But, she was the dog I absolutely HAD to have.
I told Fran and Dorothy, the breeders (I detest the sound of that word), that I did not want a shy dog. My first dog, Sarah, was tremulous and suspicious. One day she was a happy puppy, the next, afraid of everything and everyone. To this day I do not know what happened. And, 30 years ago, help…what help? All I knew was that I could not travel that harrowing path again and live to tell about it.
My last dog, Morgaine, also a standard poodle, died of kidney failure at the age of fifteen on December 12, 2005. I grieved for her intensely. She was outgoing, yet sensitive, and always interested in the next new thing. When I was an instructor at the University of Colorado at Boulder, Morgaine accompanied me to campus. I think my students visited my office more to play with her than to talk with me. The first time she rode an elevator it was no big deal. After a moment of apprehension, she was good to go. I wanted another dog like Morgaine.
“I want a brave dog,” I beseeched Fran and Dorothy in the fall of 2006. Dutifully, they suggested “Pink” was the one for me. “Pink” because she wore a pink ribbon around her neck to distinguish her from her blue, red, purple, brown, green, and turquoise littermates. And, Pink, because they observed her as being confident but not over-the-top pushy.
On three separate occasions I drove 6 hours—round trip—to visit the puppies that happened to be Morgaine’s great, great nieces and nephews. And each time I vacillated as to whether or not Pink was ‘my’ puppy. I know, I asked for Fran’s and Dorothy’s advice. And, breeders, the good ones, and they were good ones, know their puppies best. But, I chafed at being told which puppy would be appropriate for me. Probably a residual rebelliousness left over from childhood.
Finally, much to Fran’s and Dorothy’s consternation, I told them I wanted Red. The problem was that by the time I had made up my mind, Red had been promised to a family in Northern California. She was headed for a life of romping on the beach with her to-be sister, another standard poodle about 2 years older. Nonetheless, I insisted; I had to have Red or no puppy at all.
Why Red? I loved how she carried her tail high and proud as she investigated every nook and cranny of the backyard. You go, I thought as she jostled over her littermates to get to the water bowl. When she molded to my chest as I held her, oxytocin, the ‘cuddle chemical,’ drenched my brain. And, then there was that mournful look she flashed at me. “Please, pick me. Pleeease.”
In the end, I got my ‘dream puppy.’ The people in California were perfectly happy to welcome Pink into their home. And, Fran and Dorothy had matched the rest of their pups with loving families.
All’s well that ends well. Right? Not so fast.
It didn’t take long to realize we were in trouble. After our drive home, I opened the door to Sadie’s crate, expecting a ball of chocolate fur to waddle towards me. Instead, she flattened herself against the back of her kennel and refused to get out.
Things went downhill from there.
Sadie flinched and cowered at the sound of our neighbor’s voices in the distance. Dogs barking sent her cowering. (Never mind that she spent her first weeks living in a house with three other adult dogs including her mother, all of whom barked.)
She hurled herself into the house through the back door at the sight and sound of birds, even though she had spent hours in Fran and Dorothy’s wonderful grassy yard with all the usual suburban fauna.
She startled at people walking on the sidewalk. My husband standing in the doorway spooked her. It took her one and a half hours and at least a half a pound of chicken to move within touching distance of my dog-loving friend, our first visitor. (Fran and Dorothy said they invited all manner of people to visit with the puppies.)
She scream-barked when she caught her reflection in darkened windows. She froze at the door from the house into the garage refusing to budge. We could not take a walk anywhere without Sadie flinching, freezing, or panting and pacing. How on earth Sadie would have survived flying in cargo from Denver to San Francisco, had she gone to the family in California, I do not know.
I wanted a puppy I could love, and I didn’t have one. Sadie seemed far away in her private universe of fear. I couldn’t connect with her. Desperately I searched for perspective on my ordeal, something that would relieve the tangle of grief and anxiety that roiled in my gut.
I melted down, more than once, crying to Fran and Dorothy, “I can’t do this! Everything frightens her. EVERYTHING! Nothing helps.” They didn’t know what to make of Sadie’s apparent transformation. Never before had they had so fearful a puppy. Dorothy and Fran reassured me that they would take Sadie back at anytime for any reason. We agreed I would give it a go with Sadie for six weeks, then decide whether to give her back, or not.
It was during this time that I attended a spiritual retreat with a local teacher. In our small group I poured out my heartbreak over Sadie. Not only was she shy and fearful. Not only did I always have to be on high alert to what might frighten her. But, I couldn’t comfort her … she did not like being stroked or cuddled! Maybe I could have managed the letdown of her fearfulness if only she would have nestled against me and let me pet her. But, no. Nothing!
The teacher, who has known me for years, said, “You always choose difficult work and make yourself stick with it. Maybe you are being presented with the opportunity to say no this time. You want a buddy and you don’t have that in Sadie. You don’t have to keep her, you know. You could give her back. Do you think you could do that?”
I could not.
Why not?
Possibly it was Sadie’s eventual enthusiasm for Gigi’s puppy kindergarten. That first class Sadie clung to me like a baby koala bear, anxiously scanning the rollicking scene. Toward the end of the hour, Gigi gently introduced Sadie to one easy going Cavalier King Charles pup. We attended twice a week, and by the fourth class Sadie could barely contain her enthusiasm. She screeched with glee as we pulled up to the ‘school house.’ Other puppy parents announced her entrance, “Heeeere’s Sadie!” Secure in this setting, she was the life of the party. I was so happy. No, not merely happy. Blissful. Every Saturday morning and Wednesday evening I totally ‘blissed out’ on Sadie’s precious lighthearted antics.
Maybe it was her developing joyful expression in greeting the few people she was learning to love. It might have been watching with wonder as Sadie skipped around her own yard, nose to the ground, tail riding high, oblivious to chirping birds. Maybe I was a sucker for extremely intermittent positive reinforcement, because these joyful moments were scarce treasures in the otherwise trying landscape of life with Sadie. Or, perhaps I just wasn’t spiritually advanced enough to know when to say no and move on.
Whatever my reasons, a little over two years ago, I decided Sadie’s forever home would be with me.
Still, my heart sinks a little when I see people doing things with their dogs that are out-of-the question for Sadie and me. Just enjoying a walk without being hypervigilent for possible triggers. Or, casually riding in an elevator. In fact, learning that elevators are not evil dog-devouring monsters, and can even be fun to ride, is a current project.
And, Sadie continues to challenge me emotionally.
In the face of all her issues, I feel woefully inadequate. I am not a good-enough mother. She deserves better. If only my head were one huge eyeball so I could see everything going on around us. If only I were as fast on my feet as a cheetah. If only I possessed perfect timing and eye-hand coordination (for clicking and treating), and was filled with the compassion of the Buddha. Then, maybe, just maybe, I could truly do right by Sadie. I could really protect her, teach her, and build her confidence.
There are days when I am convinced that Sadie would be far happier and make much more progress if, say, Gigi was her mom. Or Nana, our other positive trainer.
Even though I know diving into this emotional death spiral will only make things worse, as I’m sure you agree, it’s still a difficult habit-of-mind to kick. So in addition to all I’ve had to learn in order to help Sadie, she’s been presenting me with one opportunity after another to face my own demons.
In particular she’s making me aware that I see the doggy bowl as half empty rather than half full. I pay much more attention to how I screw up with her than what I get right. I’m so apprehensive that she will react fearfully, that I don’t nurture in my mind the picture of her (and me) being successful, which we are. Often. And, memories of those horrible early weeks of Sadie freaking out at everything, ‘squatter memories’ I call them, have supersized over time, what with all the self-defeating junk thoughts I feed them. They occupy far too much of my mental real estate.
So what’s a messed up mom to do?
Well, like I create training exercises for Sadie, I have designed a few for myself. Everyday I spend a little time remembering what I did well. How I ended fetch just when I noticed that Sadie was becoming over-stimulated and potentially snarky with other dogs. How I casually cut between Sadie and another dog whose intentions I didn’t trust, and the other dog just veered off and continued on its way.
And the stuff I get wrong? Like seeing the lone woman coming toward us in the distance in a misty forest near our house where we never see other people, and not gathering Sadie up before she saw the woman and barged up to her barking. I try to limit myself to five seconds of self-flagellation. This is difficult. Sometimes I can’t resist several minutes (Okay, hours.) of self-inflicted wounding.
But then I replay the situation in meticulous detail. I see the woman walking towards us. I notice Sadie isn’t yet aware of her. I call to Sadie, “Sades, ‘over here.’” This is her cue to come and touch my finger pointing to the ground next to me. Sadie bounds to me. I treat her and put on her leash. We walk some distance out of the path of the woman. I stop and point at the woman, now walking at right angles to us. “Look.” I cue Sadie. She looks at the stranger. Click and treat. We do this several times. When the woman is out of sight, we walk home on leash.
And, just as I take time each day to nurture confidence in myself, I hold an image of Sadie in my mind as feeling self-assured and happy. Her actual accomplishments add color and detail to my mental portrait of her. Like two days ago. A power pole and lines fell across the road to our house. Volunteers decked out is giant yellow helmets, over-sized yellow fluorescent vests, and stop signs the size of a café table tops were directing traffic to take a detour. A volunteer flagged me to stop and approached the car. Sadie was in her wire kennel in the back. The entire time the man was giving me directions, Sadie made not one peep. This was new and HUGE! This was the first time I recalled someone directly approaching our car (not something that happens very often) and Sadie not barking her little head off. And he must have looked very weird to her. He did to me. But, it was no big deal for her. I’ll take it!
I’ve heard it said that whatever we focus our attention on, grows.
I want to cultivate a warm, fuzzy, feeling when I think of Sadie. So, to get that oxytocin flowing I list all the little things I love about Sadie. Here’s today’s list—I love how her tail spins in circles when she looks at my husband. I love the tippy-toe-wiggle-butt dance she does when she greets the people she loves. I love her unadulterated joy at running through the forest. I love that she eats easily when fed. I love how she rests her chin on my knee and looks up at me. I love that she comes (almost always) when I call her. I love her sweet demeanor. And, I love her impishness as well, like when she playfully pounces her doggie friend, Moses, who gets all pissed off at first and then bounds back for more.
Good news! Because all these exercises are self-reinforcing, I don’t need to reward myself with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream in order to increase the likelihood of my repeating them. I just do them because they make me feel good.
Even better news. Not only do I feel better since I’ve put myself on this program, and, I don’t think I’m just making this up–I think Sadie does too. As I’ve been nurturing images of Sadie being more confident and relaxed, maybe she is settling into her own body a little more. Maybe that’s why she didn’t go off on the guy in the yellow helmet peering into our car window. Or, not. I’m just saying.
I’m reminded of that old Rolling Stones song, You Can’t Always Get What You Want.
The chorus. You remember it. Sing along:
You can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
But if you try sometimes you just might find
You get what you need
This post had me in tears; sad ones, at first, for fear Sadie wouldn’t get to stay with you and have the best life ever. Then, happy tears when she started to respond rather than react. What a rollercoaster ride for both of you. I’m so glad you had it in you to keep trying and to focus on the really positive things. It’s great for you and even greater for Sadie!
Once again, you’ve got me all choked up. Are we soul sisters? 🙂 Your experience with Sadie mirrors my own. When I left the breeder’s house almost 7 years ago with my 8-week-old puppy in tow, I was fully expecting Sigmund to grow up to be my “It” dog. He was going to be my puppy and basic manners class demo dog, be an agility buddy, do Rally – maybe I’d even be so adventurous as to compete in formal obedience with him! After all, I was a dog trainer! Well, things went downhill as soon as I left the breeder’s driveway. The happy-go-lucky pup I left Indiana with morphed from my “It” dog to my “problem child.” Sure he’d been crate trained – with his littermates, that is. Crated on his own, he was terrified and shrieked the entire time we were on the tollway. He was so scared, he peed all over himself and was inconsolable until I let him free roam throughout the rental car. It took over a year for him to accept crating again, after an inordinate amount of re-training to it. In life, he vacillated between being terrified and being extremely pushy with others, and later in adolescence developed handling, resource guarding and anxiety-related behavior problems regardless of countless hours put into socialization, problem prevention, positive association building and gobs of (positive) obedience work. He became traumatized after his first nail trimming experience (6 years later and I can now cut up to 5 nails without fail! Yes!). As a juvenile, he ate my husband’s pj’s one night and required emergency vet care, and thereafter developed an intense generalized aversion to all vet staff, especially to my kind-hearted veterinarian. He was my demo dog for a few years, but became too unpredictable to continue with that line of work. Sig and I have traveled a long road together, and there are days I look at people with “normal dogs” and envy them and their seemingly effortless lives, because I cannot just go anywhere or do anything with Sig or allow others to interact with him with abandon. Sigmund requires a very structured, predictable environment in order to continue to thrive and enjoy life. But, for all of the tough times we’ve had, I honestly would not change a thing. Of the dogs I have lived with and had the pleasure to come in contact with, Sigmund has been and continues to be my greatest teacher; he has broadened my interest in animal behavior; he pushed me to research fear, aggression and anxiety-related problems and humane ways of modifying those behaviors; he’s pushed me to develop creative management strategies; and he has made me become a more empathic, kind and observant person and dog trainer. I owe him a great debt.
Oh Colleen. Thank you SO MUCH for sharing your’s and Sigmund’s story. You write beautifully and I’m so glad to know Sadie and I are not alone. Although, I really don’t wish these difficulties on any dog or person. Maybe we are soul sisters and I bet we’re not alone 🙂
When Jellybean was about 6 months old and just turning into the fearful dog she grew up to be, I had the option of getting a young male Belgian Malinois who was reportedly EXACTLY like the happy, friendly male mal I had ALWAYS regretted giving up even though he got a fantastic home. He was so EASY! I had to choose between Moses (funny that that is Sadie’s buddy’s name too!) and Fancy since I could only keep one and I kept Fancy BECAUSE she was fearful and I worried that she would not get a wonderful home or thrive away from me. Taking the mal pup would have meant giving up Jellybean since four dogs in this teensy house is just not doable and I had to really think about it but in the end I decided, like you, that I just could NOT give up on Jellybean!
I’m also thrilled to hear from someone else who got a puppy who was healthy and sane and happy then one day became a fearful mess for no apparent reason whatsoever!
I get soooo tired of people asking me if Jellybean was abused! This dog sleeps on my bed every night and goes pretty much everywhere with me. She gets high quality kibble and routine health checks and has been socialized and socialized and socialized! She’s just a fearful dog 🙁
It isn’t her fault and I can’t believe it is my fault. That is just how things are. Period.
This is a wonderful, wonderful post! Thank you so much for sharing your story with everyone. It is such a brave thing to do 🙂
Barrie–Thank you so very much for sharing your story about JB. Your comment means a lot to me and I’m sure everyone else who reads this. We and our fearful dogs are clearly not alone 🙂
Your soul searching because of the love you have for Sadie simply fills my heart. There just is no therapy quite like that which our animals bring us. It takes the time that it takes to understand them and let them teach us and help us know ourselves. You are doing such impressive and meaningful work in your relationship with Sadie. Please keep sharing your process so that we can all be wiser because of your insights.
Thank you for your amazing story. I believe that we get the dog that is meant for us, which doesn’t imply the easiest for us. Our new dog, Viva, has been a challange. I wasn’t sure if we had adopted the right dog for us, but the love we have for her and how it has made us grow as individuals and a couple has been a blessing!
Wonderful, moving post and I can relate on all levels except for one: I had no yardstick to measure my own fearful dog, Frankie, against. He was/is my first dog and I really didn’t have a clue about what to expect, so I kept doing things with him that I thought people with dogs were supposed to do. I took him to the dog park, I took him to a trainer (recommended by dog-loving friends) who put a teeny-weeny choke collar on him (!), I kept “introducing” him to other dogs…. I have a tough time not beating myself up all over again, thinking back on all those things. I try to remember the mantra: You were doing the best you could, you didn’t know any better, now you do…
And it’s a journey. Do I sometimes wish Frankie was braver? Sure, I’d love to have a “social” dog. Could I love any dog better? I seriously doubt it.
Thank you for sharing your story about Sadie and your journey together — it was beautiful and it inspired me to write at least a little bit of what I’ve been mulling over about the “gifts of a ‘bad’ dog.”
For awhile, I had a “Good Dog” and a “Bad Dog.” The Good Dog died suddenly and the Bad Dog had to be promoted. That was almost seven years ago.
There came a time when I looked back and realized that I loved my Good Dog because he was perfect. He was everything I ever wanted in a dog. I mean everything — right down to the resemblance to a big furry stray dog I used to coax around the neighborhood as a child.
Add to that the fact that I found him as a stray and managed to hold onto him by his fur while we waited for the police to come (not much for the police to do in that particular town). Then, he growled at the police officer and would only let me put him in the car. Wow, that’s like all the childhood stories of the wolf/horse/bear that loved a girl, isn’t it?
We were newly married then and living in a place that didn’t allow dogs so I told my husband about the dreamy dog and let it go. A couple of weeks later, we had plans to move to a little house and lo and behold, that very same dog was the “Pet of the Week” in the paper. I guess no one came to claim him.
My husband saw his picture and thought that looked just like a dog I’d like and sweet-talked the landlord into letting us have the dog until we moved to our new place. A dream come true in every way!
However, I have to say this next part with my hands over his furry little angel ears so he doesn’t really hear me, but I came to realize that maybe I ended up loving my “Bad Dog” even more than my perfect dog.
I love her because she tries. So many things are hard for her and there’s been so much more to put up with since we’ve added a couple of kids. She is the dog that has become my true companion, the dog who witnesses to my life as I live it in all its ups and downs and changes.
Reinforcement-based training is what allows me to see and celebrate every bit she does that’s good. I think of people with almost perfect dogs who are taught to look for what’s wrong and “correct” it. I wish I could help them understand that that path does not lead to joy.
I have found joy in my “Bad” Dog.
Wow! What a story!
Well, if you can get through this level of training and NOT eat a lot of chocolate, then you’re a better woman than I am.
I sometimes wonder if we’d found Gigi sooner, if Lilly’s fear issues might be smaller, but I suspect not. If I’d recognized where we were headed sooner (at 9 months instead of 2 1/2 years), maybe …
Then, again, some dogs are just born this way.
Our girls are here to teach us something. I just wish I could learn it sooner rather than later.
Still, I’ve never had a dog this tuned into me. Did I teach her that through training? Or did she come out of the box that way?