As someone who grew up in a home where dogs didn’t only share the status of their human counterparts, but in fact dictated many aspects of family life, it was natural that I would surround myself with a medley of canine “kids” when I began life as an independent adult.
Over the years many happy memories were made as a series of delightful dogs were welcomed into the fold. But my tendency to ascribe human qualities to my dogs (anthropomorphism) was bound to catch up with me at some point.
In January this year the family had just enjoyed a month-long holiday at the sea, and my two spayed female Jack Russels, Freckles, 6, and Juno, 2½, were lean and fit from a combination of long daily walks and reduced food intake. I had, ill-advisedly, it later transpired, decided that adult dogs didn’t need two meals a day, and removed breakfast from their menu.
Back home things were about to take a nasty turn. With no seeming provocation from the elder dog, Juno launched a series of deadly serious attacks on Freckles. Terrified that we’d come home to a dead pet, we started segregating the two when no one was home to intervene.
We were simply stalling for time. The moment they were together, Juno would hurl herself at Freckles’s throat. Separating the two snarling terriers was impossible. The only way to break them apart was to hurl them into the swimming pool. Our nerves were at breaking point. Why was this happening to us?
Enter dog behaviourist Glynne Anderson, a household name in dog training and showing circles and a columnist for The Mercury.
A frantic phone call later, we were on our way for an emergency intercession, in two cars to keep the warring dogs apart.
“Can you do tough love?” was the first question Anderson posed to me. “If you back down or weaken, you will lose Juno.”
“I don’t have a choice,” I replied, my marshmallow heart quaking.
What followed was two hours of hell for me and acute emotional discomfort for the dogs. Suddenly they were hurled out of their comfort zone, without cuddles or reassurance from their owners to console them.
“They will think I’m the bitch from hell,” said Anderson. “And then they’ll go home and realise they’ve suddenly got the owner from hell, and it wasn’t simply a bad dream.”
The details of the therapy must remain Anderson’s professional secret; suffice it to say that no physical harm came to the dogs. Instead, every time they showed aggression, their energy was redirected by quick diversions that they found jarring and unpleasant.
Exhausted, we left with a list of strict instructions that were to be obeyed “to the letter”. The dogs were to sleep separately, and be fed, separately, every hour with a mix of cooked mince and vegetables, seasoned to make it palatable. We had to break the ingrained belief of pack animal Juno that there was not enough food in her environment for two dogs, so she had to take Freckles out to ensure her own survival.
The month that followed was the longest of our lives. We were constantly walking on eggshells, waiting for a fight to break out. Armed with empty soda tins filled with small stones, and rolled up newspaper, we were required to spring into action and create a diversion that would pre-empt the power struggles.
The dogs were gradually re-introduced to each other inside the home. Slowly the “armoury” of tins and papers was required less frequently, and then not at all. Juno learned to keep her ears flat, in the submissive pose, rather than pricked in attack mode when she approached Freckles, whose position as pack leader had been reaffirmed.
This week they went on their first walk together in a month. No aggression. I moved their baskets back into the lounge – bed-sleeping has been phased out; ditto dozing on couches. No sign of aggression. They have, remarkably, re-discovered the fact that beneath their pack pecking order they are actually great friends.
Of course it would be naive to imagine that a “miracle” cure has been effected. Every time I rise in the morning, I prime myself to be calm and centred, and assume the role of alpha female leader of my pack of two.
Pack leader
I have become an avid follower of the extraordinary American “dog whisperer”, Cesar Millan, on National Geographic Wild, and am devouring his books. The one that resonates the most in my situation is Be the Pack Leader – transform your dog and your life.
Key to Millan’s approach is his belief that most owners of “pets” as opposed to working dogs deprive them of their basic rights as pack animals. We turn our dogs into repositories for our need for emotional reassurance, and often deny them what they most crave – exercise, discipline as opposed to punishment and reassurance.
He advocates that you take stock of your own part in your dog’s dysfunction, which, in my case, was ineffectual leadership and inconsistent messages sent out to the pets about who was the “sweetest” or “best” dog at any given time, and work on changing it.
I found that although my dogs got a lot of physical affection, good food and pleasant living conditions, they were not exercised often enough to meet the needs of their hyperactive breed, and I was not providing the sort of leadership they craved. Millan stressed that the latter must come from a position of calm, assertive energy.
“It’s the power deep within us that can make us not only the pack leaders of our dogs, but also the pack leaders of our own destinies,” he wrote.
Sound a bit New Age? Try it on for size. I’ve stopped being a cringing wimp around my beloved pets, and they feel safer and more confident for it. I’ve also found a renewed sense of personal purpose, and my output in all areas of my life has increased. My canine alter ego’s tail is definitely wagging.
If your animals are in a behavioural crisis, you could do worse than turn to the experts for guidance. If you genuinely love your dog, then let him be one. - Sunday Tribune