Katie, my own shy dog, has been with us for almost six years. She has come a long way since we first fostered her, but her relationship with my husband, Mark, has always been a work in progress. While she no longer scurries away to hide at the sound of his footsteps, she will often bark when he makes a sudden appearance in a room, walks up the back steps or comes in from the outside. Nor will she voluntarily go up to him if he is standing, but will only solicit attention if he is “safely” seated at the dining room table with a plate full of food, or if he’s completely recumbent on the couch (ideally asleep).
So when Mark announced that Katie punched him in the face the other day, my blood ran cold as I silently started reviewing all the things that could have gone wrong. I mistakenly jumped to the conclusion that Katie muzzle punched him, a deliberate poke with a closed muzzle. If it is preceded by a hard stare, it is a warning, and could escalate into a more aggressive response. (Note that not all muzzle punches, or pokes, are aggressive; some are attention seeking or playful. It always depends on the situation).
My mind had already spiraled into all the extra management and counterconditioning I would have to implement, when Mark offered the context and back story, which completely changed my hastily and incorrectly drawn conclusion.
It all started in the bathroom.
I was out chauffeuring our daughter to early morning swim practice, and Mark let Katie out of her crate and headed into the bathroom. We live in an old house, and our bathroom door requires a very specific way of closing it, or it doesn’t latch. In turn, our two dogs have learned that if they push against the door, it flings open, whereupon they invite themselves in to assist us in whatever we are doing.
As the bathroom door swung wide that morning, Katie tap danced in with a smile on her face. That was the first clue that something was different. While she regularly shares the bathroom with me, she has never voluntarily entered when Mark is in residence. That day, though, she was apparently not selective about where Mark was sitting, just that he was sitting. She swung around for a pat on the behind, and when that was’t enough, she backed into Mark and wiggled all over as he did the only thing he could do: scritched around her hips, her Holy Grail of trust that she offers only to a select few humans. She raced out of the bathroom, then back in, and Mark made the mistake of asking her if she needed to go out. Since his defenses (and his pants) were down, he was completely unprepared for Katie jumping up on him and accidentally punching him in the face. With her PAW!
The most interesting part of the whole drama was that once outside, Katie didn’t actually need to go out. It seems that she really just wanted Mark to interact with her, and she capitalized on an unscripted moment to get the attention she wanted.
While many people would get annoyed with these antics, Mark saw it for what it was: Katie deliberately choosing to communicate her needs to him, something she had never done before in that context. Katie initiated the interaction while exhibiting the body language of a playful dog with her relaxed mouth, soft, shining eyes and swishing tail. And despite the awkwardness of the situation, Mark could celebrate a step forward in their relationship.
It only took five years, seven months and twenty-eight days, but who’s counting.
A special thank you to my husband, Mark, for graciously allowing me to share this story, and for never, never giving up on our fearful dogs.
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