Possibly intractable

Katie was still a puppy, only 3 months old.

She was enchanting but trying. She was deeply affectionate towards my husband. When he sat down she put her paws on his knees and carefully licked every inch of his face. She was bright and cheery, and constantly in motion. High-strung and hyper-active, she skittered through the house, carrying things around. She bit bushes in the woods, she bit at imaginary fleas and she sort of bit at me. She grabbed my bathrobe. She tore my parka. She never closed her teeth on my skin, but it was still unpleasant. She saw me as an adversary. When I said “No,” she stood up on her hind legs and jumped in the air, snapping and growling. She was mostly housebroken, but once, when she was being adorable, I put her up on our bed and she squatted and peed on the bedspread.

She was my fourth black female Standard Poodle. I had never hired a trainer before — most Standards are smart and willing — but this time I was stumped. I found a trainer — whom I’ll call Ingrid — and told her about Katie. How bossy and bold she was, how she growled and mock-bit me. Ingrid was concerned. I told her that when we first met Katie she had lunged at us, barking and snapping.

“I guess that was a bit of a red flag,” I said.

“It was big red honking alarm bell,” Ingrid said.

I sent her a video of Katie lunging at me. We talked on the phone.

“She’s trying to dominate you,” Ingrid said. “That’s why she stands on her hind legs. Never let her up on the bed. She must not be allowed to be on your level. You must let her know you are in charge. You must keep her in a crate or on a leash at all times, and “bonk” her whenever she misbehaves.” Bonking meant hitting her on the head with a heavy rolled-up towel. I had always believed you should never hit a dog on the head, ever. Ingrid said even this might not work. “She may be intractable.”

I had never heard this word used about a dog of mine.

“You may have to send her back to the breeder,” Ingrid said. “Being so stern will be difficult, but it may save her life.”

Save her life! Was Katie going to be put to death? I was devastated. I didn’t want to give her up, on the other hand, this was like living with a piranha.

When Ingrid came over we went onto the lawn and I clipped on Katie’s leash. At once Katie took hold of it with her mouth.

Ingrid grabbed the leash and yanked it so hard Katie yelped in pain — I thought she might have lost a tooth.

“Never let her do that,” Ingrid said severely. “She wants to take control.”

It was true. Katie did want to take control.

It was a mournful session. Ingrid told me how stern I must be, how I must never allow Katie to jump up on anyone, never jump onto the bed, never to let her take control in any way.

When she stood on her hind legs, when she licked my husband’s face, she was trying to dominate.

We tried to coax Katie with treats to “come,” and “sit.”

Katie ignored the treats, though she would sit for me. I had trained her. So maybe she wasn’t intractable? Capering around us Katie was tense and challenging. She kept her eyes on us. She bowed and pranced, but Ingrid was not charmed.

“A dog like this…” she shook her head. “You must always be ready to punish her. You must bonk her while she’s ‘loading,’ getting ready to be naughty. Punish her as she’s thinking of it.”

I nodded, disheartened. How would I know when she was “loading?” And how could I punish her before she’d done anything?

“I do have one suggestion, though,” Ingrid said at the end of our awful session.

“What?” I hoped it didn’t involve euthanasia.

“Would you be interested in seeing an animal communicator?”

For the first time Ingrid was tentative.

I said yes instantly. For one thing I had always been intrigued by the idea, and for another it might help.

“Okay,” said Ingrid. “I use one often for my dog. She also does reiki. My dog sort of blisses out.”

“I’m in,” I said, though I didn’t know what reiki was. I had been crushed by Ingrid’s response to my possibly intractable dog, and was buoyed by this ray of hope. Was my dog really a criminal? Was she a peril to the community? Would I have to consider ending her life? A three-month old puppy?

We hold their lives in our hands. We decide whether or not to keep our dogs safe, sheltered from weather, from traffic, from dangerous dogs and angry humans. To protect them from hunger and cold and disease. These things are in our hands. They put their trust in us, they have no choice. Their lives may be filled with joy or misery, because of us.

COPYRIGHT ROXANA ROBINSON

Roxana Robinson is the author of ten books, including six novels, and the biography of Georgia O’Keeffe. She lives in Cornwall.