by Randy Grim
According to Dr. Gupta, dogs, people, and most other animals on earth (including some unfortunate rats born in laboratories) respond to threats by challenging them, running away from them, or freezing in place in an attempt to hide from them (my preferred method)—all appropriate responses when triggered by long-winded physiological things going on in the nervous system, triggered themselves by real threats like charging grizzly bears. Those of us with F-Word Syndrome, however, respond in inappropriate ways to imaginary grizzly bears and end up in city pounds or on therapists’ couches.
Believe me, fear is a powerful motivator—I’d rather build an entire lock-and-dam system with my bare hands than drive over a bridge—but before you turn your snarling, slinking, snapping dog in to authorities, remember that fear is also controllable.
Case in point: Splinter.
Splinter terrified me from the day I met him. All five pounds of him. Someone dumped him on Stray Rescue’s doorstep in the middle of the night, and not only did he look scary—imagine a cross between a Brillo Pad and a dust mop—but he wore a diaper and made these weird hissing noises that I quickly learned (when I tried to remove his diaper) were warning snarls emitted before he bit. Under normal circumstances, a five-pound toy dog would be easy to adopt out from our shelter, even one that looked and sounded like a rat with emphysema, but Splinter was too much of a little (I have to spell this out to avoid censure by the editor) s-h-i-t to just hand over to anybody unless you really, really hated them.
So he comes to my house to live for a while.
From the start, Splinter intimidated everyone in the house, including me; Charley, the sixty-five-pound pit bull; Horsey, the hundred-pound chow/rottweiler mix; Hannah, the schizophrenic; and Satan the Cat. On his first day, Splinter sat in a corner of the kitchen and established a twelve-foot safety perimeter around himself, which if crossed, initiated a volley of hissed insults followed by rapid-fire lunges and snaps that sent everyone running for cover. No one went into the kitchen that day, and despite my fear of drinking from the tap and eating fast food, the dogs, cats, and I guzzled bathroom water and dined on carry-out Thai while Splinter had food tossed into the kitchen followed by a quick door slam.
The next morning, in my usual un-caffeinated fog, I forgot about our houseguest and walked straight into the kitchen to make coffee as usual. Out of nowhere, this thing, this hissing, self-propelled dust mop that at first I mistook for an alien hedgehog, darted in my direction from the recesses of his universe. Need I tell you how painful it is to get from the floor to the countertop in just one leap? Meanwhile, my other dogs, my spineless, sissy, scaredy-cat companions, just stood at the threshold of the kitchen and stared up at me in sympathy.
“Wimps.”
But it was from the vantage point of the countertop—upon which I spent a considerable amount of time crawling around on all fours, making coffee—that I devised my plan of attack.
It seemed pretty obvious that fear ruled Splinter’s passions. Whenever we got near his safety zone, he turned his head away from us, raised his upper lip until his miniature yellow fangs showed, and then hissed his weenie version of a warning growl. When I approached him with bite gloves to take off his diaper, he flattened his ears horizontally and hissed, and when I used a broom to push his food bowl toward him from a safe distance, he raised his hackles and attacked the handle, intent on making it extinct. This told me he’d probably suffered abuse at some point in his life, because people’s hands and objects freaked him out. In addition, he was a toy version of something or other, which meant he was probably reared in a puppy mill where he’d received no human attention or affection during the first critical weeks of his life. He was, in short, a homicidal, socially maladjusted, post-traumatic stress victim.
(Many of the dogs we work with at Stray Rescue are feral, meaning they grew up in the urban wilds and experienced little or no contact with human beings until we trapped them. These are special cases—equivalent to socializing wild wolf pups—and I’ve included information about them at the end of the chapter.)
Unlike Splinter, most family dogs with fear aggression only display one or two symptoms, such as snarling at strangers—especially men and children, or men who act like children—who try to pet them. If that’s your case, consider yourself lucky, because dogs like Splinter with paranoid Napoleonic issues require all kinds of affection that’s hard to give, because for several weeks, it’s not reciprocated. Don’t be dismayed; being super-nice to a creature who tries to bite you all the time teaches all kinds of useful life lessons, such as how to fake being nice to people you yourself can’t stand. Thank you, Splinter.
Anyway, back to the countertop, where, in a cross-legged position and sipping my hard-won coffee, I mapped out Splinter’s therapy: hot-dog counterconditioning, followed by several games of Circle People Who Owe You Money.
The first stage—hot-dog counterconditioning—teaches the dog a new way to respond to fear. The only hard part is getting from the countertop to the refrigerator to retrieve the hot dogs. If the refrigerator is aligned with the counter, it’s simply a matter of stretching your leg out, latching onto the handle with your big toe, and pulling the door open. If your refrigerator sits across the room from the countertop, however, as mine does, you’ll have to wait for the beast to retreat to his corner, and at just the right moment, rapidly jump off the counter and land on one foot while swinging the other foot up toward the top of the kitchen table. Once on the table, you can push the chairs out to form a path toward the fridge, and once you have the hot dogs in hand, you can fling one to the far end of the room (no dog can resist chasing a flying hot dog), which allows you time to escape.
To start the actual counterconditioning, teach your dog to sit and relax using cut-up hot dogs as a reward. I suggest hot dogs because it’s important to use a treat that dogs can’t resist, and hot dogs never fail me. What’s even more important, though, is to remember not to reward the dog for sitting or staying, but for relaxing. You are trying to teach the dog to relax, not to sit, so he must believe the two go hand in hand if he’s going to get his treat. Every time you ask him to sit, he must associate happiness and relaxation with doing the deed.
So, take the dog to a safe place that doesn’t freak him out and ask him to sit. Then, wait for him to relax, and when he does, give him his treat. Repeat this over and over in different places, inside your house and out, and when he’s mastered the art of chilling out, you’re ready for the desensitizing game, Circle People Who Owe You Money.
There are many forms of fear in dogs, but since we’re dealing with fear aggression toward people in this chapter, you’ll have to find human volunteers to play this game. While you can use younger siblings, employees, or people who want you to like them, I suggest people who owe you money, because you can use them over and over again and not feel guilty, and they’ll probably pay you back before the game is over.
I started by asking Splinter to sit at my feet while I called Jerry-the-friend-who-borrowed-$100-from-me and asked him if he could do me a small favor.
“Sure, of course—whatever you need,” he said with saccharine enthusiasm.
“Great. Can you come to my front door, ring the bell, and then just stand there for a while?”
“Uh, sure, of course ... uh, whatever you—”
“I need you to just stand there,” I said. Splinter yawned at my feet, so I tossed him his hot dog. “No matter what.”
“Uh ...”
“No matter what.”
Later, when Jerry rang the bell, I put a leash on Splinter, asked him to “sit” about nine feet away until he relaxed, and then I gave him a piece of hot dog. Slowly, I walked over to the door, telling Splinter to “stay,” then I opened the door (I have no screen door), and when Jerry smiled and said, “Hi,” Splinter stood up, his ears went sideways, his tail tucked, and he hissed his alien-rat-with-emphysema warning growl.
“What the hell is that?” Jerry said, but I slammed the door shut in his fac
e.
“Sit,” I told Splinter, who sat, but took a much longer time than usual to relax. When he finally did, I gave him his treat. In the meantime, Jerry knocked softly. Splinter stood up, but I told him to “sit,” and when he did, I gave him his treat and slowly opened the door.
“Hi,” Jerry said again, but this time when Splinter stood up and went into his defensive posture, I told him to “sit.”
“What ... ?” Jerry asked.
“Shhh,” I commanded as Splinter sat. “Just stand there and don’t say anything.”
It took a long time—maybe five minutes or more—but slowly Splinter’s ears and tail relaxed, and the second they did, I gave him his treat. Remember, I was rewarding Splinter for sitting and relaxing in a stranger’s presence—not just for sitting—and until he did, he received no treat.
Once Splinter had chilled at a distance of nine feet, I told Jerry to step inside the door.
“Is that thing going to bite me?”
“Don’t say anything. Just step inside the door.”
“But . . .”
“And whatever you do, don’t look at him.”
The point of Jerry not looking at Splinter was to reduce any perceived threat or challenge. It’s really important to take this phase of the game s-l-o-w-l-y so as not to overwhelm the dog with fearful stimuli, and that includes the stranger looking, reaching, or talking to the dog. When I rescue dogs, I often wear sunglasses even on rainy days—not to be hip, but to reduce the dogsanxiety levels. You are not trying to force him to like this stranger; you’re forcing him to sit and relax when the stranger is at a far distance from him. The game then proceeds by strategically moving the person closer and closer to the dog while repeating the sit-and-relax exercise each time. Conversely, you could keep the dog on a leash and move the dog closer and closer to the person.
That’s what I did with Splinter. After he relaxed with Jerry standing inside the door, I told the mooch to move to the center of the room and then walked the pooch on his leash in increasingly smaller circles around him. Whenever Splinter went extraterrestrial and Jerry asked if “that thing” was going to bite him, I asked Splinter to sit and relax, and then I asked Jerry for my $100.
You want to take this part very slowly for two reasons:
If you push a fearful dog into increasingly fearful situations without relaxing first, he’ll never truly associate pleasure with being around people.
You want your volunteer to become more and more uncomfortable as the dog circles closer and closer, because, as was the case with Jerry, he’ll suddenly remember he has a dentist appointment he has to get to, and, oh yeah, that he owes you money, which he’ll pay immediately with interest as long as you never ask a favor of him again. (This desired behavior is accomplished much sooner if your fearful dog is, say, a pit bull.)
So you’ll have to find new volunteers, which is good, because you want your dog to associate relaxation and pleasure with as many strangers as possible. As the dog progresses, repeat the exercise with the volunteer sitting on the couch, moving through the living room, and then moving from the living room to the kitchen. Eventually, ask your volunteer to start tossing your dog his reward treat, and when you feel the time is right, have the volunteer offer the treat directly from his or her own hand. It may take days, or weeks, but sooner or later, he will accept the treat from the stranger’s hand and you can declare a small victory.
You’ll have to tailor the exercises to your dog’s comfort level. Some get it right away and by the end of the first day of the game, sit on the volunteer’s lap and beg for attention. Others take longer, sometimes much longer, and may in fact never really enjoy being in a stranger’s presence. However, as long as they can relax in a stranger’s shadow (and thus not attack), consider your efforts a success. So many fearful dogs at the shelter come around quickly once they are used to multiple loving people with food. They start to get it: People are not all bad.
Unfortunately, some dogs are so mentally screwed up from abuse and/or isolation, no amount of game-playing works on its own. In these cases, talk to your veterinarian about using antianxiety medication, such as clomipramine or fluoxetine, in conjunction with playing the game. These types of drugs calm the dog’s nerves so well (without making them dopey), you could invite a 350-pound man dressed like Darth Vader into the house, and your dog may very well greet him warmly at the door. Gradually, as your dog learns to relax in the presence of even your weirdest friends, you can start reducing the amount of medication he takes, as well as your own pills.
Some Notes on Feral and Abandoned Dogs
There are degrees of “wildness” in feral and abandoned dogs, because some were dumped on the streets at early ages, while others were actually born out there. Those who were discarded early on may seem to be wild, but they actually do have memories of human contact, and they usually rehab more quickly. Every dog is different. You will notice some of them responding very quickly, while others can take many months.
During the first twenty-four to forty-eight hours that your new dog is in your home, let him adjust to the new surroundings. You may notice pacing, whining, whimpering, even howling. He may not eliminate for up to three or four days, and he may not eat. This is normal.
Feral dogs have a tendency to bolt because they’re afraid. Use extreme caution when entering and exiting your house.
Body language and tone of voice is crucial. Use slow, nonthreatening movements. Always use a calm monotone voice, avoiding a high baby voice or a stern voice, for these tones can actually frighten the dog more.
Avoid direct eye contact. Crouching down low with your arm extended in a closed-hand fashion is a good way to begin a greeting.
Spend time just being around your new dog. This is crucial, so read, do work, even watch TV in his presence as much as possible. The more human contact, the faster the rehab.
Try not to force petting, as fear can lead to a bite. Read the dog’s body language: If his ears go back, you stay back.
Have plenty of great treats like hot dogs available. Gaining their trust includes proving you are the better hunter and thus nonthreatening.
It may be a full month or longer before leash training can even begin; this means lots of cleanup. Do the cleanup slowly and calmly. Loud, strange noises can incite the dog to panic.
When sufficient trust has been gained to use a leash, only walk the dog in the building, until it is certain he will not panic on the lead. A harness is preferable in the beginning, as it is nonthreatening.
Habituating the feral to other dogs (especially welladjusted dogs interacting with you) also helps them adjust quicker, allowing them to see how great humans can be.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Allergy Season
Dear Randy,
I became allergic to my dog ...
Sincerely,
Every Third Person Returning Their Dog
Dear Every Person Who Returns Their Dog Because of Allergies,
This excuse always makes me want to hook you up to a lie detector test, because how could so many people be allergic to dogs? I do believe there are people with allergies to their companion animals, and my good friend Nicki is one of those wheezing, runny-eyed people. Here is what she said: “I am extremely allergic to dogs and cats and take Flonase religiously (same time every day). With it, I am able to live with the greatest dog in the world, who likes to sleep on my fiancé’s lap. Note that it loses some effectiveness when combined with massive amounts of alcohol.”
So I surfed the Net and found too many drugs to list, from Zyrtec to over-the-counter Benadryl. The point being, there is a better life through chemistry, so see a doctor, get tested, and get the drugs that will work best for you.
Sincerely,
Randy Grim
Here are some tips for other things you can do to make your home a more allergy-friendly one:
Take your medicine. If you don’t like to take pills, put it in a hot dog like you would for your dog.
> Be OCD and wash your hands after playing with the pooch.
Once your shirt is covered in dog hair and looks more like an angora sweater than a T-shirt, change it.
Go hardwood or tile; it’s hip to have in your home, and won’t collect allergens like carpet does.
If you have carpet, make sure you clean it often. If you have children, put them to work and add vacuuming to their chore list.
Use a hepa air cleaner; I have one in my bedroom for the dog smells alone, so it serves a double purpose.
Change the air/heating filters often; 3M makes a great allergen-reducer filter.
Take your dog to the groomer regularly, and that alone will cut down on allergens big-time.
(Note to Self: Talk to pharmaceutical companies about donating samples to all the shelters so we can include them in our adoption kits. That, or send us the money to hire a doctor to prescribe the allergy medicine and an FBI agent to administer the lie detector test.)
Quick Fix-5
CHAPTER TWELVE
Scaredy Cats
To: Randy Grim
From: Stray Rescue Volunteer Not sure it’s working out with
Dodger. Still hides when people come over and still pees when anyone pets him. It’s been several weeks now. Maybe he needs to be in quieter household where there aren’t so many other dogs.
To: Stray Rescue Volunteer
From: Randy Grim
As you know, we rescued Dodger and his brother from an abandoned house where they were born and raised by their stray mom. In technical terms, he is a feral dog. And you need to be patient with such dogs.