Bones Would Rain from the Sky: Deepening Our Relationships with Dogs (32 page)

blend of curious investigation and an occasional
fearful retreat when she encountered something strange, like
the pile of jumps in one corner. Waiting till
her attention was turned elsewhere, I quietly
stood up, being sure to arm myself with more chicken. At
first, the dog didn't notice this change as she
blissfully snuffled along the carpeting, eyes
half closed, no doubt reading fascinating sagas
of other dogs who had come before her. She was within six
feet of me when she realized something had changed.
Despite our previously pleasant encounter with me
sitting, I was now standing, and that changed everything. Her
eyes grew wide, and she began to bark while she
backed away to what she considered a safe distance.
"Oh my God!" the worried owner gasped. I
knew she was concerned that the dog might attack me.
Smiling, I reassured her that everything was fine. And
it was. I didn't doubt that if at this moment I
were to back the puppy into a corner or try to forcibly
restrain her she might feel the need to snap toward
me or perhaps even bite, though I suspected she'd
simply try to get away. Chelsea wasn't a
little killer honing her deadly skills in
preparation for an adult career as a canine
terrorist. She was simply uncertain and anxious in
certain situations, like those that contained strangers and
odd items like a moving chair. And as the owner
confirmed when I asked, this was Chelsea's pattern
of behavior in such situations: bark and retreat.
Given her ever-increasing size and the pure volume of
her barking, this behavior had worked rather well-at least
from the dog's point of view-to resolve scary
situations. Approaching people or dogs quickly
retreated in the face of such a fierce-sounding
display. Backing away as far as possible left the
dog feeling a little safer.
But in the long run, this pattern of bark and retreat
had not given the dog any skills for dealing with scary
situations. Chelsea was not being a bad dog. She was
simply using the best solution she had for coping with
what she did not understand. Unfortunately, her
solution had earned her the label of "aggressive,"
and was one that without a caring breeder's insistence on a
second opinion might have resulted in her death at
an early age. As she matured and grew more
confident, bark and retreat might still be all she ever
did, and it was possible she might never bite a

single soul. But to underestimate the
potential for serious problems would be to underestimate
what happens when a dog feels he is pushed into a
situation that can be handled only by fighting or fleeing.
2(0
Any situation that creates anxiety, anger, pain
or fear in a dog is a situation where a bite
might be triggered.
The most dangerous dog behaviors are the
aggressive behaviors (especially fearful ones)
that are managed, but not dealt withand resolved
by providing the dog with new skills for coping with the
triggering situations. (actually, within any
relationship, the combination of intense emotion-especially
fear or anger-and inadequate coping skills for the
situation that provokes such feelings is a
minefield of potential.) Closed doors,
locked gates, carefully controlled environments and
even complete agreement of family members
to protect the dog or manage the behavior do
nothing to defuse a potential time bomb.
Accidents happen, dogs get free, people make
mistakes. Here in a comfortably sized training
room, Chelsea had the room to retreat to a safe
distance and still keep me in sight. At
home, in the more crowded spaces where walls and
furniture might block escape routes or
trap an already anxious dog, there might not be-to
Chelsea's mind-any option but to snap or bite.
At the moment, she also benefited from my desire
to keep her feeling safe. In another situation, a
well-meaning but uninformed person who simply wanted
to greet her or who stumbled toward her might
accidentally pressure Chelsea past her ability
to cope, and without meaning to, trigger a snap or an
actual bite.
Chelsea was not a dog with deep fear, just a dog with a
fair amount of insecurity. If Chelsea's
alarming behavior had been correctly interpreted
as a lack of confidence and handled in ways meant
to build her confidence and not simply punish her
fear, she might have sailed through without any real
problems. The puppy's strong genetic soundness and
her early socialization came shining through as I worked
to build her confidence. Within a few minutes, she was
able to stand in front of me, happily nudging my hand
for more food. Knowing that her owner had faithfully done
the obedience training at home, I began to put the
puppy through her paces, asking her to do everything she

knew: sit, down, stand, stay, heeling and
coming to sit in front of me. (nothing like being asked
to do what you know how to do to restore confidence to anyone
who's feeling anxious: "I know how to do that!") She
knew her stuff and was a delightful partner in our work
together. As she realized that I would not hurt or frighten
her but instead made things very enjoyable, she threw herself
into the spirit of the game. Initially, I moved careful-
ly, making all my gestures and movements slow and
deliberate. But as Chelsea's confidence and trust
in me grew, I moved faster, made my gestures
larger and quicker. In less than ten minutes, we were
able to romp around the training room like lunatics,
whooping and laughing and dancing around, mixing up commands
as fast as I could think of them and she could comply. The
out-of-control, fearful, retreating puppy was actually
a genius who thoroughly enjoyed working with people.
What alarms me in cases like this is not the dog's
behavior, but the sad reality that the dog's behavior
was badly misunderstood and misread as
"aggressive." In Chelsea's case, the lack of
understanding from a professional trainer nearly resulted
in her death. Only her breeder's insistence that the
owner seek a second opinion from another
trainer (in this case, me) saved the puppy's
life. Unfortunately, this misunderstanding is not
uncommon. And it is the dogs who pay with their
lives for our failure to understand what they are often
trying to tell us in their behavior- that they are
uncertain, afraid, lacking the skills they need
to share the complicated and confusing human world.
can You hear me?
A few years ago, I received a letter from a woman
who was seeking help with her dog Baron, a very large
breed that at maturity weighed 125 pounds or more.
From her description, the dog sounded like a pretty
normal dog with good socialization and training.
Apparently, Baron had been limping, and when she
examined his paw and leg, he had growled at her.
Shocked, she immediately yelled at him and pushed him
to the ground in a "dominant down" to remind him who was
the "top dog" before running him through a series of
obedience exercises for ten minutes or so (although he
was still limping). When she reached for his paw again, he
growled before she even touched the foot. Again she
yelled at him and threw him to the ground. The third
attempt resulted in a short growl that stopped when
she yelled at him. Finding nothing, she took

Baron to the vet.
When the vet tried to examine the dog's paw, there was
no growl before Baron silently grabbed the man's
hand, doing no damage, leaving nothing more than spit.
Embarrassed and upset
by her dog's behavior, the woman repeated the
cycle of yelling, dominant down and obedience work.
Eventually, after a struggle, the dog was
immobilized and his paw was examined. Nothing serious
was found, though the dog continued to limp for many days.
In her letter, she stated her deep concern that this dog was
potentially aggressive. Although she had embarked on
a course of handling the dog's paws many times a day,
punishing all growls or mouthing by the dog, Baron was
still growling. In her mind, a growl allowed to exist
only opened the door for more aggression, and to her way
of thinking, the dog's mouthing of the vet's hand proved that
she was right to think so. Having sought help from local
trainers, she was horrified by the recommendations she
had heard, which included putting an electric shock
collar on the dog to teach him not to growl when his paw
was touched. Her question to me was this: "How do I teach my
dog never to growl or put his mouth on me even if
he is in pain?"
Every now and then, I get letters that make me
very sad; this was one of them. While the woman was without
question well meaning, the philosophy that lay at the
heart of this dilemma was beyond what I could address in
a brief response. If I took away her
voice or ability to write, how might she
communicate when she was hurting or afraid? What
she was asking for was not only unrealistic but
unfair-a dog who never, ever communicated with her
except in ways she found acceptable.
Unable to see the dog's growl as a communication, the
woman ended up fearfully interpreting the growl as a
threat and was quite worried that this "aggression" would get
worse. Threats (real or perceived) frighten us; in
our fear, we often strike back against a perceived
attack. Sadly, many "training" techniques are
little more than thinly disguised attacks on dogs who
have perhaps threatened us in some way, with such justified
attacks meant to teach them "respect," which really
means meekly submitting to us no matter what we
do to them. This approach reminds me of the scene in
The Maltese Falcon
where, for the second time, Humphrey Bogart has
slapped Peter Lorre. When Lorre threateningly
complains about this insult, Bogart responds, "When

you're slapped, you'll take it and like it."
Most of us, in similar situations, would probably
meekly do as this
put down the pancakes and No one gets hurt73
dog did. If you warned someone that you were afraid of
having your hand touched, and they disregarded this but grabbed
your hand anyway, you might raise your voice: "I
said leave me alone!" If in response to this
understandable outburst, they attacked you and threw you to the
ground and then made you recite multiplication
tables, you might find that a very frightening scenario
indeed; that is hardly a normal response to your
verbal warning. If this scenario were repeated, you'd
probably learn that allowing your hand to be examined was
the lesser of two evils, but your trust in that person
would be damaged. Our lack of trust and understanding must
be terribly confusing for dogs, who are communicating
to us in the clearest way they know how: fully canine
ways.
From the dog's perspective, this is a very different
story. If we were able to go back in time and witness the
events, keeping our eye on the dog at all times,
we'd find another version of what happened. The dog
is limping, a clear sign that something is painful.
As the woman reaches for his foot, some subtle
changes occur in the dog's expression and
body. Unseen, his tail droops slightly. He
turns his head away from her, perhaps licking his lips,
or-depending on his temperament-may hold his head
over and near the foot, protecting it from contact much
like a dog uses his head to cover a toy he does not
want taken away. Like anyone anticipating a
touch in a painful area, he holds his breath; his
lips might compress slightly, and his ears slide
back and down. In each and every one of these signs, he
is saying, "Be careful. This is a problem for
me." But intent on her examination, she does not
notice these things. The dog probably tries
to pull the paw out of her hand, but she does not let
him. As she examines the foot, the dog-having had
all his more subtle signs disregarded-growls.
To his relief, the woman apparently understands the
growl and lets go of the foot.
What happens next is not at all what the dog
expects: The woman roars at him and pins him to the
ground. From the dog's point of view, this act of
aggression is shocking and without any rationale. She
snaps a leash onto his collar and begins to insist that
he heel, and sit, and lie down. Anxious
to appease her inexplicable wrath, not wanting

to trigger another aggressive act by her,
he complies. Finally, she appears mollified, but
to his dismay, she reaches for his foot again. In
addition to the pain in his foot, he now has another
concern: his unpredictable owner who may attack him without
provocation. Anxious and hurting, upset and
confused, he does not wait till she has touched the
foot-he growls as soon as she begins to reach for
him. When once again she screams and throws him to the
ground, he begins to understand that she is responding
to his growl. From his canine point of view, this
makes no sense. In all his body language,
he is clearly indicating a warning, not a challenge
to a fight; yet her response is (from a dog's
perspective) abnormal, dangerous, clearly
aggressive. When he growls the third time, he
pays attention to
verbal warning and thus avoids her aggression. Though
he is still afraid, though his paw still hurts, he
decides that allowing her to examine his foot is not as
bad as being attacked by her.
When he gets to the veterinarian's office, he again
tries to warn all involved using many
subtle gestures, but his communications go unheeded.
He makes the warning as clear as he can, though he
now knows better than to growl-his owner has taught
him that growling is not acceptable. What amazes me
is that the dog-despite what he might very rightly
view as attacks on him physically-still remains
cooperative, still inhibits his behavior, does not
do what he's well capable of doing: biting. This is
a very large dog whose mouth easily encompassed the
veterinarian's entire hand, a dog with sufficient
jaw pressure to have badly maimed or even bitten
off fingers without much effort. But he did not even
leave the tiniest bruise-exerting no pressure
whatsoever, he simply holds the man's hand,
trying to make his point very clear: "Please, don't
do that."
In working with dogs, I've more than once caught a
flash of surprise and relief in a dog's eyes
when he realized that I heard and heeded his subtle
communications, that there was no need to growl or bite.
Clients are often surprised when I cheerfully
assure them that it's a good sign that their dog is
growling before he bites (or is simply growling
without the bite). While I'd much rather that a happier