If you have a dog, at some point in your research into her quirky behaviors, you’ve stumbled across a website or trainer-in-the-flesh who suggests that your dog behaves this way because she needs stronger leadership. It is my sole mission to convince you that these people are wrong.
I’ve been working with dogs for the better part of a decade, beginning with my first pet dog, co-parented with my then-partner. This overwhelmingly pleasant experience with our small, well-mannered Chihuahua/Jack Russell mix led me to believe that dogs were ready and necessary human counterparts. We took Ben with us every chance we got, and he was always game for anything, from an afternoon walking around town, to the crowded Farmer’s Market, to breweries, to a quiet afternoon on the porch at home. Ben liked people. He was great on a leash, but also loved to be held and petted.
I didn’t know that these qualities were exceptional in a dog until, in 2014, I met Jemma, a two-ish-year-old stray. I immediately fell in love with her semi-erect ears, brindle pattern, and super-soft fur. She was a gentle spirit who immediately curled up in my lap the moment she came in the door. Sure, there were some red flags -- but we had bonded instantly. From the very first sight of her, I knew there was absolutely no way I could imagine my life without her. She was a little nervous -- but I figured that, in time, she would settle into her new home and her new life.
As the days went by, Jemma did *not* settle -- if anything, she more readily displayed a set of seemingly-aggressive behaviors that I’d never encountered in a dog before. Outside of our home, Jemma would pull so hard on her lead that she not only choked herself, but she was literally belly-crawling through the neighborhood, dragging me along behind her. She was constantly on high-alert and would growl, bark, and lunge at any unanticipated sound or movement. The sight of strangers, and especially other dogs, was intolerable, to such an extent that we started taking bizarre paths behind houses before dawn and after dark in order to avoid any potential altercations. At home, Jemma seemed nervous, consistently pacing around our house. She would only eat her food directly from my hand.
I reached out to a local positive-reinforcement trainer, whose advice seemed so obvious: if she’s afraid of everything, we have to make her less-afraid. And so began a lifelong commitment to improving my dog’s mental, social, and emotional well-being.
This early mentorship soon grew into an apprenticeship under Jane Marshall of Cheery Dogs LLC and her then-assistant, Susan Spinks, now the owner of Hearth and Hounds -- both based in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. Their philosophy is that a good dog lives inside every dog, and that it is our responsibility, as humans, to bring that out through positive training. I, too, believed that my dog was a good dog -- no, a *great* dog -- and I was ready and eager to help her prove that to the rest of our neighborhood.
Though Jemma was a mess on a leash, in off-leash environments, like friends’ backyards or the dog park, she was extremely dog-social. Jane described Jemma as “leash-reactive” -- a term I have spent the rest of my career researching, explaining, and addressing. Leash-reactivity refers to a set 0f behaviors, especially growling, barking, and lunging at so-called “triggers,” which vary from dog-to-dog -- most commonly other dogs and strangers, but may be cars/bikes/skateboards, odd, seemingly misplaced objects, and sudden noises or movements. Well-meaning humans often make these behaviors worse by also nervously anticipating the appearance of our dogs’ triggers: in order to keep our dogs from lunging at an oncoming trigger, we begin to choke up on the leash. Our dogs read that tension and respond in kind. Many humans also become reactive in addressing their dogs’ behaviors by punishing them.
Leash-reactivity is not an uncommon phenomenon. Although humans are used to walking toward one another and making eye-contact, dogs are not linearly-oriented beings. Polite dog-dog greetings avoid making direct eye-contact, and are circular interactions. When we force our dogs to approach one another head-on, we create an artificial circumstance, which dogs must be taught to understand. If we do not put in the work early on with puppies to teach them that this will be a normal feature of their lives, as they age, our dogs will likely feel unprepared to deal with this oddity, and may become leash-reactive adult dogs.
The method that I have learned and practiced for years involves identifying triggers that worry Jemma, and constructing controlled interactions for her with those triggers. These set-ups are designed to desensitize and counter-condition Jemma’s response to things that used to worry her -- which is to say, I load myself down with cheese, hot dogs, and boiled chicken, and reward her for being able to observe her trigger at a distance without reacting to it. Over time, we decrease the distance. Thanks to years of careful, patient work, Jemma has learned that the sight of an oncoming dog on-leash means that she’s about to get a really tasty treat out of my pocket, not that she needs to prepare to defend herself. But more than that: Jemma has learned that she can make a choice about her own physical interactions with the world around her. Leashes are restrictive: teaching Jemma that she does not necessarily have to approach a trigger, rather, she may patiently observe from afar, reduces the negative association she has with being on-leash.
Since meeting Jemma, I’ve met countless leash-reactive and fear-aggressive dogs, all with their own unique set of triggers and readiness to overcome their fears. I’ve used the same method to work with each of these dogs, and all have been successful.
As a dog-mom, and as a trainer, I’ve encountered so many well-intentioned pet parents and trainers who believe that their dog’s behavior is the result of poor leadership. They have been told that, if they simply hold their ground and remain calm in the face of their dog’s reactive behavior, their dog will also calm down, and that this will, in time, resolve the behavior. I’ve met many dogs that have been trained using this method, and none have been well-adjusted adult dogs. While they may cease to display leash-reactive and fear-aggressive behaviors on-leash, this kind of training serves only to address the symptoms, not the root causes, of this behavior. While we eliminate the display, we do not resolve the underlying feelings. These dogs learn that reactive behavior does not provoke a response in their owner, and their attempts at communication are futile -- they learn to stop communicating with their humans at all. Dogs who are trained using positive methods learn to check in with us when they feel worried, and this habit of checking in is rewarded. Over time, the first method produces a dog whose fears silently fester below the surface, waiting to erupt; the second produces a dog who is confident that her human will act with her best interests at heart.
I believe that dogs are capable of and entitled to consent over their physical bodies; I believe that their fears, no matter how seemingly trivial, are valid and worthy of a response. I believe in building stronger dog-human teams -- no force, no intimidation, no domination.
Doesn’t this sound like the kind of relationship you want to have with your dog?
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Kim Wegel is a rewards-based behavioral trainer working with dogs and their humans at the Nature’s Emporium Doggie Daycare in Roanoke, VA. With almost a decade of experience working with dogs as an apprentice trainer, with shelter and rescue dogs, and as the former owner of a dog-walking and -sitting business, she is an expert in addressing leash-reactive, barrier-aggressive, and fear-aggressive behaviors. She also enjoys working with dogs who have been under-socialized around other dogs and humans. Kim also enjoys rehabilitating dogs displaying generalized anxiety and separation anxiety, as well as dog-human aggression and resource-guarding.
Kim is the proud mom to her two rescue dogs, Jemma, a 7-year-old cattle dog mix, and Linus, a 12-year-old boxer, who often make appearances in her work with private clients and group classes as her demo- and stooge-dogs.