I have a good dog. He’s cute and loyal and fairly obedient. He can be a goof. When he zooms around the house, he does an excellent impression of a bull in a china shop. Every week he seems to open up a bit more and show more of his personality. This past week he’s seemed happier than he’s been these past few months. He wags his tail more and is more responsive to when I come up to bother him, I mean pet him, for no reason. Whereas before he seemed to tolerate me, now he might even like me a little bit. I don’t know much about his history. I was told he was found wandering a parking lot and was shy and scared. I’ve seen flinches that make me think he was abused, I’ve seen what seems to be a sadness that might come from being abandoned, and I’ve seen flashes of aggression that indicate he wasn’t socialized with other animals.
I knew when I rescued a three-year-old pittie I was bringing home a block-headed cannonball of energy and unpredictability. I knew that I’d have to work with him and whatever traumas he might have suffered. We’ve been together for about five months and are still learning lots of different things about each other. When I got him, he was partially trained – he knew sit and stay and was muzzle trained (which makes me wonder if he bit another dog or a person). Since then, we’ve worked on some type of training twice a day on our walks and then some more when we’re at our training sessions and bumming around the house. In these past five months I’ve seen him calm down considerably (the squirrels and rabbits are safer now and my arm stays in its socket more often). He still gets pretty amped up around other dogs and can bark and growl like a jerk, but I’m getting over the embarrassment. There are still plenty of times when he absolutely tests my patience, but those moments are becoming less frequent. I’m happy with the progress we’re making, but sometimes I feel guilty about the training – as though I’m taking away his natural spirit and impulsivity – like I’m some nurse Ratched to his McMurphy.
Now we’re starting to work on some of the tougher things – the triggers and behaviors that require a bit more caution. One of those behaviors is resource guarding – specifically teaching him to give up (or not guard) his prized possessions. The very first time I gave him a bone, he tried to bury it in the sofa, and if I went anywhere near it, he put his ears back and growled. Reprimanding him didn’t work and I had to wait until he was distracted before I could take it away.
I hadn’t given him a bone since that incident – until last night. Once again he tried to bury it in the sofa. When I approached, he put his ears back and gave me the most serious stare. He behaves very oddly with these things – almost a little Jekyll and Hyde. He’s both happy and protective. His tail drops between his legs but still wags a little. His ears are pinned back and he looks a ashamed but also like he might shiv me. He’ll walk up to me with the bone in his mouth. He’ll sit down next to me with it. But if I move, he either stares or growls. I also think he has competing priorities. He wants to be near me and also wants to protect his bone. I get it – I get irritable when I want to be social and be alone, or write and rest and exercise… Can’t do all of them and hate having to chose. Last night, I cautiously waited it out and when he wasn’t paying attention took it away.
I don’t blame him for his resource guarding. I’m protective of the things that matter to me (mostly my time). I’ve known people who have been fiercely protective of friends and family, or personal space, or possessions. I hope with some patience and care he’ll become more comfortable and learn to see fewer and fewer threats in the world. In the end, working with Kimbrough on these things is like most relationships…. it’s about learning where the boundaries are and hoping that with trust, safety, time, and practice comes a different level of freedom and understanding between the two of us.
