Bones Would Rain from the Sky: Deepening Our Relationships with Dogs (30 page)

fraction too long may signal a
flirtation; a mere tightening of the lips or jaw
warns us of irritation in another. Learning to read a
dog's warning signals requires practice and
an awareness of the early, less-obvious signs that a
dog is moving out of a relaxed and balanced state of
being.
Normal, healthy dogs follow proper canine
protocol of progressive communications, which may
also be looked at as warnings. Since dogs act
aggressively only in response to a perceived
conflict, the aggressive behaviors we observe
are warnings that the dog is feeling pressured in some
way. Oblivious to multiple and (from the dog's
point of view) fair warnings, we may blunder
along until at last the dog finds the level of
communication that gets our attention. Though meant
to warn us, these subtle gestures are not always
effective signals due to the rather poor reception
on our mental TV sets. Since we've not seen
or have disregarded the many warnings that preceded the growl
or the snap or the bite, we're shocked; questioned,
we report, "All of sudden, he just went nuts."
If the dog could be interviewed, his version would be quite
different: "I warned her and I comwarned her and then
I warned her some more. Finally, I did
what I had to do to get through to her."
Let's look at a human parallel for a moment.
You're standing in line at the movie theater, aware of the
people around you but happily anticipating the showing of the
classic Old Yeller.
The line moves forward a few feet, and as it comes
to a halt once again, you realize that the person standing
behind you is standing too close for your comfort. You step
slightly away from him, using the crowded space as
best you can. To your annoyance, you realise that the
person is still close behind you. Throwing an irritated
glance over your shoulder, you huff quietly but
audibly. (both behaviors are subtle but
meaningful and unmistakable expressions of
irritation.) Suddenly, there's hot breath on your
neck- the fool is actually leaning torward to make
contact with you. With slit- ted eyes and an icy
demeanor, you turn and say with a slow, deliberate
growl, "Leave me alone." (again, your combined
body posture and vocalizations clearly delineate
your growing annoyance.) For a second, you
my, what big teeth You have!

think about stepping out of line and moving away,
but this thought irritates you further-you've been waiting
in line for half an hour, you want to see the movie
and you are not about to give it up because of some idiot with
no manners. When two hands slide around your waist
and pull you into a tight embrace, you're indignant
and alarmed. Pulling away, you raise your voice:
"Leave me alone!" (your struggle and protest are
very clear communications.) To your shock, the person
pays no attention to your outburst or your struggles
but holds you even tighter. Furious, you twist around
and slap him hard. Surprised, he lets go of you
and staring at you in wounded amazement asks, "What
did you do that for?"
A greater intensity of connection is possible when we
understand the other's warning signals. If we can't
understand when we are being warned, then we cannot make
choices about our own behavior, or work to shift the
underlying problems that necessitated a warning. A
friend's slowly tightening jaw tells us that we may be
treading on delicate ground, but if we do not
notice or understand it as a warning signal, we may
blunder along until at last she's truly upset
and screaming at us. In a healthy relationship, such
warnings do not
mean that we veer off never to return to the subject
or situation that prompted such a warning; avoiding
problems never serves to deepen intimacy and trust.
A gentle, loving and compassionate approach
to sensitive or troublesome issues can turn a
potential conflict into an opportunity for growth,
increased trust and a deeper relationship. A friend's
tight jaw points to a problem that needs to be
addressed; heeding her warning signal allows us
to carefully, lovingly and respectfully find a way
back to the issue in another way or at another time
so that we can further explore what may be wrong.
Complicating matters for both dogs and humans is
this little twist: Dogs vary considerably in their warning
signals. More precisely, dogs, regardless of
breed, use the same basic signals in their
communications. A dog from Outer Mongolia could
speak to and understand a dog from Brooklyn without too
much difficulty. (dogs never will need the UN, which
is probably a good thing for all involved. The
Dachshunds might not support a peacekeeping
action in a Boxer rebellion.) The speed
of the warning signals and the
progression
from mild irritation to more serious phrases can vary
greatly, just as some humans have a very long fuse and some
are grenades with the pin pulled. Some dogs are as
slow and deliberate in their communication style as a senator bent
on a filibuster; other dogs are more volatile,
shifting from vaguely annoyed to really ticked off in
just a few seconds. I've known dogs who sent
long, involved telegrams of warning, even lengthy
volumes, as if Tolstoy had come back as a dog
and was working out
War and Peace
in a new language. I've also known dogs whose
warning signals might be aptly characterized as canine
haiku, dense with meaning and very brief.
For a lovely time, 1 shared my life with the usual
complement of German Shepherds as well as a
Labrador mix, a Shetland Sheepdog and a
Scottish Deerhound. Consequently, the puppies
born in those years learned all kinds of accents
even before leaving home. This was not an entirely
painless process. Apparently,
Deerhounds speak with a particularly spare voice
true to their Scottish heritage, wasting no words as
it were. German Shepherds, on the other hand, like
to spin long, drawn- out Gothic tales full of
dire warnings meant to impress puppies (or
maybe just bore them) with the importance of respecting
your elders. A dramatic people, Shepherds employ
a considerable range of vocalizations and facial
expressions, ranging from "the Look" to a full,
snarling, teeth-bared warning that if ignored,
results in nothing more than snapping in the puppy's
direction. The puppies-roughly six weeks old-
were merrily toddling around the house, learning good
manners (i.e., annoying everyone) and being tolerated
with good grace. Fred, the Deerhound, had wisely
retreated to a couch to lie watching the merriment from a
puppy-free zone. One bright little chap decided that
if being up there was good enough for Uncle Fred, by golly
it was good enough for him. Getting his front paws on the
cushion's edge, he began his struggle to climb up
and join his big pal. Seeing this, Fred drew himself
up so that he was sitting and leaning against the back
cushions, all feet well out of the puppy's reach.
But persistence pays, and the puppy, delighted with his

success, wriggled over to share his joy.
Accustomed to his German relatives' long-winded
speeches, the puppy did not notice the first sign
of Fred's irritation: a quiet glare directed
down his long, mustached nose at the beast frolicking
at his feet. He also missed the next warning
sign: one eyebrow (the one nearest the puppy) was
raised. Unfortunately, he didn't notice the
final warning: -

--ws raised and "the Look." Since this appeared
to be a rather
dim-witted pup, Fred made his annoyance
crystal clear by leaning down and roaring at the pup
though touching him with nothing more than hot breath.
Tumbling off the couch, the puppy began screaming as
if invisible hands were pulling his intestines out through his
nostrils one inch at a time. The other dogs
didn't even bat an eye, and the puppy's mother
simply glanced up as if to check that he was not being
carried off by an eagle or something that required her
intervention. Since puppies learn by doing, each of
that litter had to learn firsthand just how quietly
Uncle Fred muttered, "Go away, you little pest."
Eventually, all puppies left for their new
homes, wiser and fluent in both in their
native tongue, Sturm and Drang, and the elegant
but rather spare Hound.
I do not think dogs understand that we are often
completely
unaware
of the more subtle signs. After all, they are using
what they know to be very clear language, their native
tongue, and the only one they know. The dogs are
operating under the assumption that we
do
see and understand these signals, just as we speak with the
assumption that we are heard (an assumption that can be
proven false if we are dealing with someone who is
deaf or who speaks another language or is
simply not even in the room). In my experience,
dogs (like us) may interpret our lack of
appropriate response as their communications being
heard but
disregarded.
This is a critical distinction. If we believe
someone has not heard us or perhaps doesn't understand
what we have meant, our reaction is quite different than
if we believe they are deliberately disregarding
us. Things can get very ugly quickly when we feel

disregarded or deliberately ignored
instead of simply not heard or misunderstood. Dogs
are no different in this respect. Like us, a dog's
response varies according to his own personality and
experience, the situation and the other person involved.
Some dogs patiently try to make their message
very, very clear without resorting to even vaguely
aggressive behavior; some dogs quickly march up the
irritation scale and escalate the communication to one
that is heeded. Flashing pearly whites tend to get
most folks' attention, and not just because they're a
pretty color.
I can only imagine how maddening we humans must be
for dogs, masters of nuance and gesture in their
communications. I suspect that dogs must view us as
rather dim though nice, and I do know that they sometimes
take great care to exaggerate their signals to us, just
as we talk in slow, exaggerated ways to children or the
confused. Regretfully, dogs sometimes learn that their
subtle warnings go unheeded but that snarls and snaps
get our attention.

aggression can hurt

One of the greatest gifts I ever received from another
trainer was the experience of taking a bite from
a well-trained dog. "You do not need to fear dogs,
but you must always respect how powerful they are," he
told me. "You should feel this power for yourself, because
you'll never forget it." Setting me in the
appropriate position, my left arm protected
by a steel-lined, heavily padded sleeve, he brought
in one of his Schutzhund dogs. (schutzhund is
a sport that tests the dog's ability to work in three
areas: tracking, obedience and protection for
"bitework" as it is casually known]. Correctly
done, this sport offers a challenge to test the dog's
intelligence, trainability and character.) When the dog
saw the sleeve, his eyes grew intense and he
began barking in keen anticipation of this game he
knew so well and loved. Instructing me to keep the
protected left arm foremost toward the dog, the
trainer released the dog with a quiet command.
As it does in such moments, time became a wondrous
taffy of slow motion, stretching the minutes so that I
could see everything clearly. I remember being awed
at how effortlessly the dog covered the distance between us in
two bounds, his dark eyes intent on the sleeve as
if nothing else in the world existed. If I had
somehow been beamed aboard a spaceship leaving only

the sleeve hanging in midair, I doubt
the dog would have noticed. Although I trusted this trainer
and knew this was a friendly, stable dog with excellent
training, I could not stop the fear that rose in my
throat as the dog launched, jaws open and
airborne, directly
at me.
The pure force of the dog sinking his teeth into the padded
sleeve rocked me back and spun me slightly
sideways, and then we were locked in a dance eerily
symbolic of predator and prey. Unshakable as
death, though with a joyful light in his eyes that I
pray the Grim Reaper does not possess, the dog
hung by his jaws, his hind feet barely touching the

ground. Had I been taller than I am, the dog
would have been suspended in midair-and that would have made
no difference whatsoever to him. "See if you can get
him off your arm," the trainer suggested with the hint of a
smile. More than a few times in a life shared with
animals, I've been handed vivid reminders that
humans are, for all intents and purposes,
fairly puny physical beings and that only the workings
of a few ounces of gray matter allow us
to survive in this world. This was one of those times. I
tried my best to shake that dog off that sleeve or
even disturb his grip. Years of working in stables had
left me quite strong for my size, but not so much as a
tooth shifted even though I nearly wrenched my arm
out of its socket trying.
As the shock of the impact passed, and the sharp fear that
had risen in me subsided, I could see that for the
dog, this was a game, a fierce one that was a bit
frightening for a new two-legged player, but a game
nonetheless. His expression, I noted with interest, was
not any different from my own dog's expression when
struggling to pull a large branch from the creek or
pitting his strength against mine in a game of tug-of-
war. There was nothing angry or deadly in this dog's
eyes but rather a blissful excitement, a look I have
seen in many dogs' eyes when they moved with passion
to answer a challenge of their skill. And through it
all, I could feel the steel lining of the sleeve being
compressed against my flesh like massive surrogate
jaws at work on the dog's behalf.
Having made his point about the awesome power of the dog,
the trainer gave a command, and instantly the dog
released the sleeve. As he trotted toward his

handler, the dog threw a wistful,
reluctant glance over his shoulder at me, or more
accurately at the sleeve. And that was the second
most amazing thing I learned that day: that it was possible
to work with a dog so that all his power and skill might be
directed on behalf of a puny two-legged who
despite physical limitations could find a way
to crawl inside a dog's mind and turn it to his
own purposes. What was possible was both thrilling
and sobering.
I do not intend in any way to discount how frightening or
dangerous a dog can be. Only a deeply
ignorant fool would discount or belittle the dog's
capacity for inflicting damage. I've been on the
receiving end of bites, heard very deep growls uttered
from very big dogs whose lips were just inches from my
throat. At age fourteen, I watched helplessly
as our family dog tore through my nine-year-old sister's
face and bit off half her ear. I have experienced
firsthand what a dog is capable of doing. Nor do I
intend to offer false assurance to the reader that a
dog's growl or snap or bite is simply a
communication and "natural" and thus not of any great
concern. As discussed later, aggression-like
all behavior-is communication, and needs to be
understood as such. Any aggressive behavior is a
very serious warning that must be heeded and promptly
attended to, using qualified professional
assistance as quickly as possible. The damage that a
dog can do in just seconds is staggering-and potentially
fatal-and we are fools if we ignore the warnings
our dogs give us. Believe the dog when he
tells you something is wrong, and move quickly to get
help so that you can make things right. Sadly, people find
many reasons to avoid addressing a dog's dangerous
behavior: embarrassment, denial, shame, anger
and a seriously misguided belief that "he'll grow out
of it." Promptly heeding the message that something is
wrong is an act of loving responsibility in
any relationship.
Make no mistake about it: For all the inhibitions
and peacekeeping intentions at work in canine
culture, dogs are staggeringly powerful and capable of
doing serious damage. Understanding this, you need not rush
out and trade in the family dog for a fish tank of
guppies, but it's worth remembering that Mother
Nature armed the dog with a variety of skills and
weapons that can be deadly. A full appreciation of