Originally published in
slightly different form on August 31, 2012 at PsychologyToday.com.
How a Sheltie Named
Duncan Helped “Cure” My Dog Freddie’s PTSD
In 1993, when my Dalmatian Freddie first developed PTSD, he was having daily panic attacks brought on by any number of noises coming from the city streets: the air brakes from a city bus, a loud horn honking, the gate being closed on a beer truck, etc, etc, etc. We lived 4 city blocks from Central Park, where we went every morning so Freddie could play Frisbee or chase sticks. In the park, Freddie was fully alive, and completely happy. But most days it was pure torture to navigate our way there without some sudden noise causing an all-out panic attack.
In 1993, when my Dalmatian Freddie first developed PTSD, he was having daily panic attacks brought on by any number of noises coming from the city streets: the air brakes from a city bus, a loud horn honking, the gate being closed on a beer truck, etc, etc, etc. We lived 4 city blocks from Central Park, where we went every morning so Freddie could play Frisbee or chase sticks. In the park, Freddie was fully alive, and completely happy. But most days it was pure torture to navigate our way there without some sudden noise causing an all-out panic attack.
I had been training dogs
for only a few years at the time, but I was constantly studying the subject,
looking for answers on the best ways to train these wonderful animals, but more
importantly the best ways to help them deal with emotional issues.
Just prior to the onset of
Freddie’s PTSD I went through what I call my Karen Pryor phase, where I was
fired up by the seemingly unassailable truth Ms. Pryor merrily puts forth in
her book Don’t Shoot the Dog!
Pryor was convinced about the complete and total effectiveness of operant
conditioning techniques. To Pryor—and to me at the time—behavioral science
seemed to be as inevitable as the law of gravity.
The trouble is, no matter
how hard I tried, nothing I could find in the OC bag of tricks was of any help
to Freddie. Nothing, nada, zippo. And while each of Freddie’s attacks didn’t
last very long, they kept happening, over and over, day after lonely day.
I began talking to any and
every dog owner I knew, hoping to find something that would keep Fred from
going into what seemed like constant episodes of pure terror. One person I
spoke to was the owner of a Sheltie named Duncan. Duncan and Freddie often
played together in Central Park when they were young pups.
Duncan’s owner
commiserated with my dilemma, then he said, “You know, come to think of it, Duncan
used to be afraid of thunderstorms.”
“Really?” I asked,
desperate to know the secret. “How did you fix the problem?”
“Oh, I didn’t. Duncan did
it on his own.”
“Okay. How did Duncan fix it?”
“Well, one day he barked
at the lightning, and he was never afraid of thunder again.”
Of course, I thought.
Instead of going into the flight part of the fight-or-flight response to
danger, Duncan was fighting back, he was “attacking” the thing that scared him.
Luckily, I had already
taught Freddie to “Speak!” So for the first time in months I was actually
looking forward to his next panic attack, just to see if what had cured Duncan
of his phobias might cure Freddie as well.
We were on our way to the
park when the next attack came. Poor Freddie’s ears went back, his eyes started
to “spin,” his tail went between his legs, and he seemed ready to run in any
possible direction.
I held the leash firm and
calmly said, “Freddie, speak!”
Nothing happened.
I tried it again.
Again, nothing.
Finally, on the 4th or 5th
try, a deep rumbling bark emerged from Freddie’s throat. And when it did he was
instantly a different dog. His ears pricked up, his tail and shoulders returned
to normal, his breathing became light and steady and his eyes looked up at me
as if to say, “Why are we just standing here? I thought we were going to the
park…”
Over the course of the
next few weeks I used this technique repeatedly until a funny—or I should say wonderful—thing happened. Freddie’s panic attacks became much less
frequent.
One important caveat: when
using this technique with some dogs, the barking is such a release that it
interferes with their normal impulse control behaviors. In other words the
barking gets the dog too revved up to be able to settle down as quickly as
Freddie did. For such dogs the next step after releasing the bark should be to
give her something to bite or hold onto with her teeth and jaws. Doing that
should settle the dog’s nerves quite nicely. Of course all dogs are different,
so your mileage may vary. But that’s what works for me.
So how do you teach a dog
to speak in the first place? And what do you if the dog won’t stop barking once
he’s started?
How to Teach a Dog
to “Speak!” and Be “Quiet!”
Teaching a dog to speak on command is a fairly simple procedure. You start by showing the dog a treat. You tease her with it, then growl a little. Then you bark a little. Keep teasing her with the treat, keep barking and growling.
Teaching a dog to speak on command is a fairly simple procedure. You start by showing the dog a treat. You tease her with it, then growl a little. Then you bark a little. Keep teasing her with the treat, keep barking and growling.
At some point—it might
take 3 seconds or it might take 30 minutes—either a bark or a small noise of
some kind will start to tickle the dog’s throat. When it does, immediately give
her the treat, then say “Speak!” as she takes it in her mouth.
Repeat several times, and
you’re done till the next session. It’s important to re-teach her the command
in different locales, at different times of day, etc.
Note: It took Freddie over
30 minutes of frustration, on his part and mine, before he finally uttered a
sound. It’s easier if you do your training at a time of day when your dog’s
emotions are already primed for barking, for example when you first come home.
Once you can reliably get
the dog to speak on command, the next step is to teach her what “Quiet!” means.
Here’s how:
Tease her with a treat.
Say “Speak!” and as she barks, keep repeating the command. Get her to bark 7 or
8 or 10 or 15 times, however long she seems able to sustain the barking. Then
interrupt her by giving her the treat and saying “Quiet!” in a hushed, not
angry, voice.
Again, repeat several
times, then re-teach her the command in different locales, etc.
Once the dog is totally
reliable with the “Speak!” command you can begin to use it to dispel all kinds
of fears. For instance, I had 3 dogs staying with me on the 4th of July. Two of
them had been taught to speak on command, and one hadn’t. Once the fireworks
started, and the sound of “thunder” began to roll in, the two who had been
taught to speak were unfazed by the racket, though one did have to be reminded
to bark at her fears before they went away. The other dog, the one who hadn’t
been taught to bark at her fears, was quite trembly for some time.
Does the Barking
Cure Work on PTSD?
Severe traumatic stress creates a lasting imprint that’s difficult, though not impossible, to erase. But teaching a dog to bark when he’s frightened can help reduce or alleviate some of the fears he or she may be feeling in the now moment. Again, it’s a matter of switching the dog’s survival responses from freeze or flight to the fight component.1
Severe traumatic stress creates a lasting imprint that’s difficult, though not impossible, to erase. But teaching a dog to bark when he’s frightened can help reduce or alleviate some of the fears he or she may be feeling in the now moment. Again, it’s a matter of switching the dog’s survival responses from freeze or flight to the fight component.1
With Freddie I had to do a
few other things beside have him bark when he was in a panic before his
symptoms disappeared entirely. But I think that speaking on command was the
first chink in his PTSD armor.
“Life Is an Adventure—Where Will Your Dog Take You?”
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1.) If part of the dog’s
PTSD symptomology involves excessive barking, this technique may be counter-productive
unless done with rigorous caution.
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