No Sudden Movements
No sudden movements is actually pretty good advice for a lot of situations in life, save maybe a break dancing competition. It's particularly important when it comes to dealing with dogs who have experienced trauma in their lives.
It has taken me a long time to write about animal rescue in a context of therapy, mostly because it is hard to see my pain reflected in the pain of the dog named Girl.
Dogs who have experienced abandonment and experienced life as strays often develop problem solving skills exceeding those of more cosseted canines. We have a small dog who, though being more than able to fit through a cat door, will never, ever use one, because he relies on humans to do everything. His version of problem solving is climbing up on your knee and staring at you until you do what he wants.
Having been born critically adorable and having maxed out at all of 2.5 kilograms, he is under the impression that all people are not only friendly, but terribly impressed by him. He has repeatedly been taught through his interaction with a wide range of humans that everybody adores him. All people are his people. All houses are his house. All things are his things. This is the truth according to Lap Dog.
Girl's experience is quite different from Lap Dog. She did not win the genetic lottery. She was born one of New Zealand's many Pitbull / Staffy / Boxer / Labrador / Mastiff / Sharpei / whatever else happened along at the pound orgy mixes. We know very little of her past, all we know is that she was left to stray, terrified of people, and pregnant at around eight months of age. We know that she was accustomed to sleeping rough, eating out of rubbish bins, and running whenever people appeared. No people were her people. No houses were her house. No things were her things. That was the truth according to Girl.
The woman who saved her from a life on the streets, and more than likely a premature death in the pound bought her to us after being unable to find a home for her, and being unable to keep her herself. Girl came into our yard with fear written in her eyes, tail tucked so far between her legs it could almost not be seen, skittish and scared. She was afraid of everyone, but most especially of men.
The woman and I stood and talked, about how she had taken it upon herself to tame Girl when the local council had given up after a single attempt to capture her, how she had taken her in and gotten her spayed, a fact which was sad in itself as Girl was pregnant. Girl herself was still a puppy, probably having gotten pregnant in her first heat at six months or so.
Girl had become very attached to her savior. She stood behind the woman, pressing close to her, taking comfort from her. And then it came time for the woman to leave her in our care. It was not easy. A great many tears were shed, only some of which could be assuaged by repeated reassurances that Girl would be well taken care of.
She left and Girl was left with me on a cold winter day. Her confusion at being left behind was palpable, her interest in me was nil. I sat down on the deck and let her go through the inevitable ritual of looking for her human. Slowly, over half an hour or so, she began to approach me, sniff me, and finally settled down next to me with a silent 'I suppose you'll do'.
We had started to bond, but it was a fragile accord. If I moved even slightly, she shied away. If I stood up, she ran. Her life was predicated on the notion, no, the certainty that she would be hurt. I knew that no amount of cooing and sweet talk and cuddles would change that. There's a human instinct to try to soothe those who are in pain, but when you have a dog like Girl, those instincts will get you bitten in the face.
Testament to the temperament which is so often common to these sorts of dogs, Girl did not have any aggression in her. Her choice was always to flee, not fight. For my part, I tried my best not to arouse either of those impulses. I always gave her her space, I always allowed her to come to me. Contact was always on her terms. Always. She initiated it, she could end it whenever she liked. I asked nothing of her except for her to tolerate my presence, which she quickly came to enjoy. Every domesticated dog needs a person. Every broken heart wants to love. Every lost soul is looking for a home.
I became determined that Girl would find all that and more with us. I could not tell her that, of course, I had to show her it. I had to let her discover it for herself. Every day was a test, would I continue to be kind and patient and to look after her? Or would I disappoint and hurt her as others certainly had? She did not know, but she wanted so badly to believe.
Unfortunately, fear caused by the sort of neglect and abuse she likely suffered does not disappear just because a safe situation is found. The fear would rise in her suddenly and strongly from time to time, triggered by the smallest of things. That meant my partner and I had to be exceptionally calm, make no sudden movements, keep our interactions with one another steady and even, and any kind of discipline, no matter how gentle, was completely off the table. You cannot correct behavior until you have some kind of trust, and we had not earned that yet. No human had.
This presented no small number of challenges, as Girl had a limited notion of right and wrong. She would therefore engage in many behaviors which were not allowed, and which the rest of the pack knew very well were not allowed. One of her favorites was taking items from the recycling and deconstructing them on the furniture.
Upon discovering that she had been engaging in this behavior, we would never censure her for it. Whatever had happened earlier in her life, she had clearly been yelled at and punished enough. We would simply take the remaining pieces away and give her a toy she could chew instead, showing what behavior was appropriate.
This had an unintended consequence with the other young female in the pack, Einstein, who having been abandoned as a very young pup herself, and having the genes which seem predominant in the bull breed cross pool for being problem solvers, soon realized that this was an opportunity.
Einstein knew very well that if she were to take anything and rip it up, she would be told off for doing so. But she clearly noticed that Girl was not subject to the same rules. Cue some creative behavior on Einstein's part. She would go and take things out of the recycling too, but she would take them over to the couch where Girl was laying and rip them up with Girl sleeping next to her.
When we came in, Einstein would make a speedy and stealthy exit, leaving Girl with the debris of her misconduct in a clear attempt to make us believe that it was actually Girl who had been in the recycling. I confess it took us longer than it possibly should have to work out what she had been doing. Einstein's deception was undone when she forgot that she had a large piece of fluff sticking out of her mouth from a chewed cushion she silently swore up and down with a great many wags she had been nowhere near.
It has taken me a long time to write about animal rescue in a context of therapy, mostly because it is hard to see my pain reflected in the pain of the dog named Girl.
Dogs who have experienced abandonment and experienced life as strays often develop problem solving skills exceeding those of more cosseted canines. We have a small dog who, though being more than able to fit through a cat door, will never, ever use one, because he relies on humans to do everything. His version of problem solving is climbing up on your knee and staring at you until you do what he wants.
Having been born critically adorable and having maxed out at all of 2.5 kilograms, he is under the impression that all people are not only friendly, but terribly impressed by him. He has repeatedly been taught through his interaction with a wide range of humans that everybody adores him. All people are his people. All houses are his house. All things are his things. This is the truth according to Lap Dog.
Girl's experience is quite different from Lap Dog. She did not win the genetic lottery. She was born one of New Zealand's many Pitbull / Staffy / Boxer / Labrador / Mastiff / Sharpei / whatever else happened along at the pound orgy mixes. We know very little of her past, all we know is that she was left to stray, terrified of people, and pregnant at around eight months of age. We know that she was accustomed to sleeping rough, eating out of rubbish bins, and running whenever people appeared. No people were her people. No houses were her house. No things were her things. That was the truth according to Girl.
The woman who saved her from a life on the streets, and more than likely a premature death in the pound bought her to us after being unable to find a home for her, and being unable to keep her herself. Girl came into our yard with fear written in her eyes, tail tucked so far between her legs it could almost not be seen, skittish and scared. She was afraid of everyone, but most especially of men.
The woman and I stood and talked, about how she had taken it upon herself to tame Girl when the local council had given up after a single attempt to capture her, how she had taken her in and gotten her spayed, a fact which was sad in itself as Girl was pregnant. Girl herself was still a puppy, probably having gotten pregnant in her first heat at six months or so.
Girl had become very attached to her savior. She stood behind the woman, pressing close to her, taking comfort from her. And then it came time for the woman to leave her in our care. It was not easy. A great many tears were shed, only some of which could be assuaged by repeated reassurances that Girl would be well taken care of.
She left and Girl was left with me on a cold winter day. Her confusion at being left behind was palpable, her interest in me was nil. I sat down on the deck and let her go through the inevitable ritual of looking for her human. Slowly, over half an hour or so, she began to approach me, sniff me, and finally settled down next to me with a silent 'I suppose you'll do'.
We had started to bond, but it was a fragile accord. If I moved even slightly, she shied away. If I stood up, she ran. Her life was predicated on the notion, no, the certainty that she would be hurt. I knew that no amount of cooing and sweet talk and cuddles would change that. There's a human instinct to try to soothe those who are in pain, but when you have a dog like Girl, those instincts will get you bitten in the face.
Testament to the temperament which is so often common to these sorts of dogs, Girl did not have any aggression in her. Her choice was always to flee, not fight. For my part, I tried my best not to arouse either of those impulses. I always gave her her space, I always allowed her to come to me. Contact was always on her terms. Always. She initiated it, she could end it whenever she liked. I asked nothing of her except for her to tolerate my presence, which she quickly came to enjoy. Every domesticated dog needs a person. Every broken heart wants to love. Every lost soul is looking for a home.
I became determined that Girl would find all that and more with us. I could not tell her that, of course, I had to show her it. I had to let her discover it for herself. Every day was a test, would I continue to be kind and patient and to look after her? Or would I disappoint and hurt her as others certainly had? She did not know, but she wanted so badly to believe.
Unfortunately, fear caused by the sort of neglect and abuse she likely suffered does not disappear just because a safe situation is found. The fear would rise in her suddenly and strongly from time to time, triggered by the smallest of things. That meant my partner and I had to be exceptionally calm, make no sudden movements, keep our interactions with one another steady and even, and any kind of discipline, no matter how gentle, was completely off the table. You cannot correct behavior until you have some kind of trust, and we had not earned that yet. No human had.
This presented no small number of challenges, as Girl had a limited notion of right and wrong. She would therefore engage in many behaviors which were not allowed, and which the rest of the pack knew very well were not allowed. One of her favorites was taking items from the recycling and deconstructing them on the furniture.
Upon discovering that she had been engaging in this behavior, we would never censure her for it. Whatever had happened earlier in her life, she had clearly been yelled at and punished enough. We would simply take the remaining pieces away and give her a toy she could chew instead, showing what behavior was appropriate.
This had an unintended consequence with the other young female in the pack, Einstein, who having been abandoned as a very young pup herself, and having the genes which seem predominant in the bull breed cross pool for being problem solvers, soon realized that this was an opportunity.
Einstein knew very well that if she were to take anything and rip it up, she would be told off for doing so. But she clearly noticed that Girl was not subject to the same rules. Cue some creative behavior on Einstein's part. She would go and take things out of the recycling too, but she would take them over to the couch where Girl was laying and rip them up with Girl sleeping next to her.
When we came in, Einstein would make a speedy and stealthy exit, leaving Girl with the debris of her misconduct in a clear attempt to make us believe that it was actually Girl who had been in the recycling. I confess it took us longer than it possibly should have to work out what she had been doing. Einstein's deception was undone when she forgot that she had a large piece of fluff sticking out of her mouth from a chewed cushion she silently swore up and down with a great many wags she had been nowhere near.