrassed and ashamed. My dog was acting so, so, so badly that my neighbor was worried about her seventy-pound dog around my seventeen-pound lunatic.
So, what did I do? After all this time working with her, you'd think I could keep myself together when this kind of thing hits the fan. But I didn't. I yelled. I jerked her leash. I yanked and pulled. She was so worked up that she didn't even notice the corrections on the leash (Duh.) And I felt sick because I knew I had put Izzy in a bad position by not giving her enough space to calm down from the first round of barking.
Eventually, we were all able to walk together and I could reward Izzy for calmly looking at Jack and Amy. By the time we came home, she was wagging her tail and paying no mind to the other dogs. We all rode up the elevator in our building without a problem. Thank goodness Izzy bounces back.
I apologized to my neighbor for our bad behavior. And she graciously said, "Everyone has a bad day, and Izzy had one today."
But here it is, a day later, and I still haven't bounced back. I am going over the "incident" again and again in my head, scolding myself that I shouldn't have made such a boneheaded mistake. And plus, I didn't present well. How could anyone think I was trainer after that sidewalk debacle?
Yes, Izzy has a tendency to react inappropriately to relatively benign things, but damn if she isn't willing to bounce back and try again.So, taking a cue from my dog, I am going to take us out for a walk. I am armed with treats and a promise to pay more attention to Izzy and less attention to my ego. I am ready for my dog to teach me about bouncing back. With gusto.
