I once saw a post on Instagram that read, "Everyone believes their dog is the best, and everyone is right", and I agree with this idea wholeheartedly. Let's take a moment to talk about my own best boy, Rook, and how he went from a social angel to a severely reactive, troubled dog.
The Early Years
Rook came to me at 10 weeks old. I drove the 5 hours to Wales in my tiny Fiat 500 to meet his family for the first time, having only communicated via text. When I arrived I was greeted by the three remaining pups from a litter of nine, mother Juno, a feisty German Shepherd and father Bear, a big dopey (mostly) Malamute. I couldn't have been more impressed by how their owner had committed to caring for Juno and the pups, and how calm and confident they all were.
Rook was the sweetest lump I'd ever seen. Only one of his ears had started to prick upwards and the other flopped over his face. He was gentle, sweet, loving and very silly. We drove the 5 hours home with Rook in the special crate I'd bought for all of 15 minutes before his sad little whines broke me entirely. He spent the rest of the drive curled up and securely fastened in the front passenger seat; the little angel barely made a peep.
Training Rook was a breeze - he was confident, calm and curious, the model puppy, and attracted a lot of attention due to his unusual colouring and the white blaze across his nose. Over the next three years he went everywhere with me. He would hang out behind the reception desk while I worked in various Vet clinics and walk around the pub making friends with any and all patrons and their dogs.
What Went Wrong?
When Rook was three he was attacked by a border terrier in an off-leash part of a local park. Rook was terrified and ran straight back to me and peed himself as the dog four times smaller than him repeatedly grabbed at his neck and face. The owner blamed us for owning a 'dangerous dog', despite Rook having absolutely no part in the confrontation.
After that, Rook became a strictly on-leash dog. I realised very quickly that I had absolutely no control over the multitudes of off-leash dogs we encountered and despite Rook still being very calm and friendly at this point we avoided off-leash areas as much as we could. We were then attacked by off-leash dogs not once, not twice but three more times - all while Rook was on his leash.
By this point, Rook had reached his limit and his optimism fell off a cliff. He now expected every off-leash dog to be a threat and soon this negative emotional association spread to every dog he met. He started off by trying to hide from them, behind me or between my legs, but the dogs kept coming. It didn't matter to Rook that they were friendly, all he knew was that they were approaching fast and he had no way of avoiding them - after all, he was trapped on a 6-foot leash.
It wasn't long before he tried a new tactic. If he couldn't escape from them then his only choice was to make sure they thought twice about approaching him. He had to appear scary, and so he started to bark when they approached. Sometimes it worked, and the dogs would leave him alone. 'Perfect', he must have thought, 'this is how I keep myself safe'.
And so every time we saw a dog he would lunge towards them, barking - and they, and their owners, left him alone. Rook was a reactive dog.
What is Reactivity?
Knowing that Rook, (looking mostly like a shepherd and weighing 85lb), was already quite an intimidating dog, this sudden change in his behaviour came with a very clear shift in how he was perceived. Instead of the calm, curious and confident dog who had attracted so much positive attention on our walks, he was now hyper-vigilant, anxious and confrontational. I had studied anxiety, aggression and fear, and worked with many owners of reactive dogs, but I never thought I'd be the one on the other end of the leash. And it was so, so much harder than I'd ever imagined.
Reactivity is the name given to a collection of behaviour disorders characterised by a disproportionate or inappropriate reaction to an otherwise benign stimulus. Rook, who at this point would lunge towards and bark at every single dog that came within 20 feet of him, whether on-leash or off, was a classic example. To anyone passing by, Rook looked aggressive, mean and confrontational, and it's easy to understand why. He looked terrifying, and folks avoided him because of it, and that's exactly what Rook wanted.
Reactivity is almost always based in fear and anxiety and it is exceptionally rare that the dogs have any genuine desire to fight. Fighting is expensive, mentally and physically, and comes at a great personal risk of injury. Dogs tend to avoid physical altercations wherever possible and instead tend to default to one of four possible behaviour paths. These are:
Fight - Confrontational behaviour intended to push a threat away by appearing scary.
Flight - Escape and avoidance of the threat.
Freeze - Shutting down and stopping any communication with the threat.
Fawn - Appeasing behaviour intended to diffuse the threat.
Each of these behaviour paths are complex and nuanced, starting with subtle facial expressions and body language and escalating if the perceived threat doesn't react appropriately. Most socially healthy dogs when approached by a threat will start their communications at lower levels in the hope that the assailant will understand those subtle cues and back off.
If our subject initially chooses 'flight', for example, they may simply walk away from the threat. If this fails, and the other dog doesn't back off, they may choose to 'freeze' and shut down in the hopes that the dog will leave them alone. If the threatening dog continues to push past these signals, our subject may curl their lip, growl or snap the air - this is low level 'fight' behaviour. If that dog ignores every one of these signals our healthy dog has limited options and may decide, in that moment, to lunge, bark or bite.
If a dog experiences traumatic events, however, they will understandably be more likely to exhibit more extreme defensive behaviours and, if they are safely on-leash, they lack the ability to choose flight. They may certainly try to freeze each time a new aggressor approached him but if this fails and results in being attacked, the dog only has one option left. So they choose to fight every time a dog approaches, because confrontational behaviour is the only thing that works to keep them safe.
Reactivity is a survival mechanism based in trauma and not the result of an aggressive desire to fight.
Frustration, Embarrassment & Guilt
When Rook was younger he was an expert communicator. He was fluent in subtle signals that said 'Please leave me alone', or 'Sorry, I didn't mean to get in your face!' or even 'look, here's my belly, I promise I won't hurt you!'. He was relaxed, patient and polite. Once he started perceiving every dog as a potential threat his range of communication shrunk. He would immediately take on the stance of an aggressor, chest puffed, ears forward and tail held high and stiff. He would bark, snarl and snap, which was horrifying and embarrassing.
I felt awful. I felt that I'd failed him by not keeping him safe from all the off-leash dogs. I felt guilty for the frustration I felt now he wouldn't listen to me on walks. I felt embarrassed that I was working as a behaviour professional with a reactive dog, and then ashamed for having such a selfish thought.
I avoided walking him around other dogs, which in the tiny village I lived in was far easier said than done. The narrow winding English roads, blind corners and folks exiting their front doors directly onto the street with no warning - often preceded by their dog as their owner fumbled with their keys - oblivious to my poor, terrified dog just feet away. We started walking before the sun came up and again when it started to get dark. Rook hadn't been outside in the daylight for weeks and I was starting to break down.
Self Compassion & The Big Borzoi
It was during a perfectly normal conversation with a colleague that I stumbled upon a concept I'd not considered. Self compassion. I had been feeling so guilty for complaining when I knew my poor dog was suffering, and I didn't feel that I had the means to help him. I was ashamed that despite feeling confident in my recommendations to my clients I seemed incapable of 'fixing' my own dog. I'd been blaming myself for not reacting faster when we were approached by off-leash dogs, and feeling resentment towards Rook, whose behaviour was erratic and alarming.
So I allowed myself, and Rook, a break. I allowed myself to grieve for the dog I'd hoped to have and instead learned to love him the way he was now. We started training together in earnest. Instead of just coping on our walks we practiced avoidance games, we used our long-line and scattered food in the grass, we started playing games together, building his confidence in the space he'd felt so insecure about. We even rented private areas so he could run free without the risk of seeing another dog.
And as we worked, Rook slowly improved. He was starting to enjoy his walks again, checking in with me and allowing himself breaks to sniff and explore. After several months a plan emerged to introduce Rook to another dog and, with a lot of prep work and caution, it was a success! Rook made friends with a young Borzoi named Vivaldi and the more he socialised with him the more relaxed he would be when he saw unfamiliar dogs on our walks.
Then & Now
This was five years ago. Rook now lives with me in Atlanta and, sadly, his best friend remains in the UK. It took me a while to realise that, at his age, Rook genuinely doesn't want to be friends with another dog and I've been projecting what I felt was 'normal' onto him.
Rook is not the dog I had imagined he would be. Sometimes he still gets upset when he sees an off-leash dog and we have to manage the situation to keep him safe and comfortable. We have experienced sitters who look after him when we're away who know how to handle him around other dogs. We use a muzzle when we need to and carry treats on every single walk. We avoid busy trails and chose a home with a back yard specifically for him. We call the vets office in advance of any appointments to check that the waiting room is clear. Despite all of it he is still the most wonderful companion I could ever ask for and I wouldn't trade him for anything.
For the most part we walk past dogs on our walks every morning without any incident. He's calm and content at home and doesn't sit at the window scanning for threats. He gets plenty of enrichment, chases squirrels in the yard, plays with his toys and roughhouses with his little brother, a rescue kitten named Newt. He's not perfect, but he's happy.
How to Move Forward
Having a deeper understanding of why Rook is the way he is and appreciating that he is doing his best to cope with traumatic events from his past has made me feel more connected to him than ever before. I'm more patient, more empathetic and more determined to provide the best care and attention not only to Rook but also to my clients with reactive dogs.
The very first step towards helping your reactive dog is to exercise some compassion for yourself. Before you embark on training try to allow yourself to feel any guilt, frustration, embarrassment and shame and accept the dog you have in front of you. I promise, they're not intentionally giving you a hard time, they're just doing their best with the cards they've been dealt.
For guidance and support with reactivity, email frankie@canine-counseling.com.
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