Have you ever found yourself talking for your dog? Not talking to your dog but talking on your dog’s behalf? Maybe, for example, your Winners Dog is flirting in the ring with your friend’s Winners Bitch and you find yourself using a character voice to say, “Hey, you’re kinda cute.” And without missing a beat, your friend uses her signature girl-dog voice to reply, “Gee, thanks. I think you’re cute too.” Meanwhile, both dogs appear delighted by the silliness of the interaction as they wait for their turn to greet the judge together and circle around the ring to the end. Maybe the judge even joins in the fun by approaching the pair saying, “I think we’re a little distracted here.”
Speaking for your dog (or somebody else’s dog) is something we all likely do from time to time. Many of us even seem to genuinely enjoy doing these unscripted doggy voiceovers. But have you ever contemplated that you might also be thinking for your dog as well? Have you ever considered how your own thoughts—and your memories—can be projected onto your dog in ways that can affect the dog’s behavior and its performance?
At a recent show, a group of exhibitors was busy getting their dogs ready for the ring when one person commented about an experience she’d had at a show with her class dog. “He was scared by a flapping tent and now he’s afraid to go under a tent,” she shared as her dog stood on his grooming table under open skies. “Mine was approached from behind by a judge and now he hates the ring,” offered another exhibitor who seemed anxious about the prospect of the incident happening again. “I hate it when handlers let their dogs get too close to mine in the ring,” another stated disapprovingly. In an instant, the conversation among the group had gone from talking about the beautiful weather to focusing on things that happened in the past. Meanwhile, the dogs were taking it all in.
In the four decades that I’ve been going to dog shows, my understanding of how dogs experience the proceedings has evolved to be more considerate of their interests. What I’ve come to understand is that dogs prefer to live in the present and are far more willing (and able) to move past negative experiences than their human counterparts.
Although both humans and canines seem to possess the ability to “record” negative experiences as a way of avoiding them in the future, it is us who seem less capable of “letting things go.” We too often make the conscious decision to “relive” a bad experience again and again and again. Perhaps this is because our large brains become overly active when triggered by a particularly unfavorable thought. And if that thought is a memory of a negative experience we had with our dog at a show, we are likely to burden our dog too by giving life to the recollection through our thoughts and words.
Many years ago, I attended a George Alston Handling Seminar as an observer and witnessed firsthand the power of using the spoken word in a “dog show setting.” At this particular gathering, there was a young adult dog that’s described by its Breed Standard as being “discerning” and “self-willed.” This particular dog appeared to be unable to focus on its handler, seemingly distracted by the goings-on and most definitely uncertain of the instructor’s intentions. The woman on the other end of the lead responded to her dog’s behavior by relating an incident that had apparently “traumatized” her dog. Based on her dog’s behavior, it might have been easy to think the dog simply had a long memory and a poor temperament. Ah, but that’s why George has so often been called a “dog whisperer.” The retired professional handler who had taken so many novice dogs to the pinnacle of success in the ring seemed to understand that it wasn’t the dog that was thinking about a past trauma.
In front of the class, George took the dog’s lead from the owner and proceeded to talk in a voice that was calm, clear, and quiet. The master’s verbal communication was decidedly low-key—but it was nonetheless transformative. Before our very eyes, the uneasiness of the dog evaporated and was replaced by a confident creature that stood with poise. In mere moments, a team had been created; a handler unburdened by unhelpful thoughts and a dog that was eager to listen to a new story. If I hadn’t witnessed the swift transformation for myself, I wouldn’t have believed it was possible.
That day I learned one of George Alston’s best-known catch phrases: “Dogs are people too.” It took many years (and more than a few embarrassing moments in the ring) before I began to understand the meaning of this statement: Dogs have thoughts and feelings that need to be considered, and as in any healthy relationship our dogs want to offer us their very best. In return, they’re entitled to receive our support and encouragement—not a rehashing of past failings that are relived five minutes before ring time. Only when we think of our dogs as partners in need of our support can we begin to manage the memories that exist, here and now, only when we talk about them.
The next time you find yourself compelled to say, “At the show in Palookaville, this dog wouldn’t…” think about an experience that yielded a positive result instead. Keep sharing that story. Your dog will be listening, and with practice, the two of you will begin to believe that you can get through anything together. At the very least, if you’re going to do the thinking (and talking) for your dog, you should at least be thinking good thoughts and telling stories that have a happy ending.
