Unconditional Positive Regard: It's Not Just for the Dogs

"The curious paradox is that when I accept myself just as I am, then I can change."
-- Carl Rogers

Recently Debbie Jacobs, founder of Fearful Dogs and a follower on Twitter, shared the following interchange with the human:

fearfuldogs debbie jacobs 

i don't expect my dogs 2 love me unconditionally. they know as well as any1 when I'm being a jerk

22 hours ago Favorite Retweet Reply

jaypsyd Jason Mihalko 

Now now there is room in unconditional love for jerks mt@fearfuldogs don't expect dogs 2 love me unconditionally. they know when I'm a jerk

10 hours ago Favorite Reply Delete

fearfuldogs debbie jacobs 

@ 

@jaypsyd whew. good 2 know there's hope 4 me & other jerks

7 Jan Favorite Retweet Reply

This got me thinking about unconditional positive regard. This is part three of an occasional series of blog posts about my therapy dog view of different psychological theories. For parts one and two, check out An Ecological Approach to Life: Urie Bronfenbrenner and Erik Erickson: A Therapy Dog's View.

Let's  meet Dr. Rogers. The human never actually got to meet him. He did, however, spend some time studying with one of Carl Roger's doctoral students, Marshall Rosenberg. If you are interested, by the way, there is a long documentary of Carl Rogers doing group therapy. Click here to watch the documentary called "Journey Into Self."

Family Portrait

The kind woman who fostered me, my siblings, and my mother recently shared this photo on the Facebook page of Peace and Paws. Can you guess which one I am?

My siblings and I

Maggie takes a Holiday Stroll

at Fort Hill Park in Lowell, Massachusetts

Yesterday was a super busy day for me. I spent about a half an hour outside of of Hannaford Grocery Store greeting customers and passing out a little therapy dog love. I went to a place near the grocery store called Fort Hill Park (click here to learn all about that adventure). Then early in the evening it was time to head out to Nashua New Hampshire for their annual Holiday Stroll. One of my humans had volunteered to help set up a local church for some of the festivities.

Large public crowds like this aren't for dogs who aren't accustomed to being around a lot of people. It really was a bit too much for me. Thousands of people milling about created all sorts of distractions. My favorite was the "street food". I found it delicious, my human however found himself exasperated prying chicken bones out of my hungry little mouth.

Eventually my human scooped me up as we strolled down Main Street. This was much better for me: my short legs and strangely long body is a very inconvenient body type.When I was up at eye level I was able to scan the crowd for those who were most in need of my therapy dog attention.

The best was a few moments I shared with a young gentleman in the crowd. He was in his early 20s and at the holiday stroll with his father. It appeared that he had some sort of developmental disability. He saw  me and told me what a gorgeous dog I am. His father prompted him to ask my human if he could pet me. Before the human answered I stretched out from my humans arms and pressed my nose against the young man's face. He pet me for a bit, he spoke with the humans for a bit, and we were on our way.


Isn't it easy to wish someone a happy holiday?

Dogs and Disabilities

I've been so busy barking at the dog across the street I've forgotten to tell you about an experience I had the other day. There is a small park across the street from my office. On short breaks the human will run me across the street so I can sniff, meet the public, and do some other business in the bushes.

The other week I met a dog that was busy hiding between her human's legs. I barely noticed her poking her nose out from under the human's skirt! The human was a little wary. This small auburn colored curly haired dog looked a little scared and had it's back arched up. I wasn't hesitant at all so despite my human's complaints, I went right up to the dog.

I circled around a few times like any well mannered dog does. We sniffed as we got closer. The dog came out of hiding and we ended up spending a few minutes nose to nose sniffing.

It was at that point, as our noses were touching, that my human started talking to the other dog's human. It turns out my new friend was 16 years old, deaf, and blind.

The human thought it was pretty amazing that my new friend and I knew exactly how to approach either other. He found it particularly interesting that I somehow knew to reign in my usual exuberant greeting for this senior dog. I was slower and more gentle than usual, but I really didn't appear to care that there was something different about this dog.

If only the humans could figure this out so easily. Encounter difference perhaps a little slower, a little gentler, but approach nonetheless, and do so with an open mind, wagging tail, and gentle smile.

Love Gives Life to Our Compassion

Years ago the human had the opportunity to spend some time with Gelek Rimpoche. He's a funny, peaceful, and powerful man. Did I mention funny? On top of all of that, how often does one get to hang out with the nephew of the Dali Lama?

This is a long clip. It's a clip that one needs to listen to carefully to understand because Rimpoche has a bit of an accent. It's worth the time however. He serves up a nice lesson about compassion -- both simple and complex.

Are you willing to build compassion bit by bit? A compassion for all living beings? "That greater compassion.. [of] ultimate, unlimited, unconditional, compassion?"

Dying Man's Final Wish to be Reunited With Dog

Our friend Ahnung recently shared this link about a homeless man's dying wish. Just one small example of the powerful bond between dogs and humans.

On Dog Fighting: Crime, Punishment, and Transformation

A friend on Twitter passed along an article from the Philadelphia Inquirer about dog fighting. The article itself wasn't particularly interesting or groundbreaking. Dog fights are arranged every day around the country and scores of people are watching at any given point in the day. Authorities investigate tips and make arrests. Courts pass judgement and convict people on animal cruelty charges.

The article goes on to say:

Marano said the SPCA investigates about 100 complaints of animal fighting per month. She said most of the cases involve dog fighting and cock fighting.

"Our mission, besides recovering these animals and putting a stop to this, is letting people know that it's a crime not just to fight dogs, but to attend a dogfight," Marano said.

Yes. It's a crime. Yes, in our society we use the criminal justice system to punish offenders (ostensibly to reform them) and to deter other from committing similar crimes. Does this really work? Does our system of punishing offenders effect change on either the person who committed the crime or others who are considering committing similar crimes?

No, not really. It is well beyond the scope of a short blog post to evaluate the research on the effectiveness of the criminal justice system. It would probably be more accurate if we all agreed to the purpose that prisons have in our lives. They make us feel safer. That satisfy our need for retribution.

A simple look at the statistics is stunning. According to the U.S. bureau of Justice Statistics, there are 7,225,800 people (2009 data) that were on probation, in jail or prison, or on parole. That number accounts for 3.1% of the adults in the United States. Viewed in another way, the 2,297,400 people who were incarcerated in U.S. prisons and jails makes our incarceration rate of 748 inmates per 100,000 U.S, residents. This means that 0.75% of our population is incarcerated--the highest total documented prison and jail population in the world.

We suffer a disconnect in our public discourse. On one hand, we label violence as abhorrent. We've delineated certain forms of violence as crimes that deserve punishment. In other ways, we glorify violence. We gather around the proverbial forum and enjoy the public spectacle created by some forms of culturally approved violence. We can't have it both ways.

How do we really make our world a world in which there isn't dog fighting? We transform ourselves--we strive to create a world in which we don't simultaneously abhor and yet glorify violence. We treat each other with dignity and respect. We learn to cooperate--even with those we don't agree with. Most importantly, we treat those who are most despised (those who have committed crimes) with humanity. That does not mean we condone their offences, or allow them to continue to offend. It does not mean that we "forgive and forget" or "turn the other cheek." We find ways to hold them accountable, demand restorative justice, and keep people out of society who are a risk to society.

Only then can we hope to create a world in which dog fighting doesn't exist.

Ask Maggie: How can I help?

I was thrilled to wake up this morning to receive my first question in the mail. I hope this is something that becomes a regular feature on this blog. Keep your questions and experiencing coming. Click on the image to your left to send me an e-mail or visit the Ask Maggie page for more information.

The question that was posed to me is a serious one. It is one that is an issue that is close to my own heart: my mother had to endure with this situation. It's an issue that many of you in the northern hemisphere of the world will face more of in the coming months as summer approaches.

How can I help dogs tied to cement?

This wasn't an uncommon sight when my human was young. He grew up in the suburbs where people had big green back yards. During the summer months many of those back yards would have a dog resting in the shade attached to a tree or post by a long length of chain. His own dogs would often spend a bit of time enjoying the great outdoors safely tethered to a chain.

The key here is that the human's dogs enjoyed this for short periods of time. Dogs weren't left languishing on a chain for hours (or days) at a time. They had access to water and shade. They had access to human companionship. They had access to stimulating and exciting experiences and environments.

Other dogs aren't so lucky. They are tied outside and left alone for hours, days, and even weeks, months, and years. My mother showed signs of this sort of neglect--when she was examined after being rescued many of her teeth were ground down suggesting she spend many hours chewing or gnawing on a chain or fence. This summer the human saw a news report of a dog who was left tied up in the back yard of a house that was foreclosed. The owners moved out without bring their dog and left him hidden in the brush for weeks without a source of food and water.

If you have a dog, and chain them up for long period of time, the Humane Society of the United States offers some tips on how you can improve your dogs experience.

There are several organizations that have put together information on how someone can help a dog who is chained up. Some of the organizations have a network of volunteers who are trained to approach people who you think might be neglecting their dogs. Your local animal officer, animal shelter, or animal creulty association may also have resources.

Here are a few resources to get you started:  Paw Rescue guide to helping chained animals; Dogs Deserve Better; and the Human Society of the United States guide A Dog's Life: Chaining and Your Community.

Ask Maggie: How Can I Help the Homeless?

"[I have a question for you Maggie.] It is about your picture today of the homeless man under the trees. it's a little easier to approach someone in need when you have a dog.....but I was wondering what you do or what you recommend in different circumstances (more direct contact).

Where I live, we don't really see homeless camping in parks like in your photo or as I've seen in California. Obviously we have homeless but they're not in obvious places. however, we're right along a major interstate and in some areas people stand at on/off ramps near Wal-Mart or other busy areas holding signs asking for help.

They usually are in a spot where I wouldn't be able to stop if I wanted to - but one time there was a young couple with a dog standing on a cement island at an intersection. it was a 100+ degree day and they  had a dog with them, so I got a few big bottles of water, a plastic bowl for the dog to drink from, some treats and cash - told them to take care of each other and gave it to them. They seemed sincere and thankful and I was glad I did it - but when it comes to single men standing by the road....admittedly I wonder if they really need help, or if it's a "scam" (since it's near the highway).

What are your thoughts on the issue in general? Some say "if they want money they should just go get a job!" but you and i both know it's not that simple."


That's a great question, and I'm glad you asked. My experience is different than many. First, years ago my human worked with people who were homeless and mentally ill. his clients regularly lived under bridges, in elevator shafts, and in boxes tucked away in hidden corners. He has a certain degree of comfort in these situations. Second, our experience in Harvard Square is also unique: the homeless people that we encounter are always in busy areas. There are lots of people around and it feels safe. The human has worked in the square since 2004 and gotten to know the regular residents of the area, the transient residents, and a few he just avoids because it doesn't feel safe. He and I might feel different in a different set of circumstances.

So first off, I am so proud that you even thing about these things. That speaks volumes about you as a person.

Second, pay attention to your safety. Know the area you are in. Do not approach people in hidden areas, do not poke people who are sleeping or appear to be unconscious (do call 911 if you are worried for their safety!), do not approach people who for whatever reason cause you to feel unsafe.

Third--then what? What do you do? Do you really need to know if the people area actually homeless? Does it matter if they are scamming you? Do you give money? A cup of coffee? Something else?

None of that matters for me. The folks who line the streets and are tucked away in hidden corners are invisible. Take a minute of your time to watch the folks who walk past them. Some pretend to talk on the phone. Some avoid eye contact. Some show great cruelty and laugh or even spit.

These people along the side of the street are just that--people. They are people who are for a variety of reasons hurt, lost, and forgotten. Many in our society like it just like that: we can walk past them, blame them, or tuck them away in places where they cannot be seen.

We've never given money, and rarely offer water or other creature comforts. We offer something else. The human and I choose to see the people who line the side of the road. We choose to take a moment, stop and make eye contact, and extend a little bit of humanity.

It's hard to do this. It is hard to recognize fellow travelers in life. It's hard to make eye contact with a person on the side of the road and let them know you can see their plight. It's hard to say I'm sorry I can't help.

It is worth it, though. It is so worth it to learn how to really see clearly, unadorned, and without modification. In bearing witness to the experience of those around you, the possibilities of what might be expand exponentially. 

Man's Best Friend in Any Language

I came across the following clip of two dogs who survived the earthquake and tsunami in Japan. Some view the clip and see a dog who won't leave another injured dog. That is likely only half the story. It's likely that both dogs are are also staying close to their homes in an attempt to find and protect their missing humans.

Confusing, scary, and devastating for all involved.

It serves as a good reminder that each and every family needs a disaster plan--and that disaster plan needs to take into account any animals that you are responsible for. The Federal Emergency Management agency as a webpage detailing some steps you can consider taking to make a plan for your animals.

The two dogs in this video, by the way, were rescued.

Memorial

Yesterday afternoon I had a bit of free time between my therapy dog duties. The human and I bundled up and headed out into Harvard Square for a walk. As is frequently the case during the work week, the human let me lead. I spend long hours doing things that he asks of me in the office. In return for my hard work, I get to pick the direction, pace, and flavor of our walks.

Yesterday I brought the human into Harvard Yard. Despite the cold temperature, it was perfect squirrel hunting weather. The snow had mostly melted exposing a treasure trove of acorns. The muddy squares of grass on campus were too enticing to the squirrels: despite the cold they were out scurrying around having an afternoon meal.

I coaxed the human into a run and we were charging back and forth across the lawns. We were hot in pursuit of a squirrel--I followed him right up onto the steps of Memorial Chapel. This of course created a scene. Dog running, human following, and squirrel scrambling. A little mop of a terrier walked by and got super excited. I forgot about my quarry and visited with the dog.

Noticing we were surrounded by police, the human remembered that there was a vigil going on inside of the chapel. He asked me to have some decorum. After a bit of barking, I settled down and complied with his request.

A woman walked by and then turned around and walked right up to me. I wagged my tail with all my might as she asked the human if she could pet me. He said yes--and with that I was up off my hind end and onto my toes as I stretched toward the woman who so obviously wanted to say hello. We exchanged a lot of kisses, wiggles, and pets. It was great.

"What kind of dog are you?" the woman said.

"She is an Australian Blue Heeler/Basset Hound mix," said my human.

"Is she a rescue dog?"

"Yes," said my human. "She was dropped off at a shelter when she and her siblings were just a day old by a man who wasn't willing or able to care for them. Her mother had heart worm and they were all likely to be put down. An organization called Peace and Paws heard about their plight and saved the whole family. They moved to New Hampshire, were nursed back to health, and adopted."

"She must have been well cared for--even when she was one day old. So many rescue dogs can be scared. This one isn't scared at all."

My human smiled. I was well cared for by the rescue organization. I also was (and still am!) a very timid dog. The human smiled because he knew how hard we've worked together so that most of my interactions go like this.

My human thanked the woman for stopping to pet me.

"No, thank you" she said. "This made my day."

The police on the steps of the chapel were smiling too, talking about the wiggling squirrel-chasing dog who was licking everyone who wanted a canine kiss.

It was a fitting day to do this. Back when I was just a few months old I stumbled through Harvard Yard on a warm autumn afternoon. A man with a dark wooden cane came walking by. It was perfect because I was just starting to be exposed and socialized to all sorts of different situations that caused me distress. I was scared of the cane and more than a little scared of the man.

My human picked me up and offered me some reassuring words. The man with the dark wooden cane kept coming a little closer. I tried to burrow into my human so I could hide.

The man, as many have since done, asked about me.

"I'm a psychologist," my human said. "This little one is training to be a therapy dog that joins me in my office." There was a few moments of conversation about my journey from Kentucky to New Hampshire and now Massachusetts.

The man asked first if he might try to pet me. My human nodded and his hand gently extended toward me. I wagged just the tip of my tail as he scratched a bit behind my ear.

"Thanks for stopping by and saying hello," my human said.

"No, thank you," the man with the cane spoke. "I hope you two have a wonderful life together. We need people who care and show compassion."

Yesterday, inside the doors of Memorial Chapel, Rev. Peter Gomes body was inside a casket. The Harvard Community had gathered all day to hold a vigil honoring his life.

What I had not known that summer day was the man who stopped and scratched my ear was the Reverend.

Thank you, Peter.

A Call to Playful and Peaceful Compassion

Dogs With Disabilities

For the better part of the last year I've been noticing this dog in Cambridge. He's filled with energy and always seeming to be very happy to be out walking. I've wanted to play with him. The human wanted to know his story because the dog only has three legs. Last week we finally got to meet each other. I was playing on the snow covered tennis court when through the fence I saw the dog and his human walk up toward us. The woman asked "do you have time to play?" My human said "sure, we have another half hour." After the two humans had a brief conversation about whether their respective dogs were friendly, she came through the fence. We both had an opportunity to greet each other before we were unhooked from our leads. We romped through the snow while the humans talked. I know. Very boring. All the snow to play in and the humans just talked.

It turns out that the dog was rescued when he was about 3 years old. The human's didn't know he had some sort of tumor on his leg. By the time it was noticed, it was too big to be operated on. The only way to solve the problem was the removal of the leg. It took him a few months to figure it all out--but he sure did. He ran through the snow almost as fast as I can!

Being overprotective of me, the human wondered how I would respond to a dog with a disability. Would I be frightened if a dog was different than me? Would I take advantage of a perceived weakness and bully the dog?

None of that happened. I played with my new friend the same as I would play with any friendly dog. We both gave each other play bows (letting each other know that whatever comes next is done with play in mind) and romped and wrestled through the snow.

You see, dogs don't really pay much attention to disability. That's a human concept. My friend really didn't care much about the difference between three legs or four. He learned how to make his way in the world. I didn't really notice or care either. I was more concerned with whether or not he'd be a friendly play partner. Once I learned that, I didn't even notice there was something different about my friend--because from my perspective, there wasn't anything different.

What a great lesson, no? Humans often immediately encounter someone with a disability and notice what is different--and frequently fear that difference. Is the difference really all that important? Does it effect some quality that is important to human interaction? Probably not. When compared the qualities that are really important in relationships the difference really isn't all the important in the larger scheme of things, is it?

Peaceful and Playful Compassion in Action

One of my friends on Facebook posted this on my fan page yesterday:

I need to share this with compassionate friends.....about 20 years ago, I got to know a nice family. I owned a needlework store, and the parents and two children would come in often. They didn't really have any money to spend on crafts, so I would trade them goods for stitching for me. The children wore tattered clothing, and shoes with holes. They were all thin. Before Christmas that year, the little girl mentioned that she wished for new shoes from Santa. I decided to help them out, anonymously, and sent them a gift certificate to the local grocery store, and a nice check, without my name. Next time I saw them, the children had new shoes on, and were so happy to show them to me. I loved the warmth in my heart, and was so happy to have pulled it off! Last night, I as talking to my daughter who now lives far away . She mentioned that she had been working on a Santa Drive to give baskets and toys to families in need. She also mentioned that I should see if there was one in my area, and that I would enjoy working with the cause. Then she said how much she enjoys helping the needy, because of the example that I was to her, as a teenager. My heart wanted to burst with pride!! I'm so glad to have a compassionate heart!! Little did I know, the difference I was making in my own child. :-)

I thought it was a wonderful and heart warming story. It serves as a wonderful example of how compassion can change many lives: those who are extending compassion to another, those who are receiving the compassion, and those who witness the act of compassion.

We hear so many stories that are about something other than compassion--pain, abuse, torture, ignorance, greed, etc. What might the effects of witnessing these things be? Is that what we want to become?

Go on out there and do something compassionate. Change the world--a little at a time. Pay close attention to how you feel when you witness compassion as compared to when you witness some other experience. Come back here or to my Facebook page and tell us all what you discover.

Iron Lady Dog Training

Dog training can be awfully competitive for the humans. It appears that there is the expectation that you all are supposed to get us dogs to sit, come, roll over, wave, and generally respond to your ever whim on command. I guess that's why it's called obedience school.

The human and I had a rather long discussion about this yesterday while walking into the office. He's worried about my upcoming evaluation to become a registered therapy dog for the Delta Society. Part of that evaluation is the neutral dog test: on a lead, I'm expected to walk past a neutral dog without barking, playing, or otherwise tugging on my lead. I'm not so good at this. I like other dogs, you see. As much as I enjoy my companionship with humans, it's nice to hang out and play with my fellow canines.

The human was feeling annoyed with me and worried. On the way into the office we passed by several dogs. I wanted to play with each and every one of them. The human did a lot of comparisons. They weren't tugging on their leads trying to come play with me like I was. He thought those other humans were better. Better dog trainers, better people.

When the human gets like this I like to call it his Iron Lady moment. What follows is a whole lot of sit, stay, come, leave it, etceteras. I don't mind it too much: he generally pets me a lot when he gets like this and I get some major rewards. Food, attention, pets, and good girls. It feels good and does increase the likelihood that I will listen to him.

Where the Iron Lady goes wrong is his expectation that I'm always going to to listen to him. It's just not that simple. While I am a dog and very invested in pleasing him, I also occasionally have some ideas of what I might like to do. I might like to go eat a squirrel, for example. Sometimes the cute little fuzzy dog off into the distance might alert me to something that smells good and I'd like to go check it out. During these occasions I'm less likely to be "obedient" and listen to my human. Sure it's annoying. Sure, sometimes it's even dangerous. In the end, however, it's part of being with a dog. I'm not always going to listen--and it's not a failure of the human. It's simply part of what it is like to be in a relationship with another creature.

The human and I don't often consider the work we do together obedience training. Rather, we consider it relationship building. When he's got his act together and he's not being the Iron Lady he is much more invested in creating experiences that build our relationship together. The more we are connected, the more I'm going to want to pay attention to him and the more I'm going to be invested in filling his requests. Similarly, in a  strong relationship the human is going to know that sometimes the draw of a squirrel or a goose it powerful and I'm going to want to investigate. When we have a strong relationship we have one in which there is a willingness to take turns, to compromise, and to have mutual experiences.

Mind you none of this is to suggest that the human doesn't need to protect me. Sometimes he needs to say no to my desires. There might be things that I don't understand (like hurry up, we have a patient that is going to be waiting). There are things that I might not know are dangerous (like cars, which I am totally oblivious too). A good relationship means that both creatures are kept safe. The human does his part--he gives me limits (like I'm not allowed to chase geese across Memorial Drive where cars are zooming by at 50 miles per hour). I keep him safe by alerting him to unsafe situations that he might not able to smell.

It's a relationship--not a one sided dominance/submission situation.

The sadness of how wrong this can all go was highlighted to us this morning. I was playing with my friend Meadow, a gorgeous Sheppard mix. The humans were talking about a neighborhood dog. Meadow's human had seen a car park on the street and someone disappear into the back seat. It looked like the person in the back seat was punching someone. The woman ran out to investigate and sadly found that there indeed was a young man punching someone: he was punching his dog. Why did this man punch his pit bull? "He runs away from me and chases the cat."

This is the sort of thing that happens when we start to think that the relationship between dog and human is one of dominance and submission. Humans become angry when we dogs don't always listen--when we don't always respond.

It's about the relationship. Wanting to please one another, wanting to keep each other safe, having the awareness that two creatures often have different needs, and having the ability to find ways to negotiate those needs in a safe, sensible way.

What People are Saying

Here is a quote about me!

I’m crazy about Maggie! She was a great part of my therapy. I really think she could intuit when I was feeling good and when I needed a little extra love and attention. I think animals, and dogs in particular, are an important part of making us feel happy because they’re affection is unconditional, and they teach us how to feel responsible for ourselves through caring for them. And it’s pretty hard not to smile when Maggie’s romping around burying her imaginary bones and trying to get you to pet her.

Pondering the Meaning of Compassion on the Rail Trail

Sunday was just one day shy of longest day of the year--also known as summer solstice. While it wasn't also the hottest day of the year, it certainly seemed like it. The temperature was almost 90 and the humidity was so high my cold nose and panting couldn't keep me cool. As you see over to the right, I spent a great deal of time hiding on it fields of clover. They are a fantastic place to find bumblebees, little morsels of discarded foods, and chipmunks.

Chipmunks? Whoops. Wait just one minute. Did someone say chipmunks? Next to squirrels, I think chipmunks are my favorite thing to chase after. They seem to be slower and pay very little attention to me. I've gotten close to catching them but my lead always seems just a little too short. I wonder how that happens? Anyway, I spent an awful lot of time scampering back and forth across the trail. The humans walked about five miles. I probably did closer to seven. There was so much to look at and see as I scurried back and forth across the rail trail. Do I look blurry in this picture? That's because I was in near constant motion. Chipmunk on the right, bird on the left, field of clover on the right, and well, you get the point. It was a lot of fun.

At the half way point we stopped at a store called Traveling Rhinos and Friends. I was sipping my water when one of the humans went in to purchase something with a little more flavor. A few minutes later the shopkeeper appeared along with two small dogs. We did the usual "nice to meet you dance" (the dogs, not the humans). Before I knew it I was escorted into the nice air conditioned store. What a nice surprise.

Both dogs were rescue dogs. I was rather taken with Buster. His story was a sad one. The story I was told was that Buster never had the opportunity to play and interact with other dogs. His previous owner kept him locked up in a cat carrier for most of the day--every day--for four years. One day Buster finally had enough and didn't want to go into the cat carrier. He apparently bit his owner who then surrendered him to the shelter. Buster was labeled a vicious dog.

In the end, Buster was lucky: he found a new home that took him in, showed him lots of patience and love, and helped him have a life worth living. Buster is also lucky because he seems to have some extraordinary social skills. He approached me carefully and slowly. My human who is generally extremely cautious was extraordinarily so when we met because of Buster's story. Within fifteen seconds he had assessed the situation and relaxed. There were no signs of aggression and many calming signals: yawning, licking, turning head away, play bow, sniffing, walking slowly, and walking in a curve.

It's useful to know about these calming signals. It's even more useful to learn to recognize them in your dog as well as in other dogs. Once humans learn to have some skill at interpreting canine behaviors things go along a lot better. Anyway, for a dog that hasn't played with other dogs, we had an awful lot of fun. We rolled, played, and generally frolicked all around the air conditioned store.

Buster's humans took a leap of faith and demonstrated a great deal of compassion for him. He had been considered a dangerous dog: one that was very likely going to be euthanized. There are dogs out there that are dangerous. It's a serious problem, requiring serious attention. I don't know for sure what made these humans look at Buster differently. Perhaps the humans took the time to look at the facts.  Maybe they saw something deep inside the dog. It's unclear and that's really not all the important.

The humans demonstrated a great deal of compassion for Buster. In hearing his story, they were moved. They had some sort of emotional experience that was caused by the experience that Buster had. On the walk back to the car I got to thinking about the nature of compassion.

Compassion is at the heart of what many companion animals freely offer humans, yet do we ever really stop to wonder what compassion really is? Many comment that animals don't judge, offer unconditional love, and other such things. All that might be true, and all those are wonderful gifts, but none really represent the compassion that companion animals can offer a person. While no one knows for sure what goes on within our minds, a careful observer can notice how many animals respond to the suffering of others.

Over the first year of my life I've shown myself to be a dog that seeks out those who are suffering. Sometimes it's obvious, like when I'm rubbing tears off a face with my nose. Sometimes it is demanding when I'm pulling my human around Cambridge and "stumble" upon a person sitting alone on a park bench or huddled under a bridge.

Compassion is that which makes the heart of the good move at the pain of others. It crushes and destroys the pain of others; thus, it is called compassion. It is called compassion because it shelters and embraces the distressed. --The Buddha

While I'm just a small dog, might I add one thought? Compassion is a word with direction. As quoted above, in the presence of pain experienced by another being, compassion moves the heart to hold and shelter the distressed.  I think the Buddha might have forgotten to say something. Compassion also transports you from where you are to somewhere else. Compassion can shine like the light at the end of the tunnel and draw you to a place you hadn't known existed.

Just ask Buster.

Random Acts of Kindness

I listen well enough: I sit, stay, come when I am called (unless there is squirrel around), and have a few cute tricks up my sleeve. For those of you who have been following along with my adventures, you've probably figured out that I also have a mind of my own. There are some things that just simply have to be done. The human has generally learned it is best to follow along with me when I get into one of these moods.

Sometimes of course I'm just being an obstinate basset hound. I remember where interesting things are along our walk to and from the office and I insist on revisiting places that I like. For example, on Green Street there is a tree branch hidden under a hedge of boxwood. I like to stop there every night on the way home and play tug with the stick. I found a rat scurrying around near the old police station in Central Square three nights ago. I insist on pouncing on that very same spot every time I encounter it. I'll pull the human across the street if we are on the wrong side.

The human finds the stick amusing. He finds the rat down right disgusting. Other times he finds himself just a little amazed at where my little mind takes us. For example, yesterday during a walk I started dragging him around a corner. The human wasn't in the mood to be dragged and he started complaining about my behavior. I ignored him and kept tugging him in a different direction. He finally saw things my way and let me lead. A couple of minutes later we turned another corner and walked toward a woman sitting on a park bench. She was crying and at first didn't seem like she was very happy to be interrupted. I wagged my tail more and jumped up next to her and pushed hard against the side of her body while she petted me for a few moments. She scratched behind my ears, said thank you to my human, and walked away.

You humans might thing that perhaps I heard the woman crying (dogs do, after all, have a sharp sense of hearing). Others might think that I used my high-powered sense of smell and detected the distress someone was experiencing off in the distance (again, dogs to have a sense of smell that is hundreds of times more sensitive than humans). Others of you might just thing this was a coincidence: my pulling of the human toward this spot had nothing to do with the woman crying on the bench.

The only two that really knows what happened was the woman on the bench and me, the dog on the leash. I'll leave it for you to decide what you believe. What are your thoughts?

Curing my Anxiety Disorder

Yes that's right, I'm not afraid to admit it. I have a phobia. Every since I was a little puppy I had a phobia of metal grates on sidewalks. Sure, there were other things I was afraid of: elevators were super scary at first. It's still touch and go when I see women wearing sunglasses and hats. For the most part, I was exposed to just about every kind of stimulus as a young puppy so while I might be cautious, I'm also curious.

Only a particular kind of grate bothered me. You see, sewer grates were okay. I would sniff them, walk over them (assuming my paws didn't fall through), and generally be okay with them. I was fine with the metal coverings that some trees in urban areas have. They are a wonderful storehouse of smells: I tend to stop at each on of them and smell ever square inch.

There is a particular kind of metal grate that they use to cover subway access vents that really bother me. Some grates that cover electrical vaults under the sidewalk also really bother me. I avoid them at all costs. I walk around them, I sit down and look at the human with pleading eyes, and well, you get the picture. There is a bridge that we walked over once that was entirely a grate: I made the human carry me all the way across the bridge.

No one really thought of this as a huge problem. There were plenty of places for me to walk where there were no metal grates. It was easy enough to go around the metal grates. It never got in the way of my enjoyment or that of my human. I'm small enough that in an emergency I could be carried (like the bridge).

My human tells me that my grate phobia was on his list of things to work on in the future. He's got more pressing things to teach me, so he wasn't in a rush. In the end, this required no work on his part at all: a friend who discovered a well placed piece of food did the trick.

Before we get to explaining how I was cured of my anxiety disorder, let's talk about two popular techniques that are frequently used in helping fearful dogs: flooding and systematic desensitization.

Flooding is a behavioral technique involves exposing a dog to the fearful stimulus until the dog remains calm. This tool is popularized in Cesar Millan's television show, The Dog Whisperer. In my case, I would have been placed on a grate and forced to stay there until my fear response dissipated. An important key is that there is no punishment applied at any time: I would be simply confined to a metal grate and left there until my fear response ended. Flooding is a tool that was researched in the lab with humans. For example, someone who had a phobia of snakes might be locked in a room filled with snakes. The human isn't let out until they stopped trembling.

It's highly effective. It's also dangerous. If a human lacks the necessary skills to induce a relaxation response the episode of flooding can induce a traumatic response. Phobia + trauma equals more problems, not less. This also seems more than a little cruel to me, does it to you? How would you feel if I locked you in a room of snakes, spiders, or growling aggressive dogs? You wouldn't like it? Then why would you want to do that to me?

Another tool is systematic desensitization. In state-of-the-art behavioral treatment for phobias, humans are generally taught a variety of techniques to induce a relaxation response. When the human has mastered these tools they are gradually exposed to the stimulus that triggers the phobia. A person might think about snakes and then practice a relaxation technique, for example. Once a human masters thinking about snakes without inducing a panic response the stimulus becomes progressively more intense. The human looks at pictures of snakes, the human looks at other people handling live snakes, the human looks at snakes closely, and finally the human touches the snake.

Since dogs don't understand English, humans can't teach them progressive muscle relaxation, mindfulness, or other distress tolerance skills. Dogs can only be confined to an area where they have to cope with a stimulus. Humans can only hope the dogs nervous system is effective enough that some sort of relaxation response will naturally be induced. If it doesn't happen, the dog is likely to develop secondary behavioral problems as a result of the flooding.

So what's a caring human to do? Dogs can be desensitized to fearful stimuli. It just takes a lot of time, effort, and love. My human has let me sniff the scary metal grates for months. This was preparation for his intervention. While I was scared of the grates and wouldn't step on them, I was fine sniffing them. I've had hundreds of opportunities to sniff the metal grate and discover that nothing scary happens. His next step was to start rewarding me every time I sniffed the grate. A "good girl" or a pet behind the ear would suffice. Again, he'd do this every time I sniffed a metal grate (which is at least four times every work day). Eventually the human would catch me touching the grate. Maybe my nose would touch it or perhaps even my paw. My human planned on having a big party every time this happened. An excited "good girl", a scratch behind the ear, or maybe even a little piece of turkey. Yum. Turkey.

In time, I'd be walking across the metal grates. It's not rocket science. It's also not very sexy. Systematic desensitization is slow, methodical, and frankly rather boring. This kind of work doesn't make for exciting television, either. It is however humane, highly effective, and enduring. It also builds a bigger foundation in the human/dog bond.

This brings me to my story. My anxiety disorder wasn't particularly intense. The human never forced the issue thus increasing my fear. I sniffed the grate, walked to the side, and went on my way. It was a minor fear, with inconsequential consequences.

Thanks to a psychologist friend paying close attention yesterday, I was cured of my phobia in a minute. The two humans were talking psychology things (some sort of complaint about insurance companies, I think) when we encountered a metal grate. My human walked to the side so we could avoid it. He wasn't paying attention to me (the nerve!) but the other human was. She saw me sniff the grate and I happened to have the edge of my paw on the metal. She made a big deal about it, said my name in a super excited voice, and got down close to the ground. I got carried away with her excitement. She seemed to excited that I thought there surely must have been something exciting for me to investigate. I walked right over to her on the metal grate. It was a lucky coincidence that there was a piece of food lodged in the grate. I licked and licked and licked, and totally forgot I was standing on something scary.

The humans said goodbye at the T stop and we walked back to the office. We passed by that same metal grate and--you guessed it--I walked right onto it looking for the food. The human was prepared for this and had some turkey in his pocket. Yum! Turkey!

Mind you, I'm still wary of other metal grates--just not the one I found food it. My human tells me to expect to find food in random metal grates from this time forward. By the middle of summer I'll probably we walking on all of them.

That was easy, wasn't it?

Work of a Therapy Dog

Now many of you might think that I spend my whole life frolicking around fields and galavanting around town. That's partly true. I am a lucky puppy. I live near a reservoir where there is enough space that I can romp and play. It's a real neighborhood place. People are there nearly every day tending to the grounds. During the spring the place really comes alive with flowers. Last Columbus Day there was a party at the reservoir where people drank hot cider, ate donuts, and planted daffodils and tulips. Regular readers of my blog have seen pictures of me sniffing the flowers.

I was out walking this morning hoping to sniff a few more flowers. The very warm days last week in combination with the very cold night last night took most of the life out of the flowers. I'll have to wait a spell to smell flowers now: once summer comes the gardens will be filled with flowers for me to smell again. Here is one last picture--caught the image right as the evening sun lit the tulip from behind.

Now where was I? I got distracted with thinking about frolicking in field. So yes, that's true. Part of my life is spent doing that. I also get to do a lot of galavanting around town. There are trips to the garden shop, weekly dog school, assorted drives to parks and trails, and of course I got to work every day in Cambridge.

It's that last part where I engage in my work as a therapy dog. Back in December I wrote about my friend Jerry. He's the homeless guy who I make a point of visiting every night on my way back to the car. It doesn't really matter what Jason wants to do--I pull and tug and otherwise insist that we walk to the spot on the sidewalk where he usually sits.

Jerry is a great guy: he also has a friend that I'm rather fond of too. She's convinced that I have special healing powers. A while back I did something that I hadn't done before: I went up on my back paws and put my front paws around her shoulders. The next day she found out she had a fever of 104 and was in the hospital being treated for a very serious condition. She attributes my attention as being what reminded her that she wasn't feeling well and needed to take care of herself. She is getting better but isn't out of the woods yet. I'm rooting for her.

Last night I played with Jerry and his friend for nearly an hour. It was so much fun for the three of us. I don't make judgments, don't have expectations, and don't ask for anything. I meet people where they are (in this case, literally right on the ground) with a wagging tail and open heart.

Jerry and his friend talked a lot about different observations they have made while sitting on the sidewalk. For example, they are convinced there is a shoe demon who lives under the bricks where they sit. All day long they watch the demon take women's shoes (heels fall off, ankles twist, and other such shoe travails) They also were talking a lot about animals last night. They asked if I was a rescue dog (yes, I am), and talked about different things they've heard about how people take care of animals in need. What was remarkable was this: two people with very little, living on the streets, struggling to survive, applauded the efforts of people who rescue abandoned and abused animals. Despite being people who many might say need rescuing themselves, my two friends found the wisdom to say that the measure of any person is how they care for those creatures most in need. I think my two friends are more wise than they can ever begin to know.

Jerry continues to remind me of the importance of slowing down, noticing my surroundings, and looking at things that many would rather not attend to. Are you willing to do the same?