Some time ago, my husband asked my mom how long I’ve loved dogs. “Always,” she said.
It’s true. I remember being four or five years old and wanting to be a vet, not realizing, of course, that the job didn’t just involve petting dogs all day; it also involved treating unwell animals in often heartbreaking situations. As a kid I surrounded myself with stuffed animals, sheepishly approached others’ dogs in parks and playgrounds to see if I could give them a quick pat, and ceaselessly begged my parents for a dog until we brought home my first puppy, Elvis, when I was 7 years old.
I took a hiatus from dog ownership until I met my now-husband, who, when we just started dating, had recently adopted a 3-year old corgi named Butters. We were blessed with 10 years with her until she passed away from a long term neurological illness called degenerative myelopathy, described as ALS for dogs. She was the light of our lives and was more sentient teddy bear than dog: sweet, loving, quiet, and the most behaviorally simple creature I’d ever met.
After she passed, we took some months to mourn. We needed time to breathe after almost two years of intensive and emotionally exhausting dog parenting, from taking her to twice-weekly physical therapy appointments to continually readjusting our sense of normalcy as her physical abilities declined. Nonetheless, I knew we wouldn’t be dogless long: the companionship and love and care that animals bring into our world are non-negotiables for my lifestyle.
Enter our next family member: Otter the Tibetan Spaniel.
The author and Otter
Due to Butters’s illness, we promised ourselves that we would prioritize genetic health, ethical breeding, and longevity in our next pet. We loved having a corgi but knew we had already peaked in temperament, and also wanted to avoid going through the same challenging experience of DM that we had already been through. After multiple years of research and meeting breeds and clubs, we settled on the Tibetan Spaniel: a relatively uncommon breed in the US, but one known for good health, small stature, and a very sweet lion-like face.
Next thing we knew, we were driving from North Carolina to Boston with our new addition, a 10-month old Tibbie who we eventually renamed Otter.
Otter is a spunky, sweet, energetic, goofball whom we love. He also struggles with anxiety.
His nervousness made itself known nearly immediately: every car that drove by, every person that spoke outside our window, and every noise from units next door felt like a crisis to our poor boy, still terrified from having been plucked from his family and brought to a small city with two strangers. He barked and shrieked and whined and hid when confronted with these scary monsters.
And we had been so spoiled by the remarkably calm comportment of Butters that we were completely unprepared to do any kind of behavioral modification with Otter.
I look back a few months to when we first learned we’d been accepted to adopt Otter and I grimace at my naiveté. Of course a young boy is going to be nervous about moving to a new home at a crucial point in his development! Of course he would take time to adjust! Of course new sounds and routines would be scary for him!
We knew we’d need help. Within days of arriving at home, we booked appointments with behaviorists and trainers to help him adjust to his new surroundings. We were taking online classes, wearing treat pouches on our belt loops to quickly reward good behavior, and learning the ins and outs of clicker training. We learned the ins and outs of cue-mark-reward, operant conditioning, and the importance of incremental, regular training. We earmarked time daily for training, an anti-anxiety biofeedback protocol, and regular desensitization and counter-conditioning moments.
It’s almost been three months since we’ve adopted him, and I can safely say that Otter is making great progress becoming more comfortable in his new digs and more calm in new situations. He still has a ways to go - being apart from his dad or me is still tough for him, and he gets overly excited when he sees other dogs he wants to play with - but consistent training has helped him build confidence and problem-solving skills.
And a bit of what I’ve learned on this unintentional side quest into animal training and communication:
If you’re overwhelmed, find help from experts. We’re incredibly involved dog parents with significant experience in medically complex dogs, but had no idea how to deal with behavioral and psychological challenges. Calling in experts for help has been indispensable, both for learning and for support as we help Otter through this tough time in his life (and having someone to ask “is this normal?” every other day is such a relief).
Even small incremental progress is incredibly motivating. I don’t need Otter to be perfectly relaxed or calm about us leaving the house, nor do I need him to never bark at a noise outside. His lack of silence no longer bothers me. I do feel a burst of pride and reinforced commitment to his growth whenever he lasts another quiet minute alone in the house, or stops barking more quickly than he did the last time.
The most therapeutic mantra when going through a tough time: this too shall pass. I’m pulling from Buddhist philosophy here, of course, but all pain is temporary, just as all pleasure is temporary. Trusting in my own resilience and ability to manage through this tough season of dog training and less-than-desirable behaviors is so much easier knowing that it won’t last forever.
