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We hope to see you there! 

Deborah and Sadie

Magic “Touch” for Fearful Dogs

“Touch.” I thought our trainer had gone a cue too far. Why on earth would I want Sadie to touch her nose, sweet as it is, to the palm of my hand? On Cue? This is nuts, I thought. Make work. I wanted Sadie to sit, and down, and come, and leave it, and settle. Real dog training. But, touch. Not so much.

Well, that was then. Sadie has since taught me that while “touch” is a great cue for all dogs to learn, it’s been a godsend for her, a shy, fearful and sometimes reactive dog.  For Sadie, “touch” built a bridge from: “OMG! That strange (fill in the blank) is evil. It’s going to kill me.” Bark! Lunge. Bark! Lunge.–to–”Oh wow! Check out that new (fill in the blank). I’ll bonk it with my nose and roast beef will pop into my mouth!”

Sadie’s first bark and lunge fit occurred two years ago. She was seven months old. I remember it like it was yesterday. She and I were enjoying a walk on one of the many wooded trails in the foothills west of Boulder when a woman wearing a baby-toting back pack seemingly appeared out of nowhere walking towards us. It must have looked like a hunched-back, two-headed monster to Sadie and I’m certain she thought it was a mortal threat. She barked ferociously, stood on her hind legs and  lurched at the end of her leash. Horrified, I tried to move her as far off the trail as I could, hoping distance would help her to feel safer. But, distance made no difference. The threat was still in sight and the noise and struggle continued. Sadie was inconsolable. She seemed out of her mind. Which she was. She was out of her thinking mind. All amygdala no cortex. I felt helpless to help her. Tears poured down my face. Oh my god. I knew she was a shy dog. We were working on that with our trainer. But, aggression! Was Sadie fear-aggressive? Was this a harbinger of things to come? Suddenly all my hopes–Sadie my boon companion about town, my hiking buddy–dissolved. I wasn’t merely sad; I was grief-stricken.

I spun into help-seeking overdrive. I bought more positive training books on helping fearful and aggressive dogs than I would ever read in full. Mostly I took comfort in the similar stories of the authors; Sadie and I were not alone. I spent hundreds of dollars on animal behaviorists and communicators, and healing touch therapy. All were kind but of no significant help. Mostly they just confirmed that, yes, indeed, you have one fearful pup. “You better get to work on this or she could become aggressive.” One threw up her hands in exasperation, “Your dog needs meds!” Despite my calls, that was the last I heard from her. Fantasies of living down the road from Patricia McConnell looped through my mind. Surely she could save us.

Finally, when I surfaced from my own trauma enough to focus on Sadie, I realized her behavior was her way of crying out for help. Protect me. Help me feel safe. Help me feel confident. Help me calm down. Help me to not react. Help me to focus. Help me to recover more quickly when I do get frightened. I want to see the world as interesting and fun. Please help me!

Of course one cue, “touch,” in and of itself, couldn’t accomplish all of this. And Sadie and I are still a work-in-progress. But the “touch” cue we had learned in puppy kindergarten with Gigi had laid the foundation for new, possibly life-saving, cues and behaviors. “Sadie, go say hi.” And, off she trots to touch hands she once feared especially those reaching out to her. Somebody looking a little unusual coming at us on the trail? Sadie touches my hand as I lead her to the side of the trail. Once there, Sadie focuses on a variety of “touch” games until the “menace” passes. “Nose.” Sadie touches my nose with hers. (My personal favorite.) “Paw.” Her paw lands on the toe of my shoe. “Shake.” Well, you can guess.

And then there are all those everyday things that happen that merely startle normal dogs but scare fearful pups as if the world were coming to an end. Boxes fall out of the closets. Grocery carts roll by too close for comfort. Metal chairs scrape against concrete in an outdoor cafe. The list goes on. But, rather than bolt to the end of her leash, Sadie now momentarily flinches and looks at me. I point to the awful thing and in an upbeat tone say, “Touch.” Slowly she approaches and touches it with her nose. Click then treat. She touches again. Click and treat, again. Soon it’s a game. Click. Treat. Click. Treat. Yeah!

Is it possible that when she feels ambivalently about something–”Hmm. Not sure about that, but I’m curious”–that that in and of  itself is a cue to “touch” that thing? I don’t know. I’m not sure if feelings can act as cues for behaviors. What I do know is that Sadie is less reactive. She’s relying more on a learned behavior, touch, instead of spinning out. She’s thinking. She’s using her cortex. I can’t begin to tell you how wonderful that is for her and me.

In fact, touch has become so successful that we are now needing to learn a new cue to interrupt touching every hand in sight. For reasons Sadie cannot fathom, nor can I really, not all hands, especially those just hanging there, want to be touched by a wet brown poodle nose. And, of course, not all offending inanimate objects are safe to touch. So now we are working on “turn.” As I see Sadie heading for an unsuspecting hand or object of questionable safety I say “turn.” She turns on a dime. Click. Treat.

If you want to teach your dog the “touch” cue, also called hand targeting, watch this video.

Peanut Butter Manicure

I dread, deeply, clipping Sadie’s toe nails. I go all queasy just thinking about it. 

Sadie is shy and extremely sensitive. I wasn’t about to be the meanie coming at her with what I feared would look like hedge shears to her. It didn’t happen often, but when I did cut too close to the kwik with my previous dogs…I swear I still feel molten guilt in my gut. (I need a desensitization and positive reinforcement reconditioning program!) So for the first time in three dogs, I decided to hand over manicures to the groomer. Ahh. The unbearable lightness of not cutting my dog’s toenails! But apprehension lurked on the fringe of my relief. I had a sinking feeling events would conspire such that Sadie would need  frequent nail clippings and it would be up to me to provide them. 

And,  indeed, that’s just what happened. Three weeks ago while running full out, chasing a ball on flat, grassy terrain, Sadie stopped dead, heisted her left hind leg and sat down. No cries of pain. Just, “I’m not putting weight on this leg.” Long story short, the superficial digital flexor tendon under the third toe on her left hind paw had popped, probably detached. That’s a mouthful, but what it means in real terms is this: Sadie now has a permanently deformed paw. Her third toe sticks way out when she puts weight on her left hind leg. (When sitting or laying down, her paw looks normal.) There was nothing to be done about this other than give her anti-inflammatory medication and rest. Gradually she should be able to resume hiking, fetch and rough-housing with her friends. But, the nail on her injured toe needs to be kept very short at all times.  Jutting out there like it does, we definitely don’t want it snagging on something and ripping off.

Heather, our groomer, assured me Sadie tolerates nail clipping very well. “You should have no problem,” she said. Her reassurance wasn’t the desensitization program I had in mind. Memories of my previous dog’s yelps, red dotted carpets and my aching heart would not so easily be quelled.  I needed to approach Sadie with my nail shortening tool in hand and confidence in myself. I needed to feel sure I could help Sadie, if not enjoy manicures, at least easily tolerate them. Conditioning her to a dremmel, the latest in the tool box of nailing trimming devices, could take months. I needed something I could implement immediately. 

What to do? Finally, a creative insight pushed through my fog of anxiety.

The peanut butter manicure!

  I took one large very coarse emory board. (pic 1)

pic 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I stripped away the finer side. That exposed a white styrafoam-like material. (pic 2)

pic 2

 

 

 

 

 

Then I spread a thin layer of  creamy organic peanut butter on the white side. (pic 3)

pic 3

 

 

 

 

 

When Sadie was very relaxed and laying on her right side on the couch, not an uncommon position for her, I casually sat down next to her on the floor and let her sniff the peanut butter. “Yum!”  Then, I held the toe in question and began to file away. Sadie licked the peanut butter. At the exact moment  she finished licking all the peanut butter off the file, I stopped. All done. For today. And, to make manicures extra special, peanut butter is reserved exclusively for them.

A little filing everyday is keeping that toenail just where it should be. In fact, we are moving onto her other toes. My anxieties about nail trimming are in check, and Sadie is loving her peanut butter manicures.

Sadie’s Amazing Portrait

Pet artist, Susan Becker (Full disclosure: My lovely sister-in-law) recently painted this amazing portrait of Sadie based on the photo below. 

Sadie is a princess, a rather serious princess. I love this picture because, to me, it captures her serene intelligence,

How Do You Greet A Strange Dog?

Answer, ”You don’t!”  I laughed. I was sitting in the front row of a week-end long presentation by dog trainer, behaviorist , and author extraordinare, Jean Donaldson, at the Humane Society of Boulder  Valley last fall (2008). Jean presented a litany of offenses that humans, with the best of intentions, commit against unsuspecting canines. I cringed as she went down her list.

1. Neglect to ask the dog’s person for permission to meet their dog. GUILTY

2. Reach over the dog’s head and pat, pat, pat. GUILTY

3. Put your face up close to the dog’s face and coo, “Gimme a kiss.” GUILTY.