Dogs and Me: A Journey and a Half

Now that we’ve covered some important topics in the first three blog posts, I think it only makes sense to give a little bit of my own background when it comes to my relationship with dogs because, to be completely honest with you all, it hasn’t been an easy relationship for me. 

To get straight to the point; for most of my childhood I was terrified of dogs. Small dogs. Big dogs. Loud dogs. Quiet dogs. Cute dogs. I was scared of any and all - if my tiny kid brain thought I saw anything remotely canine nearby then the fear receptors flared and I went into full panic mode. I had no desire to be anywhere near a dog and so I would do all that I could to distance myself as effectively as possible from the source of my fear; I’d climb fences, I’d climb walls. I’d run home if I was outside, I’d run to a friend’s house if it was closer. I’d climb trees if one was close, hell, I’d climb the nearest adult if no tree could be found. And I would scream. And I would cry. It got so bad that my parents, who took us hiking with them from a very young age, would mouth the word ‘dog’ to one another or spell it out D. O. G. (rather unsubtly) when they spotted any kind of dog nearby for fear that I’d run off the hillside in terror - something I can honestly say was not far from the realm of possibility. I had a genuine phobia of dogs. I didn’t want to be near one. I didn’t want to pet one. I didn’t want anything to do with them…but here I am now, at 32 years old, living with a dog, in the process of adopting another dog, and writing blog posts on the problems facing dogs today. How did I get to this stage? I’ll keep it simple…and to do so, we have to go back to the start: what made me so terrified in the first place?

My earliest memories surrounding dogs were not good, but one in particular always stands out, for me, as the catalyst of all this. When I was roughly 3 years old, my Gran took me on a walk down a country path in her little home village in Central Scotland. We walked and as we rounded a corner, I heard the barking first. Loud and abrasive. I remember tensing as I focused in on the source - two Rottweilers growling and gnashing their teeth from behind a weakened, old fence. I remember it so vividly because, no sooner had I spotted them, they’d cleared the fence of their garden and were bounding straight toward me. I would’ve sworn down for years that they broke through the old fence, I still have that as the memory in my head. Having spoken to my Gran about it, though, and having reasoned it as an adult; the two dogs definitely just jumped the fence. Either way they charged me, I screamed, and ran to my Gran. She picked me up as the dogs leapt at us, barking the whole time as I cried. The owner eventually came out and brought her dogs inside the house, and my Gran (bless her) berated her furiously. But the damage was done. To my young mind, these animals were terrifying. That memory is one of my earliest memories, and I’ll think about it for the rest of my life. 

My reaction that day became my default reaction whenever a dog was near - scream and run to the nearest adult. This continued for years and was definitely accentuated by an unfortunate incident I witnessed my sister have with my aunt’s rescue dog who, having been mistreated by kids in his first home, was very wary of children and gave my sister a warning snap when she got too close to him. I was, ofcourse, on the other side of the room, sweating profusely whilst Hamish (the dog in question) was on a leash. I witnessed that snap. And that was it. It was simple: not only were dogs terrifying, but even a family pet couldn’t be trusted. I became very aware of them as conscious beings with a mind of their own that I’d never understand - where one misstep would have those terror teeth clamp down upon my leg. I internalised this and I became known as the boy who was scared of dogs. But just as I can trace the original fear back to one memory, I can trace the beginning of my changing attitude towards dogs back to one memory. 

When I was about 10 years old, my next door neighbour at the time got a puppy. They were a family with kids the same age as me. Both the parents insisted to my mum that I should meet the puppy. I was terrified, ofcourse, but thanks to a little, well placed peer pressure from their son, Mark ‘you can’t be scared of her! She’s just a puppy!’ I swallowed my fear and entered the dragon’s lair…ofcourse, she wasn’t a monster…she was the sweetest, tiniest black lab that I’d ever seen. She was sleeping when I met her and they brought us together and we just sat there for a bit. I watched her breathe and wiggle her nose as her paws twitched. My panic seemed to ease away, and Mark told me I should pet her. I hesitated but did so. And she was soft. And she was warm. And then she woke up…and she didn’t bark or bite at me. She just looked up at me and then to her family, and her little tail began to wag. I’ll never forget that memory. 

Now it wasn’t an instant change, I still was terrified of every other dog, but it was the beginning of me seeing these animals as more than what my fear had taught me. And, as we continued to grow up, so too did that puppy, Reah. She was so playful and loved to be scratched. I really grew with her, and it was never forced. I just started to have a healthier view of the animal and slowly, but surely, unlearned the responses I’d clung to. I stopped fleeing in terror whenever a dog was near, I stopped hiding behind adults and just generally learned to push past that fear when looking into a dog’s eyes that ‘this animal is an unpredictable bite of terror waiting to happen.’ I relaxed. I matured. And I began to enjoy walking dogs and spending time with them. My friends’ dogs no longer had to be kept out of the room when I was around, and I actively looked forward to seeing dogs I knew - I was cured!

But I still never saw myself owning a dog. No way. It was something I just accepted wasn’t for me, and whilst my fear had basically gone by my late teens, I had no desire to ever live with a dog. This was my outlook on it all for most of my life. That is until I met Obie. I was 31 when I met him, my partner Maren’s little Chihuahua mix. I was told that he barks at strangers when he first meets them and I was honestly like ‘yup, typical dog…that tracks.’ almost in a ‘I know this game’ sort of way. And then I actually met him. And my heart melted. Yeah, he barked. But he was so little and so handsome that I didn’t care. I didn’t flinch, I was immediately down at his level saying hello. I’d seen photos of him, but photos do not do justice for how little he actually is in person. We quickly became very comfortable around one another and he seemed to accept me right away. And I started to learn about him, and Maren, through her work and dedication to What Dogs Want, started to teach me the basics and fundamentals of dog behaviour: I learned about resource guarding, and body language signs. I learned about his breed inclinations, how to tell if he was overstimulated or stressed, and we talked about his personal quirks. Maren taught me what he likes, how to look at him with soft eyes, how to make him feel safe, how to give him space, and how to make him happy. And, I’ll be honest, I loved everything I was hearing. I found it fascinating from not just a theoretical, but a practical perspective. Here I was, dating an expert in dogs, and getting to see that expertise improve my relationship with the sweetest little pup in real time. It made me love both of them even more! And also, over time, it made me realise why those dreaded demon dogs from my childhood had acted so terrifying; because they were stressed. Because they were overstimulated or understimulated. Because they were resource guarding and because their behavioural cues were being missed. Because they were scared. With every bit of knowledge learnt and every minute spent seeing Obie react and our relationship grow, I stopped thinking about if I could live with Obie but, rather, when I would be living with Obie (to clarify, I do live with Obie now and he is curled up next to me as I write) This is something I never saw for myself, and I couldn’t be happier with my little companion. Who knew being a Chihuahua daddy was so rewarding! I’ve taught him new games and we have enrichment rituals. We roughhouse (very gently) every day when I get home from work in a way he doesn’t with anyone else. He cuddles me sometimes when I sleep - something I never, ever thought I’d like. We have our own special walks to places he doesn’t go with Maren and I’ve been told he listens for my car door slamming when I’ve arrived home. He makes me smile, and I’m always talking about him. I love the lifestyle he brings to me by simply existing and needing some care…so much so…that we’re looking to adopt a new rescue dog this year! We wanted Obie to have a little sister because he deserves one and I think it’ll help him, Maren, and myself thrive. Because, at the end of the day, having a little family to feel safe with and not be scared by is really What Dogs Want.

Written by C.W. Swan