Bones Would Rain from the Sky: Deepening Our Relationships with Dogs (26 page)

Mary Anne had already taught Opal to sit and lie
down on command, so these basics were going to be the
dog's way of saying "please." At mealtimes or

when giving out a treat, Mary Anne would
ask Opal to sit or lie down (both of which she
already knew how to do), giving the dog perhaps three
seconds to comply. If Opal ignored her, Mary
Anne would put the bowl back on the counter and turn
away for five or ten seconds, then try again.
If after three requests the dog was still ignoring her,
Mary Anne would put the food in a cabinet or the
refrigerator and leave the kitchen without saying a
word, and go read a book or stare out the window for a
few minutes. Then she'd try again. Only when
Opal sat or lay down within the desired time
frame would Mary Anne deliver the food. A
similar routine was instituted for going outside.
Opal would have to sit or lie down before the door was
opened. Petting, no matter how winningly
solicited, would happen only after Opal sat or
lay down as requested, and was to be kept quite brief
Mary Anne was quick to point out that this was going to be very
difficult, as it is for many owners. She was
relieved to know that once she had earned Opal's
respect and shifted die balance of power in the
house, such restricted petting might no longer be
necessary. But it was critical to helping Opal see
Mary Anne in a new light. As time went on,
Mary Anne would gradually begin to expect
Opal to respond promptly to the first request and do
more than just sit in order to earn attention.
The second part of the program was teaching Opal
to get on and off furniture on request. Armed with
some tasty treats, we began working on this in my
living room. I offered Opal a treat or two
to be sure she knew what delicious goodies I
had to offer. Stepping away from the couch where Opal had
curled up beside me while Mary Anne and I
talked, I called the dog to me, rewarding her with
several treats and praise. I stepped back to the
couch and, patting the cushions, invited Opal to
"get comfy" (a phrase chosen by Mary Anne.)
Opal hopped up, and giving her a treat, I
told her with enthusiasm what a genius she was.
Showing her a treat, I tossed it on the floor, and
as she prepared to get off the couch, I told her,
"Off." Back and forth we went, practicing what
"get comfy" and "off" meant. Opal found this a very
agreeable game, and soon was hopping off at a
quiet request in anticipation of a reward. After a
brief rest for Opal and a review of the technique
for Mary Anne, it

was Mary Anne's turn to work with her dog.
To her delight, Opal was as responsive and eager
to cooperate as she had been with me. "Why does this
work so well?" she asked as she and Opal settled
down for a break. "Is it just because she knows this isn't
her couch?"
The difference was not the particular couch, but the dog's
emotional state. In my living room, Opal was
relaxed, did not feel threatened and was thus in a
pleasant state of mind. When Mary Anne had
stepped into the living room at home, the dog had
warned her to back off. At that point, a possible
confrontation was brewing in Opal's mind. Mary
Anne's initial attempt to simply force Opal
off the couch, however gently, had just increased the
dog's arousal. Believing herself to be the top-
ranking dog, Opal had viewed Mary Anne's
action as one of insubordination and had dealt with this in a
very canine way: more dramatic growling and a warning
snap. In my living room, nothing had happened
to shift Opal from a relaxed state of mind. If
I had felt the need to show Opal who was boss
by forcibly removing her from the couch, the situation could have
changed very quickly.
From Opal's point of view, she was not getting off
the couch because I was "making" her; she was
voluntarily
moving in order to get to the treat I had tossed on
the floor. In any training situation (in fact, in
any relationship) gaining voluntary cooperation
neatly sidesteps challenges to status. If the
queen of England agrees to play checkers with you, her
agreement makes status unimportant. But if
you're going to try to force the queen of England to play
with you, you'd best be someone she takes directives
from with a smile. The underlying problem that created the
whole couch incident was one of leadership and status;
challenging a dog's status does not resolve the
underlying problem, which needs to be addressed more
universally. No threat perceived, no confrontation
brewing, no challenges to her status, so Opal
remained calm, cooperative and enjoyed the
interaction.
Opal was relaxed and interested in this "game," not
defending a valuable resource. At home, Mary
Anne would not wait until Opal was on the couch and
already in a defensive, confrontational mood, but
deliberately take the dog into the living room
to play the "get comfystoff" game, and do this quite a few
times each day. Finding ways to carefully and gently

revisit areas where emotions can run high
is far more pro ductive than a head-on confrontation during moments
of great intensity. Identifying what the problem is
allows us to step back and find a more loving,
compassionate approach to working toward a resolution that
suits all involved without hurt feelings or wounded
pride.
Like many dogs, Opal was not being a bad dog. She
was simply being a dog, responding to what she
believed to be the rules and power structure in the
household. Changing the rules and shifting the balance
of power to a more appropriate one where Mary Anne
and all other humans had higher status than Opal
was going to take some time. But Mary Anne was willing
to do what was necessary, and she welcomed a chance to work in
nonconfrontational ways that would keep her safe
while also earning Opal's respect. In the weeks
that followed, faced with new rules, Opal found
herself in some disconcerting situations. The first time
Opal flatly ignored a third request to lie
down before getting her meal, Mary Anne put her
food bowl in the refrigerator and walked away.
Opal was dumbfounded. She walked after
Mary Anne, nudging her as if to say, "Excuse
me? Did you forget something?" As planned, Mary
Anne calmly ignored Opal for a few minutes
before giving her another chance. This time, Mary
Anne's request was met with a prompt response
and a distinct look of relief when Opal was given
her food. After a month of persistently and
consistently applied new rules, Opal and Mary
Anne had rebalanced their relationship in a more
appropriate way, with Mary Anne acting much more
like someone worthy of a dog's respect. Though still the
luxury loving hound, Opal no longer viewed the
couch as hers, and at a quiet request, would leave
when anyone asked.
Opal and Mary Anne had work to do before they could find
a comfortable balance in their relationship. There was a
period of discomfort, one that is typical of
relationships where problem areas have been highlighted and
are the focus of attention and energy. Mary Anne
reported that initially a great deal of what she did
with Opal felt artificial. Although her previous
approach had felt more "natural" to Mary Anne,
Opal's behavior had pointed unmistakably to the
fact that it was not an approach that worked for the dog. I

encouraged Mary Anne to think of her
feelings of awkwardness as akin to learning a new
dance-at first, the steps feel strange, unfamiliar
and moving smoothly is not possible. But with time and
practice, your feet learn just where to go without the
need for forced attention to the steps; then the joy of the
dance returns. Despite feeling faintly
false, Mary Anne persisted, encouraged by how much
better she felt about Opal and their relationship.
Beyond her own growing satisfaction with the connection that this
approach made possible, she also watched Opal for
confirmation that this new approach was working for the dog as
well. After all, no matter what a trainer or a
book or a veterinarian or any other source of
advice might say, the final arbiters of whether or
not an approach is working have to be the two involved in
the relationship.

i'll Go first-this may be dangerous
Leadership should be born out of the understanding of the needs of
those who would be affected by
it.
marian anderson
flipping through channels in a hotel room one
night, I chanced upon a spaghetti
Western that was so broadly painted in its
stereotypes that it was amusing. In one scene, the
poor farm family is tending to chores (all,
miraculously requiring the actors to be
conveniently grouped right in front of the old
homestead) when up rode the Bad Guy, a
neighboring rancher who was foreclosing on their land. The
young girl instantly fled behind her mother's billowing
skirt, and the young man of the family bristled, ready
to take on the Bad Guy using, I suppose, his
bare ten-year-old hands. Dropping his shovel, the
man of the family strode forward and, sweeping his
family behind him with one powerful gesture, placed
himself unmistakably as the front line of defense
against whatever might be threatening his beloveds. Though it
was a hackneyed scene, I was struck by the message
contained in that gesture, and by the act of leadership
displayed in the man's stepping forward: "You'll have
to come through me first."
This particular gesture of stepping forward into the line of
fire, so to speak, is one that dogs understand and
employ among themselves. Walk as a stranger into a
room containing a bitch's puppies, and you may find
yourself face-to-face with a watchful (if not downright

wrathful) momma. Dogs with strong
guardingstprotective instincts will automatically step
forward to place themselves between a perceived
threat and their people, a gesture that is most welcome
when we find ourselves in frightening situations. On
several occasions, my dogs have had need to step into the
line of fire in the face of very real threats; when they
stood growling between me and a threatening stranger on a
dark street, my relief was boundless.
Apart from control of or access to resources and the
control or direction of behavior, there is a third
component of leadership in the dog's world: proactive
intervention. Rarely addressed in most training
books, it is nonetheless critically important to the
dog's perception of his own safety both within the
home family group and out in the larger context of the
world. Proactive intervention is something that most of us
already understand and employ in our daily lives.
Simply put, it means being alert to and willing
to respond to any potential threats toward the ones
we love, especially those more vulnerable
than ourselves. No sane parent would allow anyone
to come up to a child and begin slapping them around or even
verbally harassing them. An appropriate
protective response would be to quite literally put the
child behind you, placing yourself directly between the threat and the
child. In the simple act of stepping forward, you are
establishing yourself as the one in charge and saying, though you
may not utter a word, "You'll have to come through me first."
he just wants to say "Hi!"
Sadly, many dogs find themselves lacking the
protective intervention of alert leadership. It is
both unfortunate and shocking how many dogs presented
to me as "dog aggressive" were actually feeling
vulnerable and unprotected. In the majority of
cases I've seen, the "aggressive" dog had
been minding his own business and was often sitting or
lying quietly at his owner's side when-either
playfully or with more evil intent-the rude dog ran
up, ran into, jumped on or attacked him.
Inevitably, as the owners who have allowed their dogs
to act rudely retreat from the situation, there are
comments made about "that aggressive dog" (meaning the
dog whose space had been invaded) and the classic
comment, usually said in hurt tones, "He just wanted

to say "hi!""
We would think very little of a parent who allowed a child
to leap onto strangers while the parent did nothing more
than smile and note, "He's a very friendly child." But
dog owners frequently allow their dogs to act in
equally rude ways, dashing up to other dogs and even
leaping on them, and triggering defensive responses.
Handlers of such dogs may not realize that they may be
endangering their dog as well as putting other dogs and
people in a difficult and unpleasant situation.
Believing that their dogs are incapable of aggression, and
not realizing that being rude is a form of aggression, they
see only the growls or snarls of the dog who is
on the receiving end of the rudeness.
My experience has been that it is owners of breeds
considered "nonaggressive" that cause the most
problems in dog-to-dog interactions. This is not because
these people are more careless or less intelligent than
other dog owners. The problem arises simply from a
complete lack of awareness that their dog is rude.
To the owners of nonaggressive breeds, there
doesn't appear to be any thought that rudeness can
take many forms. Anyone can recognize that a dog
lunging and snarling is being rude. Far too few
folks recognize that simply getting into another's
dog space-however sweetly and
quietly-is just as rude in the world of dogs. Owners
of rude dogs do not perceive their dogs' actions as
rude; they see only "friendliness.8Thus the
classic line, "He just wanted to say "hi!""
Alarmed, embarrassed and upset by their dog's
aggressive display, owners are often unable to take
careful stock of what triggered the unhappy event.
Here's a real letter from a concerned owner:
Cream is a sweet dog, good with commands, wonderful
with people and children. She has regular dog pals that she
plays with almost daily-they wrestle, play bite,
and run around together. She's fine with dogs who are
calm, but she has one problem: she hates young,
hyper dogs. If a dog starts jumping all over
Cream, Cream gets aggressive-starts to growl,
shows some teeth, and if the dog doesn't take the
hint after a few seconds, Cream will "attack" the
dog. She only displays this aggressive behavior
with young, hyper dogs.
Let's change this a little to read: "Maggie is fine
with people who are calm and well behaved, and interacts with