Although our three-year-old dog, Winnie, is considered a young adult she has decided once again to chew what does not belong to her. She gave us a one-year moratorium on destruction, which we wrongly assumed was maturity, calm, and a time for rejoicing. The other day I heard a thump, thump, thump, the sound of a recently delivered Land’s End box tumbling around the living room. I went to see why this was happening and found a three-inch corner of the box had been consumed, Winnie’s flappers still wrapped around the wet cardboard corner. Luckily the contents were spared.
Winnie and I locked eyes as I stood in the doorway and I drew myself up to my fullest height, posturing because that’s what you do if you want to be the alpha in the pack. Like held breath, I paused, to reset within before reacting. Winnie drew away from the box and assumed a pose of regret, her ears back and body slouched. She did know better. This was unusual behavior and I had a decision to make. Would I be angry or curious?
I chose to be curious. Gently, but firmly, I cupped my hand under her muzzle and delivered a command,
“No!” Winnie looked up at me through her soulful eyes and waited for what would happen next, her ears pinned back, shoulders down, and her tail still. Dan and I are gentle, she had nothing to worry about, but worry she must because she is Winnie. I sat with her for a few minutes and first held a silent conversation, me staring at her until she looked away, restoring order in the den. Then I wondered out loud,
“Why now, Winnie? Are you okay? What’s going on?” I admit because the corner of a box meant nothing to me I could easily move on. And so we did.
The first dog I ever had, a vizsla we named Vivian, was a rescue I gave to Dan as a wedding present. She came to us afraid of old people and balloons, with an estimated age of one year. Vivian was not ordinarily destructive but chewed up a small purse that once belonged to my mother. The black beading and golden clasp shaped like a rose were just too much for Vivian to resist, as though a waterfowl retrieved from atop my dresser, except she destroyed the downed bird-shaped bag. I cried for days, then kept the previously treasured memory, now all mangled and chewed, in my closet until I was able to let it go when we moved. Vivian taught me to keep my valuables safely put away. I lacked the capacity to be curious about Vivian, I was deeply hurt. Although I did wonder why she liked to move our soiled clothing from the hamper into piles on the living room floor during the day while we were at work.
I continue to muse on Winnie, though, she is a bit of a puzzle. A year is a long time to drop, then resume a troubling behavior like chewing things. It can signal anxiety. Our lives have been steady, there are no changed routines or stressors impacting her that I can see. It seems like a good time to observe her more, notice how she does when people stop by. We’ll take walks more frequently and generally shine a light on her again. Admittedly, I have been slightly complacent about her, taking for granted the ease she’s offered lately, quite relieved actually.
Curiosity intersects with empathy, both are outward gestures, wondering about someone or something else, with a willingness to learn and try to understand. Add reflective listening and you’ll have quite the trifecta of social and emotional competency skillsets in your back pocket. Anger is not the only option, it is insufficient and it turns the attention on to self. There’s a lot to be angry about these days but it hardly feels productive anymore. I like seeking solutions better.
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