Sometimes It's Okay To Say Never

Last week I listened to this podcast, an episode about leash reactivity on The Great Dog Adventure. It became an instant favorite, because along with some great tips for training and management, trainer Fernando Camacho said something so inspiring, so freeing. He said "it might never get better." You might think I'm crazy for finding that encouraging, but accepting Ruby for who she is and what that means for our life together has been the single most helpful thing in dealing with her reactivity. In the early days I was so focused on "fixing it" that every walk was an exercise in frustration and disappointment. Every time she got to practice the behavior I was working so hard to reverse was another drop in the failure bucket, along with many tears. If I was expecting linear progress, I was stuck in a discouraging two-step.

When you live in the suburbs with an extremely hyper-vigilant terrier who is triggered by pretty much every thing that moves, it isn't an exaggeration to say that effective counter-conditioning/desensitization setups are impossible. There is the pack of skateboarders that clatter past just as you open the back gate. There is the off-leash apricot toy poodle that chases you barking while a small child tries to herd it back inside with a tennis racket (this actually happened to us on Sunday.) There is that evening when you narrowly avoid the woman walking two Yorkies only to round the corner to see a family with a stroller and two labs headed your way. Ruby barks and lunges and spins, and we make our escape as quickly as possible. If things get really hairy, I can thankfully pick her up. I've (mostly) stopped caring what other people think. Do you know what I've noticed in my life with my reactive dog? There are just as many people out there dodging behind hedges and making emergency U-turns with their dogs as not. I sometimes wish there were some secret hand signal of solidarity we could flash one another, if we had a free hand. 

In one and a half years together, I've learned what works for us...and what doesn't. I've acknowledged our limitations. I celebrate small victories, such as Ruby's ability to sit and watch while a car goes by, or politely greet a neighbor. I know the best times and routes to walk, and I've even found some places we can go hiking with a relatively low chance of mishap. I'm not saying to give up, to stop training or stop goal-setting, but I am inviting you to give yourself and your dog a break. To appreciate your challenging dog's good qualities, to realize there might be a reason you were brought together. To re-evaluate the changes you can explore to make your lives easier, to find your dog's hidden talents, to accept the things you might never do and say "so what." 

Runaway Ruby

Spoiler Alert: Safe & Sound

If I hadn't waited a few days to make this post, it would have started out a lot differently, with dramatic self-deprecating statements such as "I don't deserve to have a dog" and "I have no business being a dog blogger" but time and reason have calmed me down enough to write about it from the standpoint of (more) lessons learned and the fact that mistakes and accidents happen in life and in dog life. One of the most valuable aspects of the dog blogging realm for me is feeling that I'm not alone, that others have shared an experience and that we can learn from one another. Rebekah from My Rotten Dogs recently posted about Faolan's Great Escape, not long after my own experience with Boca slipping her harness on a hike.

Having the statistics of pet loss on the Fourth on July drilled into my head for the past week, I was not so surprised to grab a runaway dog (on a Flexi-lead, with a collar so loose it came off in my hand when I reached for it) outside of the ball field early Friday morning, but I didn't expect to lose my own dog the very next day. It wasn't the first time Ruby has gotten away from me after a rabbit. Twice she has pulled the leash out of my hand and run off after a single rabbit in my townhome complex, and come back. Dragging the leash makes recovering her a bit easier. This time was different.

We were on our morning sniffabout, which is normally a fairly leisurely stroll around the complex lawn with lots of grazing and rabbit-spotting on the girls' part. I've always been hesitant to lump "rabbits" in to Ruby's reactivity triggers because, well...the list is so long already, and I chalk it up to prey drive rather than fear or anxiety. This year the rabbit population has exploded, and we see probably no less than twenty on any given walk. This morning they were out in full force. Ruby spun and lunged toward one and instead of feeling the leash go taut and snap back when she hit the end, she was gone. I was left holding the leash, snap intact. 

I started calling her immediately, trying to keep the panic out of my voice, and ran after her with Boca at my side attempting to keep Ruby in view as she raced after a seemingly endless succession of rabbits. Just as she would lose one into a shrub, she would see another. Twice I lost sight of her but due to her "hunting screech" - a high-pitched yelp she makes in pursuit - I was able to keep on her tail. At one point I thought I would just try running home to see if she'd follow, and she did start to, but then another damn rabbit would appear. I was finally able to gain on her and grab her harness as she backed out of some flowers. 

The whole episode lasted probably no more than two minutes but it seemed like an eternity. Ruby was thrilled and unaware of the many dangers she faced. Luckily, no other people were out - although her dog reactivity is frustration-based and what she wants most is to meet/jump on/play with other dogs, the feeling isn't always mutual. Luckily, she stayed within the perimeter of the complex - we are not far from several very busy streets. Luckily, I was able to snatch her up - and once I did, I did not let go. I carried her halfway home, then stopped to examine the leash before clipping it and knotting it to her harness. It seemed fine, the snap functional, and I still can't explain what happened, but I will not use that leash again. It was one of my favorites and the first one I bought for her - the lightweight snap was nice because it didn't bang against Ruby's chest on her front-clip harness - but I can't take any chances. 

I spent the rest of the morning near tears, hugging and kissing Ruby, shaking, and chastising myself for all the ways I'd failed as a dog owner. Later I shook it off, knowing it wasn't productive, and started focusing on the things I can change. First: equipment check and re-check, as well as utilizing gear with sturdy hardware, since I know Ruby is a puller and puts things to the test. Second: recall work. I know without a doubt that this is the single most important thing for a dog to know, and Ruby's 25+ tricks are useless when it comes to saving her life. It is also one of the most challenging things to teach to a dog with high prey drive, little focus, and limited access to safely-fenced areas to practice. I don't believe I can ever be more interesting than ten rabbits. One rabbit? Maybe. Third: Since I know the recall will always be a work in progress, I need to concentrate on at least redirecting Ruby's attention and lessening her reaction to the rabbits. I've tried using chasing them as a reward, and it works to some extent in that I can get her to lay down and wait when she spots one, but the chase itself is so exciting that she can't calm down after that. For now I am practicing asking for a sit or down when she alerts to one, and then we walk on. I'm keeping the leash shorter as we're going through the Rabbit Convention Zone, so she can't race to the end.

I love this little dog so much, and for every challenge she presents me with, I love her that much more. I'm charged with keeping her safe, even when that means saving her from her own rocket-speed, rabbit-crazed, terrier-brained self.