My dog used to be scared of her own reflection. Even from a distance, if she saw herself in a mirror, a window, or the dark screen of the TV, she would tense up, hackles raised. She would growl, bark, and lunge at the scary creature before her. She was protecting us, and she was also protecting herself. We ended up covering the mirrors and other reflective surfaces. We made sure to keep the bathroom door shut and walk by windows quickly. This is how we lived.
Goose is the love of my life, my soul dog. We got her from a friend's "oopsie" litter almost three years ago. When we picked her out of the litter, she appeared to be the calmest dog out of them all. Little did we know she'd be the least calm dog we'd ever met. Not only did she react to the normal things like other dogs and strangers, but she was afraid of animals and people on the TV, the shadows of trees in the wind, and her own image in a mirror. She is the sweetest dog alive, but she is riddled with anxiety. She is a creature so vigilant that the whole world is a threat. This has been going on her whole life. We are not at the end of the story, but somewhere in the middle.
I know what it's like to brace myself walking into a room. I rehearse conversations I haven't had yet. I scan rooms for the person whose mood might turn. My nervous system and Goose's are running the same software, just at different volumes.
We used to go for walks, and they were always pretty stressful. You never knew when, where, or why she would have a big reaction to something. Usually, it was somewhat manageable, but sometimes it was too much.
One day, we left the apartment to go for a walk. While walking through the parking lot to get to the wooded trail, we came across a group of men who were standing around talking. I didn't notice them until it was too late. Goose was not a fan. Immediately when she noticed, she started growling, barking, lunging at these men. She is a strong puller, so I had a hard time getting control of her. And what did those men do? They started yelling at her, and stayed where they were. Eventually, I was able to get her to make a U-turn, and we high-tailed it home. That was the end of the walk. That was the end of walks for a while.
What those men did was the opposite of what would have helped. While on the outside, it looked like Goose was being aggressive and mean, at her core, she was frightened to death. And those men yelling at her were adding to the threat.
It happens to the kid who goes silent when called on, and to the adult that kid grew into.
We've done a lot to try to manage Goose's reactivity. Early on, we actually thought she had a heart issue because of her excessive panting and racing heartbeat. We spent thousands on specialists and cardiologists, only to find out it's "just" anxiety! We've tried multiple anxiety medications of various doses. Some worked a little, but not much. We've tried multiple private trainers who were not effective. One even refused to get within 20 feet of her and didn't even try to help. I tried every training technique in the book, but none of it really got to the core issue.
I'm sorry to tell you this, reader, but we did not find a clever trick to deal with her anxiety. With anxiety, there is no clever trick. She's not a bad dog, she's just a dog with an overactive nervous system that sometimes makes her do the wrong thing.
The thing is, she wants so badly to get it right that wanting gets in the way of doing.
When she was just a little puppy, we brought Goose to my mom's house for Christmas. While we had to cover the TV so she didn't bark at her reflection, she was a happy, friendly puppy with my mom, and we didn't have an issue. When she was a bit older, we stopped by her house with Goose in the car. When my mom approached the car to say hi to Goose, she went full-on rage mode and would not stop growling, barking, and lunging. I thought this was because she was protecting our property (the car), and because my mom had approached instead of Goose approaching her. We had also just returned from a vet visit, so I thought she was just overstimulated.
Fast forward to this past Christmas. We wanted my mom to get to know Goose, and we wanted Goose to get used to being around other people. We prepped in advance. We medicated her, we muzzled her just in case, kept her on leash, and we took it very slow. She barked at first, and she was very anxious while we were there, pacing around and not settling.
She eventually settled a little and even accepted treats from my mom. We thought we were making progress. We were all sitting in the living room talking, with Goose lying on the floor between us. And then my mom stood up.
Goose attacked her. She lunged, barking and growling, quite literally aiming for her throat. The terror was palpable in everyone there. The "just in case" muzzle came in handy. My husband was able to hold her back. But that was the end of the visit. All that progress we thought we made? Gone. It was so disheartening. Even with medication, the preparation, doing everything right, just someone shifting their weight was enough to set her off.
Later that week, we took her to the in-laws' house. We gave her the medication earlier to give it even more time to take effect. We kept the muzzle on, even though she seemed to be fine. Again, a slow introduction to the people and other dogs of the house. And you know what? She was totally fine. She was friendly, and she was social with the other dogs. She almost seemed to be enjoying herself. I don't know what made such a dramatic difference, but at least I had a little hope.
I used to think Goose had learned to be afraid, that something had happened to cause her anxiety. Was it something that happened in the litter? Was it a missed socialization window? Some experience from before we got her? I kept trying to fix it, to teach her not to be anxious.
What gets learned is that what you do matters. That when you ask for something, sometimes you get it. That the world is occasionally responsive to you, instead of just happening at you. Goose and I are learning it together, on different timelines, in the same apartment.
Goose wasn't broken. She just hadn't learned yet that her actions had weight in the world. That she could affect anything. And that anything could affect her back, in a way that wasn't a threat.
The child who's stopped raising his hand in class hasn't learned it either.
Progress in training an anxious dog is never going to be a straight line. You have to train yourself first. I learned to scan the environment for possible triggers. I learned to do breathing exercises with her to get her in a more regulated state. I learned to regulate my own nervous system first before trying to regulate hers. I learned to make sure her needs are met before expecting anything of her.
Every time I tried to push her to learn something or get used to something faster, I lost progress. I had to learn to accept the pace at which she could actually learn. When that happened, I would see tiny shifts happen. I don't know if there is ever going to be a finish line. Just a larger, more regulated life, one tiny step at a time.
It may not look like much, but our slow progress has had a lot of little wins. The mirrors are uncovered, I'm still scanning, the dog is still anxious. But it is life. And we are learning.
Right now, we are sitting in the car in the grocery store parking lot. Goose is in the back seat. My husband is inside the store. I'm scanning the parking lot in the way I always do now, looking for triggers. Naming the people as I see them. Person with a cart, two o'clock. Couple walking toward the entrance. And Goose, watching me watch, stays quiet.