poisonous puppies Myths and misconceptions about dogs and their capacity for violence are widespread, and some contain a grain of truth at best but, like most tales of terror, are created from a lack of understanding that leads to fear. I was once carrying a ten-week-old German Shepherd puppy through a crowded flea market. Very tired after a busy morning of meeting people and taking in the sights, he was glad to lie in my arms as we made our way back to the car. A man approached, and in response, the puppy's tail wagged madly against me. "Is he friendly?" he asked, and assured that the puppy was, he reached out to pet him. The tuckered-out puppy mustered enough strength to lean toward the man and cover his face with kisses while the man told me about his own dogs and how much he loved them. "What kind of dog is this, anyhow?" he inquired between sweet coos directed at the pup. Informed it was a baby German Shepherd, he reared back as if the puppy had become a cobra. "Whoa! They're venomous when they grow up, aren't they?" Though admittedly I'd never heard anyone label a dog venomous before or since my flea market encounter, I've heard many other variations on the theme. As everyone knows, some dogs eventually grow up and turn on their owners. According to popular wisdom, some breeds are inherently vicious; others are baby killers. These and other falsehoods do not serve dogs or us well; when they lurk in the back of our thoughts, it takes only a spark of misunderstanding for our fears to catch fire. While nearly everyone you meet can tell you tales of biting dogs and deadly attacks, the truth is that as a species, dogs do amazingly well in trying to live with humans. In fact, they do a better job of peacefully living with humans than humans do.
To be quite fair, when we look at the subject of aggressive behavior in our dogs, we ought to consider our own behavior. In his seminars, veterinarian and dog behavior expert Dr. Ian Dunbar leads the audience through a simple exercise designed to increase their appreciation for the degree of "aggression" that is present in our human society. He first asks how many audience members have ever been angry or had an argument with someone; naturally, all hands are raised. He asks how many have ever been angry enough to raise their voice or even yell at another human (the equivalent of a dog growling or barking)-again, all hands go up. How many have ever gotten so angry that they have physically contacted another person in anger? A few less hands go up. Finally, Dunbar asks who has ever seriously hurt another person, sending them to the hospital. No hands go up. His point, of course, is that obviously humans are argumentative, and there's a fair degree of "aggressive" behavior among the average group of human beings. And yet, only rarely does that "aggression" escalate beyond clear expression of anger, fear, irritation or the defense of property or self. Damaging attacks on others and murder are, fortunately, quite rare-even among humans. The same is true of dogs. Just as human society has rules and taboos that prevent us from seriously injuring or killing each other, thus enabling us to live in relative peace, our dogs also have normal inhibitions of aggression. With the exception of rare individuals and the breeds specifically bred for fighting, the average dog doesn't enjoy arguments or altercations or fisticuffs any more than the average human being does. Being angry, defensive or afraid are not pleasant states of being for dog or man; dogs
are wise enough to try to avoid or quickly resolve encounters and situations that create these uncomfortable feelings as much as possible, though the same cannot always be said of humans. While capable of "murder," dogs rarely fully employ their considerable aggressive potential and, like us, restrain and inhibit their actions so that communication is clear with a minimum of damage (if any). To put the matter into the proper perspective, Dr. Dunbar points out in his 1998 video, Dog Aggression: Biting, that more children are killed each year by their parents than
by dogs. Dunbar offers these upsetting statistics: In the United States, roughly two thousand children die every year at the hands of their own parents, but less than a dozen are killed by dogs. And yet people don't look at children and whisper, "Be careful. Parents can turn on you." (perhaps they should.) Thousands of children are severely injured or killed in automobile crashes each year, and yet, as Dr. Dunbar notes, we don't ban Fords or Hondas or any other vehicle. While dog bites and attacks are a serious problem that should not be ignored, our sometimes knee-jerk reactions to any behavior that we think even smacks faintly of aggression reveals a terrible lack of knowledge about dogs and aggressive behavior. History teaches us that what we fear and do not understand does not fare well at the hands of man. Dogs are no exception. what Is aggression? What constitutes aggression? Operating strictly from the viewpoint of the dogsthuman relationship, the easiest definition of aggression is probably this: Behavior that threatens, alarms or actually harms us. While the academics and behaviorists who just fainted are being revived, let's think about this. I'm perfectly well aware that my definition of what constitutes aggression may be highly unsatisfactory to behaviorists and trainers. But it seems to me that working from within the only context in which behavior will be interpreted-that of a relationship-defining aggression as any behavior that threatens, alarms or harms another is fair. Feeling threatened or scared is hardly conducive to intimacy. We need to allow for the possibility (on both sides) that an innocent behavior could be misinterpreted and though not meant to, still have the result of being threatening or frightening. Some of this has to do with the differences between dogs and people-direct eye contact is considered a challenge dog to dog, but a sign of interest and attentiveness in the Western world. (in other human cultures, however, direct eye contact is considered rude.) On an individual basis, any gesture may be misinterpreted depending on the individual's experience (or lack of). For example, a person leaning over to greet a dog may seem a kind, nonaggressive behavior to us, though from a fearful dog's point of view this well-intentioned gesture
could be interpreted as a terrifying threat. Equally so, dogs find themselves bewildered by our frightened or angry responses to their behaviors that were not meant to threaten or scare us, such as dogs growling in play or rumbling with nearly inexpressible pleasure or even the delightful "smile" which to the naive eye may appear as a fearsome snarl. One of our friends has taken literally years to understand that if one of our dogs lying near her offers a warning growl to another dog, the growl is not meant for her, though never once in all these years have any of our animals threatened her in any way. Lumped under the general umbrella term of aggression is a very wide range of behaviors, from confident threats of bodily harm to fearful reactions meant to create an opening for escape and/or to scare off whatever is scaring the dog. But among the general dog-owning public, "aggression" usually consists of these basic elements: barking, growling, snarling, snapping, lunging toward a person or other animal, biting and any combination or variation of the above. Unfortunately for dogs, these same behaviors can also be used in nonaggressive behavior, though our poor grasp of canine language often leaves us unable to make the necessary distinctions. Social animals ourselves, we know that disagreements, dislikes and even noisy but relative harmless fighting are part of life, though not necessarily enjoyable, productive or desirable. With sufficient experience and knowledge, we are able to place the behavior of other people in its proper context and perspective. A person who raises her voice in anger or slams a door in pure frustration during an argument is not assumed to be on a nonstop course to committing murder. And yet, a dog who growls at his owners may be considered just a step away from "turning on them." A dog who engages in a noisy squabble with other dogs is often described as "trying to kill them." Somehow, we've gotten it into our minds that there is an inexorable progression from a low growl to full-blown canine murder. Because we may fearfully assume that a growl inevitably progresses to a bite, and bites may progress to a fatal attack (an especially common fear when the aggressive behavior is directed at another dog], we are quick
to react to anything we perceive as aggression. Unable to distinguish a grumble of annoyance from a serious threat, we simply attempt to quash all behaviors we find upsetting, regardless of
the cause, regardless of the value these communications have for us and for other animals. In doing this, we not only block ourselves from understanding and from improving our relationships with our dogs, but we also set unreasonable expectations for our dogs' behavior. I've known people who truly expected that their dogs never growl, that their dogs never have arguments, that their dogs like and happily get along with every other dog and person they meet-in other words, somehow get through life in ways a saint would be hard-pressed to match. Who among us could even begin to meet such expectations? I'd fail within an hour flat some days. Under the broad category of aggression are many behaviors. The key word here is behavior, which is communication. Whether a dog is wagging his tail or biting your arm, he's communicating. We're just not always thrilled to be on the receiving end of the less-pleasant communications dogs might send our way. Appreciating growls, snaps or even bites as meaningful communication requires a willingness to recognize and deal with the fear that quite naturally arises within us. Our fear in the face of a dog's aggressive behavior may be disguised as anger-"How dare you!" or "You're not going to get away with that!" Left unrecognized and unresolved, our fear can provoke us to react to the dog's behavior in ways that may not be best for the dog, ourselves and the relationship. If we interpret a dog's aggressive communication as a challenge to our authority and we don't understand that our own fear is what drives that response, we may feel quite justified in responding with what amounts to aggression of our own. If you're interested in proving to your dog that you're bigger and tougher than he is, an aggressive response of your own may be the way to go. If you're interested in a trusting relationship, you need to understand aggression in any form for what it is: a meaningful and very important communication.
read my lips Recently, a trainer was demonstrating for me just how "aggressive" a small dog was. While the dog was looking away, she stepped up and, hovering over him like his personal weather front, tapped him lightly on the butt. With great slow deliberation, the dog turned his head to look up at her, his head still, eyes hard and fixed on her face. She tapped again, and the dog laid one ear back, slitted his eyes a bit and slightly wrinkled the lip nearest the trainer. She tapped again, and this time the dog growled softly and more dramatically lifted his lip so that the bottom tip of his teeth could be seen. "See what I mean?" she asked. When I asked her why she had ignored the first two warnings that the dog had kindly given her before actually escalating to a growl and a show of teeth, she looked at me blankly. She had quite literally seen nothing from the dog in the way of warning until his teeth were visible; through her own lack of awareness, she forced the dog to make his meaning very clear. To the best of their ability, normal dogs actually try to minimize aggression in their lives, using eloquent, subtle communications that escalate only as necessary to make their point. Just like humans, dogs communicate their feelings in a progressive way, starting with subtle signs of fear, anger, pain or irritation and slowly escalating the communication to the point where it is heeded or a confrontation is inevitable. Beyond these obvious gestures, there is an entire world of more subtle gestures that dogs use to indicate their state of mind. In a normal, healthy dog, the first sign that something's gone awry is not a full-blown attack. Instead the dog uses other ways to communicate-body posture, speed and direction of head and eye movements, the position of ears and tail and even the whiskers. Tiny alterations in breathing, the expression of the eyes, or even the angle of the dog's head can communicate volumes to another dog or to a human who is paying attention and understands what it is being said. "Ah, how mysterious this all is," we may think, and despair of ever being able to understand what our dogs are telling us. But if we do that, we are forgetting that we've learned to read precisely such subtleties in the people around us: A mere glance from an annoyed mother is sometimes sufficient to silence a child; a look held just a
fraction too long may signal a flirtation; a mere tightening of the lips or jaw warns us of irritation in another. Learning to read a dog's warning signals requires practice and an awareness of the early, less-obvious signs that a dog is moving out of a relaxed and balanced state of being. Normal, healthy dogs follow proper canine protocol of progressive communications, which may also be looked at as warnings. Since dogs act aggressively only in response to a perceived conflict, the aggressive behaviors we observe are warnings that the dog is feeling pressured in some way. Oblivious to multiple and (from the dog's point of view) fair warnings, we may blunder along until at last the dog finds the level of communication that gets our attention. Though meant to warn us, these subtle gestures are not always effective signals due to the rather poor reception on our mental TV sets. Since we've not seen or have disregarded the many warnings that preceded the growl or the snap or the bite, we're shocked; questioned, we report, "All of sudden, he just went nuts." If the dog could be interviewed, his version would be quite different: "I warned her and I comwarned her and then I warned her some more. Finally, I did what I had to do to get through to her." Let's look at a human parallel for a moment. You're standing in line at the movie theater, aware of the people around you but happily anticipating the showing of the classic Old Yeller. The line moves forward a few feet, and as it comes to a halt once again, you realize that the person standing behind you is standing too close for your comfort. You step slightly away from him, using the crowded space as best you can. To your annoyance, you realise that the person is still close behind you. Throwing an irritated glance over your shoulder, you huff quietly but audibly. (both behaviors are subtle but meaningful and unmistakable expressions of irritation.) Suddenly, there's hot breath on your neck- the fool is actually leaning torward to make contact with you. With slit- ted eyes and an icy demeanor, you turn and say with a slow, deliberate growl, "Leave me alone." (again, your combined body posture and vocalizations clearly delineate your growing annoyance.) For a second, you my, what big teeth You have!
think about stepping out of line and moving away, but this thought irritates you further-you've been waiting in line for half an hour, you want to see the movie and you are not about to give it up because of some idiot with no manners. When two hands slide around your waist and pull you into a tight embrace, you're indignant and alarmed. Pulling away, you raise your voice: "Leave me alone!" (your struggle and protest are very clear communications.) To your shock, the person pays no attention to your outburst or your struggles but holds you even tighter. Furious, you twist around and slap him hard. Surprised, he lets go of you and staring at you in wounded amazement asks, "What did you do that for?" A greater intensity of connection is possible when we understand the other's warning signals. If we can't understand when we are being warned, then we cannot make choices about our own behavior, or work to shift the underlying problems that necessitated a warning. A friend's slowly tightening jaw tells us that we may be treading on delicate ground, but if we do not notice or understand it as a warning signal, we may blunder along until at last she's truly upset and screaming at us. In a healthy relationship, such warnings do not mean that we veer off never to return to the subject or situation that prompted such a warning; avoiding problems never serves to deepen intimacy and trust. A gentle, loving and compassionate approach to sensitive or troublesome issues can turn a potential conflict into an opportunity for growth, increased trust and a deeper relationship. A friend's tight jaw points to a problem that needs to be addressed; heeding her warning signal allows us to carefully, lovingly and respectfully find a way back to the issue in another way or at another time so that we can further explore what may be wrong. Complicating matters for both dogs and humans is this little twist: Dogs vary considerably in their warning signals. More precisely, dogs, regardless of breed, use the same basic signals in their communications. A dog from Outer Mongolia could speak to and understand a dog from Brooklyn without too much difficulty. (dogs never will need the UN, which is probably a good thing for all involved. The Dachshunds might not support a peacekeeping action in a Boxer rebellion.) The s
peed of the warning signals and the progression from mild irritation to more serious phrases can vary greatly, just as some humans have a very long fuse and some are grenades with the pin pulled. Some dogs are as slow and deliberate in their communication style as a senator bent on a filibuster; other dogs are more volatile, shifting from vaguely annoyed to really ticked off in just a few seconds. I've known dogs who sent long, involved telegrams of warning, even lengthy volumes, as if Tolstoy had come back as a dog and was working out War and Peace in a new language. I've also known dogs whose warning signals might be aptly characterized as canine haiku, dense with meaning and very brief. For a lovely time, 1 shared my life with the usual complement of German Shepherds as well as a Labrador mix, a Shetland Sheepdog and a Scottish Deerhound. Consequently, the puppies born in those years learned all kinds of accents even before leaving home. This was not an entirely painless process. Apparently, Deerhounds speak with a particularly spare voice true to their Scottish heritage, wasting no words as it were. German Shepherds, on the other hand, like to spin long, drawn- out Gothic tales full of dire warnings meant to impress puppies (or maybe just bore them) with the importance of respecting your elders. A dramatic people, Shepherds employ a considerable range of vocalizations and facial expressions, ranging from "the Look" to a full, snarling, teeth-bared warning that if ignored, results in nothing more than snapping in the puppy's direction. The puppies-roughly six weeks old- were merrily toddling around the house, learning good manners (i.e., annoying everyone) and being tolerated with good grace. Fred, the Deerhound, had wisely retreated to a couch to lie watching the merriment from a puppy-free zone. One bright little chap decided that if being up there was good enough for Uncle Fred, by golly it was good enough for him. Getting his front paws on the cushion's edge, he began his struggle to climb up and join his big pal. Seeing this, Fred drew himself up so that he was sitting and leaning against the back cushions, all feet well out of the puppy's reach. But persistence pays, and the puppy, delighted with his
Bones Would Rain from the Sky: Deepening Our Relationships with Dogs Page 23
