“I’m tired of being afraid of my dog! I am your mom.” I grabbed Diego’s collar, holding him at a distance so that he couldn’t lunge toward me. Purvasha walked into a whole new scene at home from what she left a month ago. She looked surprised as she walked into the living room, just having returned from her work trip in Seattle.
We needed to move forward. This was my declaration. I was done with fear ruling our life. That didn’t mean there wouldn’t be any, but it wasn’t going to control me.
Diego had been acting out. At the time he might have been nipping at me or snapped the air at Purvasha. He used his teeth to control the situation. Often with me he would bite the clothes that I was wearing. How do you discipline a dog and let him know he is doing something wrong? I’m asking this rhetorically since everyone has their own opinion. I don’t want him to be scared, but I want him to know when his behavior is wrong. Holding his collar was a moment of showing myself that I was not going to let the fear of a bite keep me from being the one in charge. I had only done this once before at Christmas.
Family time with Diego and Benny at the farm was a lot to take on over the holidays. I would call Brittany in the morning to let her know I was coming out of my bedroom with Diego so that she would either put Benny in his crate, go outside, or put him on a leash. We always had to be aware of our surroundings and if there was something that could cause a spat. Benny used his shrill bark when he wanted something. Diego might react. A few times they growled at each other. They needed to eat separately. It added a lot of stress.
Brittany and I had both brought our dogs downstairs in my parents’ basement on leashes. We were going to try watching a movie. We sat at opposite ends of the room, not letting them be too close together and no toys to fight over. Diego started growling at me and biting on his leash, pulling, telling me that he was ready to be unattached to my waist and wanted the freedom to play. I had reached my limit for the day and with no regard for my safety reached out to grab his collar, holding him away from my face. I told him to let go. He dropped it, laid down, and the movie continued. Moments later he jumped into my lap, cuddled up like the sweetest puppy in all the land.
I was waiting to hear back from my new trainer, but in the meantime set up our first vet appointment with Dr. H. Purvasha decided she was coming with me and took the afternoon off. She wasn’t going to let us go through this alone after how bad the last appointment had gone. Bless that girl. I put Diego in the backseat with a bully stick and brought along Simba’s old sleeve muzzle to avoid them telling me that they would need to try to put something on. We drove to Minneapolis, cruising the tight streets looking for parking. Time to relearn how to parallel park…
I carefully opened the door, snatching up Diego’s leash while Purvasha grabbed his papers including every detail that the previous vet had written about him. We walked a couple blocks through the winter slush looking for the clinic sign. Cars rushed by and Diego seemed a bit off, overwhelmed by all the new things in the area whooshing by. We walked up to the front and called from outside. Covid rules—plus they would make sure that the lobby was clear of any other animals before he came in.
Dr. H reached outside and asked if I thought he would do better with me inside or out, since typically they haven’t been bringing people inside during the pandemic.
I’m not sure. Sometimes I think he guards me, so maybe it’s better if I’m not there. Then again, he might be more stressed out if I leave him…I don’t know.
She decided to take him alone first, but quickly found him hitting the breaks to go anywhere near one of the rooms. She came back to let Purvasha and me inside.
We sat down in the room, Diego rubbing his face into everything with frustration. Dr. H asked me if I would take the muzzle off as it seemed to be causing more stress. She wouldn’t be touching him that day because she thought it would be too much for him. I watched as she pulled a flat wooden stick out and scooped some wet canned food to extend over the table to him. He stood on his hind legs with a paw holding himself in place as he licked it. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you Diego?” she said sweetly to him. She dropped some more food on the floor, keeping her distance and cheering him on.
We discussed his background and she observed, trying to gain some insight into his health without touching him, keeping the food coming. Checking his teeth was not going to be a priority that day. Please never get a cavity. I don’t know what I’ll do with you. She introduced me to strategies for helping his anxiety, options for medication, and how that can help with training. She knew that medication could be a sore subject for some people. “Don’t worry about it, it’s not the first time I’ve heard of a dog on anxiety medication,” I said. “Let’s try it.”
I asked Dr. H if she thought it would ever be possible for him to be comfortable playing with my sister’s dog. I wanted that so badly. It felt like I had to distance myself from my family in order to keep him and it was hard. She was honest with me, and said that it could be possible, but there is no way to know. If training him to handle his triggers didn’t work out, I need to consider his quality of life. (Side note: part of the not knowing is not being sure if the owner will diligently put in the training, not if the dog is trainable)
My eyes started watering, taking in the reality of what that meant while Purvasha asked more follow up questions. Diego came over to me, turning his attention away from the new stranger. “He’s checking on you,” said Dr. H as my tears fell into my mask. Diego is very in tune to the environment. Dang it, I need a Kleenex and these stupid masks…I feel disgusting. Two for two for crying at the vet. That’s really sweet though buddy.
Regardless of the news, I liked Dr. H. She was kind AND direct. She cared about my dog and the people in front of her. She was professional. She was going to consult another doctor for her thoughts and then finalize his dosage for three different medications that I would need to give him every 8 hours.
Every 8 hours? Omg, so what—8:00 am, 4:00 pm, and 12:00am? How can I even do that with going into the office? Goodbye happy hour. Whatever, it’s a pandemic. I barely go anywhere right now anyway. She assured me that I had some flexibility to make it work with my schedule, and he would be okay if he got medication a little sooner or a little later in the day. This is what we need to do to get him started though. And with that we went home to start our new approach.
Megan Kiecker 