Living in Fear?

When I was a child, my best little friend was named Kathy. She was a year younger than I and the second youngest of a family of 6 children. She lived with her mother, siblings and step-father. I was too young to know where her biological dad was. I only knew that her step-father was an un-yielding man with a fierce temper and a fast fist. Kathy was terrified of him. One time I spent the night at her house and she had accidentally soiled her sheets. In the dark hours of the morning, we tried to get a load of laundry going so she could avoid the beating that would surely come. We failed. She was six years old. It still doesn’t make any sense to me.  

Another time, I remember her cowering, literally, at the dinner table as her brother was verbally abused and screamed at in front of the whole family (and guests). I don’t remember what for – I only remember the fear that was tangible. Don’t cross dad. He will hurt you. Message received.

Recently, I arrived at a client’s home to counsel them about their dog’s aggression to other dogs. I was met at the door by the most beautiful and sweet young dog who attempted to greet me with wiggles and some jumping up. He was prevented from doing so by harsh voice corrections and yanks on a leash which was attached to a prong collar with tiny sharp spikes digging into his smooth-coated neck. “No!”-yank – dog winced – “No!” yank – dog winced, licked his lips, dropped his tail, backed up, fearful of this intruder who brought the pain to the doorway. The dog’s owner had been instructed by another trainer to intimidate, to cause pain, to frighten her dog into obedience. The dog was changing, yes, but his eyes looked at me and said, “Did you cause my pain?”

Our consultation lasted a long time. I laid the foundation for understanding their dogs by reading canine body language. I introduced the concept that fear and pain will increase aggression. “But the other trainer said our dog was being dominant.” We talked about social relationships; the give-and-take versus categorical labels. We talked about training constructs and the over-simplification of a training regimen that is the same for all dogs. Their dogs were sensitive, I observed. They knew that. Their dogs would not do well with a punishment-based training method. Their dogs would increase the anxiety and aggression if they did not cease working with that other trainer’s methods.

I said, “You have to choose which bus you are going to get on.” “But we already bought our tickets (paid for the training classes by the prong-only trainer).” Ultimately I replied: “If the bus you are on is heading off a cliff, your tickets won’t do you much good.”  I warned them if they continued hurting their dogs in an attempt to stop the aggression, not only would it not stop it, but it would become much worse and begin being redirected toward them and toward other people. They knew that. They had already seen it happen, which was the catalyst to hire me to find another way. Kudos to them. We scheduled a follow-up lesson so we could work on more skills.

I believe it won’t be long before their dogs will change into more relaxed, more confident, more gently social dogs with proper rehabilitation and using non-force, modern methods of dog training. The dogs won’t have to live in fear that they will face pain upon the presence of a new person or another dog. Instead, they can anticipate fun, food and play when visitors and dogs show up. Not only will we change their behavior, but we’ll change the relationship the owners have with their dogs.

It’s not okay to make someone live in fear. Not a child. Not a dog. As dog owners and trainers, we have a right and a responsibility to be educated about dog body language and about humane and sympathetic training methods. Fear can change behavior. But should that be your primary method of communication with those you love?

My friend Kathy lived in fear of her dad until she was old enough to escape. I don’t know whether she ever overcame her issues with men but I do know she ended up making some bad choices as a result of the fear she’d lived with all her life. Her brothers and sister all did jail time for various crimes. Some of her brothers became very violent men. Learning can happen when fear is the teacher – but are you teaching the message you really want?

I couldn’t do anything about Kathy back then. Now, I can’t do anything about the choices that other trainer is making with his abusive, self-centered, fear-based training method. But, because my new clients are willing to trust me, and because they really love their dogs, I have an opportunity to teach them a new way– a way that will bring peace, trust and hope into their household. I am so grateful they called and are willing to learn what their dogs are truly saying.

Help Me!

Roughly 18 years ago, I was trying to help a friend train her dog. Shaka was a Rhodesian Ridgeback who wouldn't come when called. I grew up watching heavy-handed police and working dog trainers and had recently apprenticed with a no-food, no-nonsense, correction-based trainer. I was physically strong and believed the best way to teach a dog do something was to just to make him do it. So there I was in a small, fenced-in area with the dog, his owner and a leash. I did a few on-leash recalls and said, "Yeah, the dog knows it". I unclipped the leash and set him free. He was a rambunctious adolescent and quickly busied himself sniffing and exploring. "Come." No response. I did what I had been trained to do: I walked him down.

The walk-down is an intimidation technique followed by harsh punishment. Basically, you make the dog more scared of NOT coming than of coming and he figures out he'd better come when you call, no matter what. It can be very fast, but it's ugly (and not anything I would do now; you'll soon see why).

At first Shaka tried to escape by outrunning me and when I persisted to stalk him, direct eye contact and confrontational body language, he clung to his owner. "Help me." I instructed her to ignore him and she did. Shaka fled what should have been safety and kept running from me until I cornered him. I attached the leash to his choke chain and "COME!" yanked; "COME!" yanked and "COME" yanked. Unclipped his leash. Repeated as necessary until Shaka gave up and stopped, tail down, beaten in spirit, unwilling to fight. At that point, the technique changed and I called softly, "Come". Shaka had no where else to run, no one to provide safety and he took a hesitant step in my direction.

Leaving my methodology for a minute, let's consider: What did I teach that dog? (My stomach knots up at this video in my brain... knowing what I know about canine body language and how Shaka was begging for help from his mom who stood stoically by, allowing me to hurt him.) What did I teach my friend about her relationship with her dog? That she's no shelter? That she can't stop this human whacko from hurting her beloved buddy? That any professional has the right to abuse your dog because certainly they know better?

Today a client told me that her dog hates vets. Here's why: The dog tore his ACL and was certainly in a lot of pain. Several well-meaning friends told her she had to take the dog to a certain veterinarian who is an expert in that particular breed and is the only one who should do surgery on a dog of that breed because he's the expert. My client brought her dog there. Upon entering the exam room and without speaking to the dog's owner, the veterinarian literally tackled the dog to the floor, pinning him. The dog struggled. "He looked up at me with pleading eyes, asking for my help," my sad client admitted. The vet overpowered the dog. He did the surgery. But they don't go there anymore. Not surprisingly, this dog has tried to bite the new veterinarian when an exam is performed. Not the technicians. Not anyone else in the clinic. Not anyone outside of a veterinary hospital. Just the vets. The dog had asked for help from the only person who could have given it but she had abdicated her authority over her pet. Her mistake was trusting the expert. Just like my friend, all those years ago.

To his great credit and as a stellar testimony to his outstanding temperament, gorgeous Shaka did not bite me. Neither did other dogs I treated in a similar fashion. Of course not because if they fought back, they lost and never forgot that lesson. I wonder how many of them, though, learned to hate "trainers?" I'll never know but the very thought makes me cry.

You. Are your dog's advocate. YOU are his protector. Don't allow anyone to mishandle your dog. Period. Not if he is a a friend. Not if she is a trainer. Not if he is an expert. Not when your dog is clearly asking for help. You have the right and even the responsibility to say, "Hey! STOP. NOW!" Take your dog and leave. It's not rude. It's right.

Shaka forgave my idiocy. So did my friend, thankfully. I don't train that way any more. I have learned to listen to the dogs better. I have learned that their motivations can be harnessed to change their behavior.

Training is a lot more fun these days and I am glad to be in a position to pass along this story in hopes that you will make good choices about whom you hand your leash to and that you remember your dog is YOUR property and as such you have the power to tell people how they should treat him. (By the way, that's a right you'll give up if you are only a "guardian" so don't settle for less than the ability to protect your dog completely!)

Be there for him if he ever looks at you and says, "Help me!" Better yet, ask more questions before you hand over the leash or give someone access to your furry friend who trusts you.