Why I admire dog people so much

Dog people are stalwart, good communicators, aware of personal and canine boundaries, committed to the task of training. Many of their capabilities are nonverbal and barely register to the human eye, meaning they are sensitive and subtle, too. They tend to be kind. They tend to be patient.

I am not a dog person. Not yet, anyhow.

This post catalogs a few encounters that Finn and I had this morning (plus one remembered incident). If  you don’t have time to read 1,100 words, you might want to skip to the end and at least read about the German Shepherd and his guy. They were kind of amazing.

It’s 98 degrees out now, but even this morning before nine, it was brutally hot. So I decided to take Finn to Crystal Lake where I hoped to exhaust him without inducing heat stroke. To get to the lake, we cut through an off-leash park. We’ve played fetch there on occasion with mixed results. It’s okay as long as the other dogs are far away and their people are paying attention, but it’s always a little bit of a risk.

This morning we happened to get pinned by two incoming dogs, both off leash.

After I alerted the closer woman that Finn was reactive, she immediately abandoned the stroller she was pushing, grabbed her yellow lab by his harness and hooked him up to a leash. She then quietly put some distance between us. A dog person.

The other woman didn’t need a verbal cue because by then Finn was barking his head off. Nevertheless, she sauntered off toward the far side of the field. She sauntered off to the far side of the field while her poodle bounded toward us. This woman sauntered off to the far side of the field, pretend-calling her dog, while I restrained mine using a considerable amount of effort. I’ve done this many times before and have some confidence in my ability to restrain Finn, but she doesn’t know what I can or can’t do. If she bothered to look, she’d see a five foot tall woman working really hard to manage a dog that is hysterical because her dog is bounding toward us.

She kept chirping the dog’s name, as if she was actually calling the animal. But anybody could see that her dog was no more trained to come that I’m trained to do a Simone Biles gymnastics routine.

Most dogs aren’t trained to come, including Finn. It’s a 10,000 calls-kind of thing, with increasing amounts of distraction, so I didn’t judge her on that account. I judged her for acting as though she had trained him. Chirp. Chirp. She knew that dog wasn’t gonna come. La-dee-dah. Did I mention the bounder was a poodle with a pom-pom tail?

Not a dog person.

Needless to say, by the time we got to the Lake, I was a little wiped (that wasn’t the first episode of the walk). The heat was oppressive already and even though I’m practiced at these encounters, they’re still stressful.

The last time Finn and I were at the lake he attacked another dog, so I brought thirty foot leash. The sight lines at our spot are terrible and to make matters worse, I have to keep my back to the pathways to throw the ball. Up until the recent attack, I assumed that Finn’s intense play would keep him engaged. Oops!

He bolted past me that day and went after a dog just past the tree line. In her panic, the owner dropped the leash and backed away, leaving her dog to fend for himself. I got there quickly, of course, and pulled a crazed Finn away. Fortunately, he doesn’t bite in these episodes — just scares the shit out of everyone.

But to drop the leash? Really?

These bursts of ‘reactivity’ are terrifying, don’t get me wrong.  And while I know that his behavior springs from insecurity rather than aggression, no one on the receiving end has any reason to make such a distinction. So while dropping the leash made this woman human, it also revealed her status : not a dog person. I’ve seen a fifty year old woman tackle a golden retriever to interrupt a snarling, teeth-gnashing encounter, for god’s sake. That’s a dog person.

Interceding that day took a few minutes, so there was a delay before I could turn and make an apology. To her it may have felt like an afterthought. I’ll take it as a ‘dog person badge’ that I didn’t care, recognizing as I do now that my primary responsibility in these situations is to Finn.

If I hated the poodle-lady just a little (did I mention it was another god-damned poodle?), it wasn’t because she wasn’t a dog person, it was the way her wilted, victimized response almost seemed like a prelude to a law suit. If you don’t live in Newton, Mass., trust me — this kind of reaction is not out of the realm of possibility. Even absent a bite.

So today things seemed to be working out. The leash let Finn bomb into the water with glee, grab the ball, and come bounding back in that joyful way of his and let me know that I’d be able to restrain him if necessary.

That’s when a beautiful one year old German Shepherd and his guy arrived. Right behind us. As Finn blasted through the water to charge the dog, I had to hustle to gather up the slack. I managed, leash-webbing burns on my hands notwithstanding. It was the usual wild barking, the usual me backing him up, the usual continued wild barking, me being stern and then generally, a semblance of calm. Usually the uproar ends because the other dog gets far enough away and not because of anything I’ve done, but today Finn settled even with the shepherd near.

That guy stood there, calm as a brick wall. Not surprisingly, so did the dog. Not a growl, no hackle peak, no returning volley of barks – nothing.

Then, the man actually asked me, “Do you think they want to meet?”

I was nearly speechless with admiration.

Because I don’t have the confidence to do this yet, never mind the fact that I’d already emptied my adrenals once or twice that morning, I declined. But what happened next was just beautiful.

This guy set up a game of fetch just down the beach a bit, at what, really, was a phenomenally strategic distance. Not so far away as to make the shepherd irrelevant to Finn, but slightly inside his comfort zone. With casual precision, this guy established a session of parallel play that doubled as training. I was so, so impressed.

You might think I’m going overboard, but I’m not. This man probably didn’t have to think overly hard about where to start throwing the tennis ball, but he knew enough about dogs in general and about our situation in particular to respond in an intuitive manner that was both respectful and useful.

Because that’s what dog people do.

14 thoughts on “Why I admire dog people so much

  1. grace

    i could keep reading all day. the visuals while reading are vivid….and the
    stories are crystal clear and true to how it is. i hope you meet up with that guy again….
    could provide the turning point for Finn. Thank you very very much for this

    Reply
  2. JaN

    Thank you for the story. And brings to mind how unfair (and wrong!) it is when people do no training. It seems the equivalent of no basic education for a child. The dog can not even be enjoyed as much or have as good a life if it doesn’t know proper behavior. We can’t expect them to automatically know what is acceptable.

    Reply
    1. deemallon Post author

      I’ll admit that if I had an “easy” dog I probably wouldn’t do much more than good canine citizen class. with Finn we train, we learn, we train and learn some more, but we also get discouraged and slack off.

      Reply
      1. JaN

        It’s quite a commitment and responsibility. I now have my last dog as I am not willing to commit to it again. This one is an ‘easy’ lab and no way could I ever have as good a dog again, so I’m quitting while I’m ahead! 😉 And he’s about 12 now…….It will be hard.

        Reply
        1. deemallon Post author

          I hear you about ‘not again’…. if we ever do this again, we will look for a sedate, low-need seven year old (but I haven’t thought about it at all!). Our last dog, a Corgi from Puerto Rico, arrived silent, traumatized, and two years old. He softened with love and care, but never really wanted to play or even, walk all that much. It was kinda like living with a cat. Finn is our first puppy.

  3. Liz A

    A wonderful story, well-told!

    I failed dog ownership … it takes patience and deep knowing about dogs, both of which were in short supply when we tried to make a go of it as a young family. These days I focus on prairie grass farming (ha! started to say “grass farming” and realized that might be taken the wrong way).

    Reply
    1. deemallon Post author

      I could never have dedicated myself to a dog like this while the boys were home. Even when the boys were older.

      Reply
  4. debgorr

    Oh my! Your story is so vivid to me. I’m remembering Briar’s obedience class and the trainer telling us, tell them once and then make them do it. 🙂 Smartest thing I ever did for Briar, that obedience class. She had dominance issues when she was on leash that never went away, I just learned to look for her cues and be prepared. The funny thing was that it wasn’t all dogs that she got aggressive with…I think she was fine with the dogs that had dog people!

    Reply
    1. deemallon Post author

      I agree that dogs with dog people produce a different reaction. Which is one reason why it’s hard not to get annoyed at the multitudes out walking their canines while chatting in oblivion on their phones.

      With Finn, being prepared is everything. One of the things I most remember from our obedience classes (yes, there were several) was the teacher saying: If you want to be followed, be a leader. Some of this I can pull off — walking with shoulders squared, chest open, paying attention. When I walk with friends and Finn they can’t believe from how far off I can spot another dog!

      Reply

Love to hear what you think!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s