Bones Would Rain from the Sky: Deepening Our Relationships with Dogs

by Suzanne Clothier

  success, wriggled over to share his joy. Accustomed to his German relatives' long-winded speeches, the puppy did not notice the first sign of Fred's irritation: a quiet glare directed down his long, mustached nose at the beast frolicking at his feet. He also missed the next warning sign: one eyebrow (the one nearest the puppy) was raised. Unfortunately, he didn't notice the final warning: -

  --ws raised and "the Look." Since this appeared to be a rather dim-witted pup, Fred made his annoyance crystal clear by leaning down and roaring at the pup though touching him with nothing more than hot breath. Tumbling off the couch, the puppy began screaming as if invisible hands were pulling his intestines out through his nostrils one inch at a time. The other dogs didn't even bat an eye, and the puppy's mother simply glanced up as if to check that he was not being carried off by an eagle or something that required her intervention. Since puppies learn by doing, each of that litter had to learn firsthand just how quietly Uncle Fred muttered, "Go away, you little pest." Eventually, all puppies left for their new homes, wiser and fluent in both in their native tongue, Sturm and Drang, and the elegant but rather spare Hound. I do not think dogs understand that we are often completely unaware of the more subtle signs. After all, they are using what they know to be very clear language, their native tongue, and the only one they know. The dogs are operating under the assumption that we do see and understand these signals, just as we speak with the assumption that we are heard (an assumption that can be proven false if we are dealing with someone who is deaf or who speaks another language or is simply not even in the room). In my experience, dogs (like us) may interpret our lack of appropriate response as their communications being heard but disregarded. This is a critical distinction. If we believe someone has not heard us or perhaps doesn't understand what we have meant, our reaction is quite different than if we believe they are deliberately disregarding us. Things can get very ugly quickly when we feel

  disregarded or deliberately ignored instead of simply not heard or misunderstood. Dogs are no different in this respect. Like us, a dog's response varies according to his own personality and experience, the situation and the other person involved. Some dogs patiently try to make their message very, very clear without resorting to even vaguely aggressive behavior; some dogs quickly march up the irritation scale and escalate the communication to one that is heeded. Flashing pearly whites tend to get most folks' attention, and not just because they're a pretty color. I can only imagine how maddening we humans must be for dogs, masters of nuance and gesture in their communications. I suspect that dogs must view us as rather dim though nice, and I do know that they sometimes take great care to exaggerate their signals to us, just as we talk in slow, exaggerated ways to children or the confused. Regretfully, dogs sometimes learn that their subtle warnings go unheeded but that snarls and snaps get our attention.

  aggression can hurt

  One of the greatest gifts I ever received from another trainer was the experience of taking a bite from a well-trained dog. "You do not need to fear dogs, but you must always respect how powerful they are," he told me. "You should feel this power for yourself, because you'll never forget it." Setting me in the appropriate position, my left arm protected by a steel-lined, heavily padded sleeve, he brought in one of his Schutzhund dogs. (schutzhund is a sport that tests the dog's ability to work in three areas: tracking, obedience and protection for "bitework" as it is casually known]. Correctly done, this sport offers a challenge to test the dog's intelligence, trainability and character.) When the dog saw the sleeve, his eyes grew intense and he began barking in keen anticipation of this game he knew so well and loved. Instructing me to keep the protected left arm foremost toward the dog, the trainer released the dog with a quiet command. As it does in such moments, time became a wondrous taffy of slow motion, stretching the minutes so that I could see everything clearly. I remember being awed at how effortlessly the dog covered the distance between us in two bounds, his dark eyes intent on the sleeve as if nothing else in the world existed. If I had somehow been beamed aboard a spaceship leaving only

  the sleeve hanging in midair, I doubt the dog would have noticed. Although I trusted this trainer and knew this was a friendly, stable dog with excellent training, I could not stop the fear that rose in my throat as the dog launched, jaws open and airborne, directly at me. The pure force of the dog sinking his teeth into the padded sleeve rocked me back and spun me slightly sideways, and then we were locked in a dance eerily symbolic of predator and prey. Unshakable as death, though with a joyful light in his eyes that I pray the Grim Reaper does not possess, the dog hung by his jaws, his hind feet barely touching the

  ground. Had I been taller than I am, the dog would have been suspended in midair-and that would have made no difference whatsoever to him. "See if you can get him off your arm," the trainer suggested with the hint of a smile. More than a few times in a life shared with animals, I've been handed vivid reminders that humans are, for all intents and purposes, fairly puny physical beings and that only the workings of a few ounces of gray matter allow us to survive in this world. This was one of those times. I tried my best to shake that dog off that sleeve or even disturb his grip. Years of working in stables had left me quite strong for my size, but not so much as a tooth shifted even though I nearly wrenched my arm out of its socket trying. As the shock of the impact passed, and the sharp fear that had risen in me subsided, I could see that for the dog, this was a game, a fierce one that was a bit frightening for a new two-legged player, but a game nonetheless. His expression, I noted with interest, was not any different from my own dog's expression when struggling to pull a large branch from the creek or pitting his strength against mine in a game of tug-of- war. There was nothing angry or deadly in this dog's eyes but rather a blissful excitement, a look I have seen in many dogs' eyes when they moved with passion to answer a challenge of their skill. And through it all, I could feel the steel lining of the sleeve being compressed against my flesh like massive surrogate jaws at work on the dog's behalf. Having made his point about the awesome power of the dog, the trainer gave a command, and instantly the dog released the sleeve. As he trotted toward his

  handler, the dog threw a wistful, reluctant glance over his shoulder at me, or more accurately at the sleeve. And that was the second most amazing thing I learned that day: that it was possible to work with a dog so that all his power and skill might be directed on behalf of a puny two-legged who despite physical limitations could find a way to crawl inside a dog's mind and turn it to his own purposes. What was possible was both thrilling and sobering. I do not intend in any way to discount how frightening or dangerous a dog can be. Only a deeply ignorant fool would discount or belittle the dog's capacity for inflicting damage. I've been on the receiving end of bites, heard very deep growls uttered from very big dogs whose lips were just inches from my throat. At age fourteen, I watched helplessly as our family dog tore through my nine-year-old sister's face and bit off half her ear. I have experienced firsthand what a dog is capable of doing. Nor do I intend to offer false assurance to the reader that a dog's growl or snap or bite is simply a communication and "natural" and thus not of any great concern. As discussed later, aggression-like all behavior-is communication, and needs to be understood as such. Any aggressive behavior is a very serious warning that must be heeded and promptly attended to, using qualified professional assistance as quickly as possible. The damage that a dog can do in just seconds is staggering-and potentially fatal-and we are fools if we ignore the warnings our dogs give us. Believe the dog when he tells you something is wrong, and move quickly to get help so that you can make things right. Sadly, people find many reasons to avoid addressing a dog's dangerous behavior: embarrassment, denial, shame, anger and a seriously misguided belief that "he'll grow out of it." Promptly heeding the message that something is wrong is an act of loving responsibility in any relationship. Make no mistake about it: For all the inhibitions and peacekeeping intentions at work in canine culture, dogs are st
aggeringly powerful and capable of doing serious damage. Understanding this, you need not rush out and trade in the family dog for a fish tank of guppies, but it's worth remembering that Mother Nature armed the dog with a variety of skills and weapons that can be deadly. A full appreciation of

  what the dog is capable of makes us all the more astounded by and grateful for how rarely they bring their power to bear. It should also make us aware of the tremendous responsibility we have as dog owners.

  put down the pancakes and No one gets hurt Everyone believes very easily whatever they fear or desire. jean de la fontaine

  IF WE DELVE DEEPLY ENOUGH INTO OUR OWN RESPONSE to what we perceive as aggressive behavior, we may be slightly embarrassed to realize that our trust of dogs in general or even of particular dogs we know extends just so far. It halts precisely at the point where our understanding runs out. The less we know, the less we are likely to trust a dog when he is acting in what we consider to be aggressive ways. If we do not know what our dogs' behavior means, we may respond with aggression of our own-because we are afraid. If we are unable to distinguish a playful growl from a warning, a complaint from a threat, we have learned only a small portion of our dogs' language and will inevitably respond inappropriately and in doing so, run the risk of damaging the relationship. It's Sunday morning, and I'm preparing breakfast for a guest. As always, the kitchen floor is awash in dogs (our only carpets are live ones done in natural colors, like black and tan]. I hand the guest her plate of pancakes, urging her to eat while they're still hot. Carson moves to sit politely watching at her side, hopeful that the guest might be abducted by aliens leaving the pancakes ownerless, or at the very least that the guest might offer a starving dog a bite or two. A dog owner herself, the guest is accustomed to eating under close surveillance and fending off potential plate raids, so I don't bother to tell Carson that staring at people while they eat is considered rude in some countries. Other than assuring Carson that the pancakes are indeed delicious, my guest pays the dog no mind until she hears a growl and looks down to see Carson curling her lips back in an unmistakable snarl. Though a dog lover, my guest is somewhat intimidated by our small army of German

  Shepherds. Suddenly finding herself with a growling dog's head aimed at her lap, she freezes, her forkful of pancakes held in midair. I've heard the growl and, knowing my dogs, don't even bother to turn around. I have no doubt that it's just part of a dog-to-dog communication; the times they've ever directed a growl at a human being were few and far between, and usually in response to threatening behavior directed at me. But I have forgotten that my guest is not as sure of my dogs, so her tremulous "Why is she doing that?" surprises me. (it's easy to forget that not everyone lives amongst a swarm of dogs and listens all day to the conversations and currents of the pack. Dogs do swarm, you know--ask anyone who's visited us.) As I turn, I'm already mentally assessing the situation's components: Carson, pancakes (carson's preferred breakfast food), guest (viewed correctly by my dogs as a gullible pushover who might be conned into giving them her whole plate of food), and one or more of the other dogs present. Sure enough, under the table where she cannot be seen by anyone sitting there, Otter has moved in to cover the guest's other flank. Carson's growl and snarl are not, as my guest fears, aimed at her vulnerable thighs but rather across her legs and directed solely at Otter. Her message might be roughly translated as "If there's any pancakes to be had from this sucker, they're mine." Quickly, I tell both Otter and Carson to go lie down, and I warn Carson that those pancakes are not hers to defend. She looks at me, and for perhaps the thousandth time, I'm glad she cannot speak. I think she might sound too much like a lawyer for my taste-she's got a defense for everything. "Your Honor, I was simply defending my food from another dog, which, as we all know, is a God-given right and a time-honored dog law." Questioned as to the actual ownership of the pancakes, Carson might develop the interesting argument of defense by proxy and note that she was not only protecting her potential future interests in the pancakes, but that she was also acting nobly in assisting the guest in staving off a possible raid by Otter. As Carson throws herself into an exasperated heap, sighing dramatically to underline how unfair she considers the whole situation, the guest

  begins to breathe again. What might have happened if I did not have a deep trust in and understanding of my dogs and a good understanding of dog behavior? Carson was doing nothing wrong-she was communicating to Otter, not threatening a guest. Carson's actions were no different from a mother yelling across a guest at a bratty kid threatening to pour ketchup on her sister's head; the person being yelled across certainly understands that the warning or promises of various punishments are not directed at her. Having warned the kid against trying to turn her sibling into one of the Heinz 57, a mother might turn and resume a conversation or sweetly inquire if the guest needed a refill on her coffee. Smiling at the guest, the mother might then turn a split second later back toward the kid and assume a frowning, threatening expression of warning, and then soften her expression as she turned back to the guest. She's not crazy; she's just a mother. Dogs make such conversational shifts as effortlessly and frequently as we do-it's part and parcel of life as a social species, which sometimes necessitates holding several conversations at the same time or in very rapid succession. We, on the other hand, speak a very slow, stilted form of Dog, so that the mere concept of shifting effortlessly between conversations is beyond us, and-being a somewhat arrogant species-we assume that if it's beyond us, dogs can't do it either. Unfortunately for dogs, our ability to see these normal shifts is either nonexistent or it halts the moment a growl begins so that from that point on we literally don't see what the dog is really doing second by second. Carson, once done with Otter, might have looked up, pure doggy politeness, and wagged her tail at the guest who from Carson's point of view was not included in her conversation with Otter. The guest, stuck in time back at the growl, would be unable to notice and understand Carson's unmistakably friendly expression toward her and her pancakes. If all I saw was a growling dog snarling at a guest, if I did not trust Carson, if I feared that my dogs might be dangerous, if lurking in the back of my mind was a fear that maybe German Shepherds do turn on people without warning, I might have leaped to the wrong conclusion. I might have felt justified in "correcting" Carson by grabbing and yelling at her, which understandably would have been perceived by her as an unprovoked attack by me. If she were not Carson (a stable, trusting dog) but an unstable dog who did not deeply trust me, she might justifiably respond to my unprovoked attack by growling or even snapping at me in self-defense. And if I did not see that as reaction, an understandable act of self-defense, but instead interpreted that as a further threat to me, things could escalate quickly into a pitched battle, hurt feelings if not actual injuries, and my final assessment of Carson as a dangerous dog who had threatened a guest and attacked me. All because Otter hoped to share in whatever pancakes Carson might be able to con out of a guest. Fear seems especially fond of hanging out in vicious circles. Dogs find themselves in this situation time and again, their absolutely normal, blameless and nonthreatening-to-human behavior wildly misconstrued by the people around them. It must be very confusing for them. give a dog a bad name and ... The majority of dogs presented to me and trainers all over the world as "aggressive" are more often simply out of control, responding to inconsistent or inadequate leadership, undersocialized, afraid, misunderstood, in pain or defending themselves against violent acts against them, some disguised as training. This is not to say that such dogs are harmless-a confused, scared, irritated, angry or disrespectful dog can be quite dangerous; the label "aggressive" is neither descriptive of the scope and potential danger of the behavior nor helpful in resolving the problem behavior. Yet even among professional trainers, there is an appalling lack of understanding of the wide range of behaviors that are broadly categorized as aggression. For some dogs, the lack of understanding can prove fatal. Others get lucky. The puppy, Chelsea, entered the room pulling so ha
rd she looked like a fugitive from the Iditarod. Towed along behind her, the human on the other end of the leash was serving more as a speed-moderating device than a guidance system. Tail and ears up, the puppy eagerly bounced around, unable to stand still for more than a second or two as she looked put down the pancakes and No one gets hurt207 and sniffed. All signs were that she was simply very

  excited-and more than a little out of control. Upon spotting me, her body posture and attitude changed dramatically: The dog backed up rapidly and began to bark, her tail dropped and wagging though held low in a classic anxious attitude. "I suppose you can see the problem," the woman yelled over the din of the dog's barking. I just smiled and asked her to have a seat about ten feet away from where I sat quietly. I didn't see an aggressive dog, only an excited, out-of-control adolescent dog who was also uncertain. While her barking was loud and impressive, there was no serious threat in it- it was fairly high pitched and quick in its repetitions. It was hard to reconcile this dog with the opinions of the owner's previous instructor: that this dog was very dangerous, would eventually bite, and should be euthanized before she hurt someone. While we sat and talked for a while, gathering some background information, the puppy explored as far as she could on leash, leaping back with a startled woof when she accidentally moved a chair. She retreated to her owner's side to consider the chair with furrowed brow, but when it didn't move again, she decided it was safe to approach it again. I invited the woman to move closer, intending that the dog would be able to reach me if she wanted to. Cautiously, Chelsea approached and sniffed my shoes and legs. Ready for her approach, I opened my hand and let a small chunk of chicken fall to the floor. This pleasantly surprised the puppy, who eagerly ate the unexpected treat and sniffed around for more. As soon as she glanced my way, I let another treat fall and this time, made sure the dog saw my hand open. She ate it and then stood staring at my hand. I ignored her until she touched my hand with her nose, and then opened my palm to reveal several treats. I gave her one and then quietly asked her to sit, which she did, and I rewarded that with soft praise and the remaining chicken. Surprisingly gentle she cleaned my hand and then looked up at me, her eyes bright and interested. We considered each other, and I noted that direct eye contact, at least in this particular moment, did not bother her. Her gaze was steady, alert and relaxed. Keeping an eye on her, I shifted slightly in my chair to reach the bag of chicken on a table behind me. As I suspected it might, my movement made her back away a few steps, her