13/07/2025
A little musing from today’s walk in Teesdale…
Some progress comes in leaps. Some comes in quiet moments. Today was the latter.
Many of you know Otis as the shouty one. The one who didn’t like to be touched. Who barked at dogs, and worried about people getting too close. He wasn’t “naughty” or “aggressive” or “stubborn”- he was in pain. Deep, grinding, constant pain from severe hip dysplasia in both hips.
And when you're hurting, the world feels a bit sharper. A bit more dangerous. You learn to guard your space. You brace when people reach out. You use your voice to say, “Please don’t.”
While we were waiting for diagnosis, and then through 2 surgeries, and the long months of recovery, we didn’t do much ‘training’ in the traditional sense. You can’t train a dog not to feel pain. But we worked hard on trust. I managed his world so he didn’t feel overwhelmed. I listened when he said he wasn’t ready. I was his advocate when he couldn’t be his own.
It would’ve been easy to push him. To encourage him to meet more dogs, expose him to more situations, and try to ‘train’ him not to react. But all that would’ve done is break his trust in me - and force him to rely more on the behaviours that helped him feel safe. The barking, the guarding, the distance-keeping. It would’ve made those habits stronger and harder to undo later. Instead, we waited. And he told me, in his own way, when he was ready for more.
And now?
Today we walked through sheep country. Past dogs. Past people. We had lunch in a pub, with dogs at the table next to us. Otis watched for a moment, then curled up at my feet and went to sleep. Not a grumble, not a growl. Just calm. Content. Safe.
He’s not perfect - but no dog is, and that’s not the goal. He’s learning that the world doesn’t hurt like it used to. That not all dogs are a threat. That people might just walk past and leave him be. He trusts me to keep him safe, because I showed him I would.
Progress isn’t always flashy. Sometimes it’s just a dog lying peacefully under a table in a pub, while the world moves quietly on around him.
I know not every dog gets this space, this patience, this time. I wish they did. Because when we understand our dogs - really see them, pain and all - we can stop reacting to the behaviour and start supporting the dog beneath it.
It’s slow sometimes. But it’s worth every step.
My clever little dude!
