Learning How to Talk Dog

Daisy's not much of a nurse. She got very annoyed when her human companion was too sick with a summer cold to get up and take her for a walk. She leaned her big nose into my face, cried a few times, snorted and then fell at the side of the bed in disgust. Kerplunk! An hour later I was out in the field, being pulled along in a daze by a happy, if somewhat anxious, Saint Bernard.

Before I accuse Daisy of lacking empathy, though, I must admit that she's right there when she suspects someone is feeling down or upset. She might run over and lean up against the unhappy party, presenting her back at about hand level for a rub. Or she might collapse at the distressed person's feet, nudging her head up against an ankle. When things really get bad, she'll press her head into the sorrowful lap, prodding a hand into action. A hug from a Saint Bernard can be very comforting.

Once I tried to test Daisy's intelligence, inspired by the instructions in a book by Stanley Coren called The Intelligence of Dogs. You're supposed to toss a towel or blanket over the poor animal's head and see how long it takes to climb out from underneath. The idea is that if you understand your dog's intelligence, you can communicate with it better. I didn't want to traumatize Daisy, so I tossed a towel just lightly over her head. She was unimpressed. She didn't move an inch. Now I know Daisy is not stupid. I regretted the test -- maybe it was culturally biased. Put Daisy in a backyard she does not prefer, and she's a veritable Houdini. So I have wondered if there is a problem with the test's underlying assumptions.

It seemed there might be better ways to get a glimpse of the animal mind. And indeed, Sheryl Carver brought by a book that offered a much more interesting -- and practical -- perspective. It's called "Talking Terms with Dogs: Calming Signals," by Turid Rugaas. Now this was more to the point! We read the whole thing in an hour. Soon Tom and I were yawning every time we spotted a dog passing in the distance. We turned to the side politely when Bailey, the black lab next door, stood at the edge of his deck and peered over. We tried licking our noses but discovered this was not in the human toolbox.

Daisy didn't yawn. But one of the next times Bailey plopped down on the deck next door, we did notice a change. She didn't stand and stare or pace back and forth crying inconsolably. Instead she looked out in the field. She sniffed with apparent interest at the lower railing, sneaking a look at him. Of course, that was a good day. Daisy will still stand and stare, cry and whine. But once in a while, she'll politely nose around the deck, maybe stealing a glance when the timing is right.

Eighty-four cats in one house

Recently I read in the newspaper about a lady who had 88 pets in her house. That is, 83 cats, three dogs and two iguana. First, one has to wonder how the animal control people were sure. About the cats anyway. They had to be jumping on tables, slinking out doors, hiding behind the toilet. At least one probably went unnoticed and maybe as many as 10 were counted twice. But those dogs. And the two iguanas!

The cats, dogs and iguanas had the run of two bedrooms and generally were healthy and well-fed, according to the news report. The owner worked for animal rescue outfits and would simply take her charges home. People who hoard pets like this apparently think they're the only ones capable of caring for the animals. While this poor woman clearly was going overboard, I can understand the mindset. I've heard the awful stories from rescue operations-- why wouldn't you want to bring the poor creatures home?

But I can't imagine 34 Saint Bernards running around our place. Not even 34 cats, three Saint Bernards and two iguanas. And how did they all get along?

People like to say that dogs hate cats, but I'm not so sure. Maybe that's just one of those stereotypes, a pop psychology fact that people like to tell one another but really have no clue. Daisy does seem to take a friendly interest in Merlin, the slim white cat with blue eyes that lives across the street. Merlin is an amazing creature that will appear out of nowhere in the driveway, then just as suddenly disappear. He crosses the street with abandon, never looks both ways, and yet has lived at least 18 years.

I've known at least one Saint Bernard and Siamese who were quite fond of one another. That Saint was also close friends with a chicken, but that's a story for next time.

A proper leash

Sheryl Carver is an engineer. Until she discovered her talents with animals, she worked for IBM. So naturally, before anything else she set us up with the proper equipment.

We had been using a Gentle Leader head collar, which is supposed to help you control your dog by gently turning her head and as a consequence, turning her attention and mind in a new direction. But Daisy was not to be swayed so easily. She might turn her head, but she would keep plowing ahead in whatever direction she was going, and you along with her. Worse yet, she would walk very nicely just until you let your guard down.
Then suddenly she would catch the scent of something fascinating. And you would find yourself flying in that direction, too -- that is, if you wanted to keep your arm attached to your body. That girl is strong! She could easily pull a VW Bug, if not a Mini Cooper.


We told Sheryl that we really did not want to be dragged around the hills behind our house anymore. She had a brilliant solution. First, we dug out an old harness occasionally worn by Daisy's predecessor, Perry, who weighed about 170 pounds and wasn't even chubby. This was the type that fits around the chest so you can attach a leash on the back. The harness hadn't helped us manage Perry, so we were doubtful. But Sheryl wasn't finished. We also pulled on a Halti head collar, which hangs more loosely around the nose than the Gentle Leader. We were not much impressed by that either. Perry had never kept one on more than a minute.

But wait, between the two went a leash! Suddenly we had control over a much stronger structure than a line between two points: We were holding a triangle.
So if Daisy started yanking, we could leap out to the side and just hang on. The pressure from two points was simply too much for even Daisy's gargantuan powers and she would stop. One we learned out to manage all that leash, we were set.

Doubting neighbors

We find some people skeptical of Daisy's condition. They think we're the ones with a neurosis. One neighbor always shakes her head disapprovingly when when she walks by with her beagle. "It's the owners," she shouts to us as we cower behind the nearest truck. Another surprises us around a corner. "Just let her go, they'll work it out," he calls out as his yellow poodle comes running up and Daisy screeches in fright.

So we weren't surprised that some people seem to doubt whether one could really serve cocktails on Daisy's hindquarters. Here are some photos -- completely undoctored -- to prove our point.

View from the rear

Martini, anyone?

A way to lick anxiety?

Despite Martina Contreras' amazing talents, I don't think Daisy would have been able to watch those neighbors go by without the help of Sheryl Carver. With Martina, we had been able to bring Daisy closer and closer to the dog class with a little less anxiety over time. As we edged slowly toward the group, we brushed her, we fed her salmon, we hugged her and did everything we could imagine that might help her relax. The salmon bits simply fell out of her mouth. Daisy was too focused on watching those animals' every move to actually eat. The brushing, however, worked well -- she had a lovely coat for a long while. And we did manage to get into the same zip code. We even came within about eight feet of one special class that somehow clicked well with Daisy. She seemed especially fond of one young Rottweiler named Zeus.

But our arms were getting tired. I had been reading about neurogenetics for a public radio documentary series I'm working on. We're doing a show on the genetic processes underlying mind, memory and conditions such as ADHD. Some of the material I had collected involved highly stressed rats and misfiring brain chemistry. The poor little creatures reminded me of Daisy.

One researcher I read about, UC Berkeley biopsychologist Darlene Francis, studies how rodents are reared. When put with a demonstrative mother, young rats turn out fine. But stressful environments both before and after birth can produce grumpy, antisocial rodents that have unusually low numbers of neurons. Their brains are swimming in the stress hormone cortisol. If their mothers didn’t lick them regularly, Francis found, little rats performed poorly on cognitive tests and acted stressed out. These babies' environments altered gene expression for a lifetime.

Francis' aim in this work is not to develop a happier rat society, but to get some insight that might be helpful for humans. Other researchers have studied emotional deprivation in toddlers and found that abuse and neglect can lead to lasting problems as adults: impaired cortisol release, poor coping skills, and depression or antisocial behavior. Daisy, I extrapolated wildly, might be suffering from a biochemical feedback loop that had gone awry in puppyhood. Maybe her brain kept misfiring, leaving her reactive and scared most of the time.

The rat studies did offer hope, though. Unhappy brain biochemistry can change in response to stimulation and social enrichment. Researchers put the lick-deprived rats into a stimulating environment with toys and interconnected cages. Both hormone release and behavior changed.

Okay, stimulation and social enrichment. Maybe bodywork, too, I casually mentioned to a neighbor who does craniosacral therapy, which aims to mend the central nervous system by subtle manipulations of the cranial and sacral bones. His face lit up. "I know just the right person," he said. Sheryl Carver, he told me, had worked with many a neurotic dog and specialized in body work along with good training principles. She even did crazy things like wrap the animal in an Ace bandage, he went on. Daisy in an Ace bandage. Tom and I called Cheryl that afternoon.

Poodle encounter

Maybe Daisy didn't get enough sleep last night. We were walking home from the beach this morning at about 8:30 a.m. when we looked up and our neighbor was nearly upon us, gliding up the hill on her bike. Well-geared under a helmet and sky-blue riding pants, she also had two leashes in hand. One was attached to a small white poodle, the other to a beige pseudo-Labradoodle. Oh no! The occupants behind the fence! They are the source of much barking, snuffling, sniffing, and on our side, crying and fence-pounding. Mary (the rider) kept going, head down and determined. Mary was on the other side of the fence that time Daisy crashed through.

Daisy saw the trio coming and... just watched them go by. No leaping, yanking, screeching or heavy breathing. Tom and I stood there, in shock. She stood with us. Then we all turned and walked up the hill toward home.

Anxious dogs

The AKC Gazette is out and Mara Bovsun did a great job explaining the phobic dog. Poor Daisy is part of a doggie mental health trend: about one in three dogs have anxiety disorders, according to one veterinarian. That compares to only one in five humans dogged by intense, unrealistic fears. Mara writes about a project at UCSF to collect DNA from nutty dogs in order to understand any genetic underpinnings. Wonder how they handle the informed consent?

This issue also includes an interesting story about dog handlers with disabilities. It's especially good because there's no "gee whiz" about it. It tells handlers' stories in a way that might help someone with a disability leap into the field and offers insights that might enable anyone -- disability or not -- perform better when showing a dog. Competitors who are blind, deaf, use a wheelchair or handle without arms offer lessons on dealing with self-consciousness, building a bond of trust with your performance dog, staying focused and keeping a sense of humor. There's even a great disability joke in the piece.


In the back of the magazine, columnists write about their favorite breed. I'd skip the one about Saints, though. It's quite insulting. "Gone, it seems,are the magnificent, strong-moving animals of my childhood, only to be replaced with poor specimens of the breed," writes K.B.K. I sure hope that Daisy isn't "down in the pasterns," or worse yet, with an "easty-westy rear that could barely carry (her) around the ring." Actually, Daisy is quite broad of beam in the back. In a pinch, you could throw a tablecloth on there and have plenty of room for both cocktails and appetizer plates. Of course, you'd have to get her to stand still.

"Growly" dog class

So how did Daisy make such progress? Sure, we've been working on this two years and she still can't be friends with another dog. But at least we can feel pretty confident she won't bolt out the door at any opportunity. We can walk down the street or in the hills without hiding behind a car or a bush if we hear the sound of little padded feet. Well, some of the time.

We said good-bye to the first trainer after she told us that Daisy would always be at risk for dangerous behavior and that we'd have to get a chain-link fence. She seemed to think Daisy would always be a "bad" dog. Worst of all, we later discovered a yellow sticky in Daisy's vet file that noted her owners were "uncooperative". We were outraged. This lady was biased against all of us!

Then we got lucky and found Martina Contreras, who is fabulous with "growly" dogs. Martina did an evaluation on the lawn in front of her house, watching how her dogs and Daisy (on leash) reacted to one another. Daisy was all over the place, screeching and pulling. Martina's three dogs knew better than to get very near. They ignored her and sniffed other things. Martina told us that Daisy was definitely trainable and redeemable, but was completely unsocialized and might even have been seriously abused.

Martina invited us to observe her Saturday morning dog training courses in a high-tech company parking lot so that Daisy could get desensitized to other dogs. We started right away. We had been told to keep Daisy under her reactive threshold, so we moved further and further distant from the class. We were nearly a football field away and she was still freaking out. Daisy would need to at least be "in the same zip code" in order to become desensitized, Martina yelled over to us. But that took several months, probably. We went every week for more than a year, and still go often.

Miss Behavior

Oh my word, we've got to catch up on our blogging. Daisy's about to become famous. Or maybe infamous, I don't know. Word has it that her exploits will be featured in the July American Kennel Club Gazette.

The good news: Daisy has made some great improvements. The bad news: She is still scared to pieces by Chihuahuas and Golden Retrievers. And she still requires approximately 8 eggs and six cups of rice a day. We now supplement these offerings with some chopped-up greens and kidney beans. A little salmon or sardine juice adds just the right extra flavoring. Packaged dog food just doesn't sit well with her.

What's the latest? Nothing too terrible to report. No more sneaking out of the parked Volvo station wagon and running up a side road toward the fish market. Not as much high-decibel shrieking at the hint of four-footed movement several blocks away. No additional holes in the fence, although I did notice some scratches.

Daisy even attended our dear friends' wedding in Yosemite National Park. She missed the ceremony itself, but came down from her room to attend part of the reception. The Tenaya Hotel just outside the park actually offers a dog sitting service. We were thrilled! Daisy was disappointed with the dog houses they provided, though.



We did have an awkward moment during the wedding rehearsal when the groom rushed over and grabbed my arm with a look of concern. Someone else had been watching Daisy, who apparently had taken great interest in a Yorkshire Terrier. Paul pulled me over to the site of the incident and to meet his sister with the little pup. She didn't seem too concerned and I'm still not sure if a snap or a lunge was involved. But it really would not have been a good start to the wedding if Daisy had eaten the groom's sister's dog.



Here's Camus, the bride and groom's dog. He wanted to attend the reception, not sit in this stifling little tent. In the end, he won the tug-of-war.