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Deborah and Sadie

“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.

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.

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, and her sweet paws. Nothing escapes her her gaze. She studies everything. She’s a sort of “think before you act” kind of girl, except, of course, when she is overtaken by the excitement of playing with her friends. Then all bets are off.

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.

4. Spot a dog you want to meet, make direct, unblinking eye contact, and quicken your step as you walk directly toward the dog while making high- pitched vocalizations. GUILTY

5. You see an irresistible bundle of fur and walk up to the dog from the rear and enthusiastically rub his or her cute little tush. GUILTY

6. Approach a dog by looking directly at her and as you near  with your arms extended clap, clap, clap your hands or click your fingers right at the dog’s face. GUILTY

7. You see a sweet dog laying down. You crouch over at the waist, outstretch your arm and very slowly slink toward the dog while looking directly into her eyes. GUILTY

8. Assume that because you love dogs, all dogs love you too, and that you possess a special affinity for dogs and they with you and therefore you can forego the formalities that ordinary humans should observe. GUILTY

Guilty…and lucky. Any one of these situations could have ended in disaster for me and maybe, unfortunately, for the poor unsuspecting dog.

Try this. Ask a friend or your partner or your child to walk directly and towards you, face to face from across the room. She should surprise you. Catch you unawares. She should look directly at you, especially at your eyes, as she approaches, intent on her target–your cute little head. She can grin or not. When she reaches you she should take her hand and rapidly swish it past your eyes, over your forehead, and pat, pat, pat you on the head. If your friend is shorter than you, tell her to do this when you are sitting so as not to deprive you of the feeling of being loomed over and blindsided by her hand. Go on, try it.

My partner takes top honors for stealth. We had talked about this little experiment on a Sunday. Life intervened. I forgot we had had the conversation. On the following Wednesday, he rapidly approached, flashed his hand past my eyes and  pat, pat, patted my head. I ducked, scrunched my face in disgust and pulled my head away. He continued to stare, smiling and squealing how cute I was and then pat, pat, patted again. I ducked again and backed farther away. If I had canines for teeth I might have been tempted to flash them and growl to warn him off. And I know this man. Imagine if I didn’t!

Well that’s pretty much what our dog’s experience. Of course, some dogs like some people are easy-going and forgiving. Everything seems to roll off their backs, or heads, as the case may be. Some dogs, like my Sadie, are shy and reserved and it’s possible every rude encounter from which she recoils reinforces that people and their waving hands are not safe. Not the lesson I want her to take away. Other dogs respond to being rudely intruded upon with a snarl or a snap. Not good. Still others, like Sadie’s poodle friend, Romeo appears to be indignant. “Where are your manners?” he seems to be sneering as he pulls his head away and looks at you as if you are from another planet, which in a way you are. 

That’s Jean Donaldson’s point. Dogs have their own language and protocols for meeting strange dogs (and people) and it’s high time we learned what they are. After all, it just doesn’t seem fair that the full burden of figuring out how to live with another species should fall entirely on our dogs. We need to hold up our end of the relationship. The least most of us would do if we were entertaining house guests from another culture, say, China, would be to learn how to say ni hao (nee-Ha-OW), hello in Mandarin. Likewise, we can be good-will ambassadors to the world of our furry friends by, at a minimum, by learning to greet a stranger.

So, back to our question, “How do you greet a strange dog?” Here are some do’s and don’ts:

1. Don’t approach the dog. Pretend you are ignoring the dog. (Dogs, like many of us, prefer not to be zeroed in on by a stranger. Have you ever noticed how well-mannered dogs meeting for the first time turn their heads away from each other?)

2.  Ask the dog’s person for permission to meet their dog. Let’s say she say’s “yes”. (Does this need an explanation?)

3. Stay relaxed. You can yawn, or put on a easy smile, or slowly blink your eye lids. Keep you body loose. (All these signal to the dog that you are not a threat. Dogs display a loosey, goosey body, an open smiling face, and turned head to tell another dog, “Hey, I’m cool. No need to worry.” )

4. Do not look the dog in the eyes. (Eye contact signals trustworthiness to most Westerners, to the dog, not so much. It signals aggression or threat.)

5. Turn your body so you are not facing the dog. (Again, being face-to-face is polite to most of us, but can signal threat or aggressive intentions to a dog. Notice well-mannered dogs greeting each other. As they approach they make a half-moon curve as they pass each other then turn nose to butt with one another. Then they are on their way or continue interacting and sometimes move into play.)

6. Stand straight or squat. Do not crouch over the dog. (I doubt you want to be crouched over by a stranger and neither does your dog. It’s threatening.)

7. Allow the dog to come to you. Most dogs are naturally curious and they will let you know if they are interested in you. Ever notice how your dog might be interested in some dogs and others they stay away from? Same with people. Just don’t take it personally.

8. If the dog does show interest–sniffing you, relaxed posture, tail wag (not all dogs will wag and not all wagging is friendly), sometimes looking at you with soft eyes–then you can slowly offer the dog your hand for investigation. (Hmm, this human might be okay.)

9. Let the dog sniff your hand, if she wants to, and then gently touch the dog on the shoulder, neck or chest, not the top of the head.

10. The dog will clearly tell you if she wants more interaction or if she is  finished with you. Listen to her.

11. If at any time during the interaction the dog pulls away, stop what you are doing. 

12. Go back to ignoring the dog and allow her come back to you, if she so chooses.

There are, of course, wiggly, wagging dogs who’s mission in life it seems is to meet and greet everyone with great enthusiasm. We’re bound to have encountered such dogs. I know I have, after all I live in Boulder, Colorado which must  be the Labrador Retriever capitol of the world. (I don’t know this for a fact. It just seems that way.) So, unless a dog is loudly signaling that they’ve mistaken you for a long lost friend, mind your manners.

In fact, mind your manners anyway. Just because a dog approaches you in a friendly way, usually out of curiosity, do not assume all the rules of dogdom protocol are out of the window. That dog could still recoil at your direct stare and your big fat paw on it’s head. Think about it. Dogs with good manners never greet another dog by bopping it on the head with their paw. And neither should we.