PTSD Develops in
Different Ways in Different Dogs
This is the 4th in a
series of case histories of dogs who may have suffered from
PTSD, which statistics suggest may be much more common in pet dogs than it is
in military dogs.
This series of posts is
meant to be a helpful diagnostic tool for veterinarians, shelter and rescue
workers, as well as dog owners and dog trainers to hopefully prevent more cases
of Canine PTSD from going undiagnosed and, therefore, untreated. (A Canine PTSD
symptom scale can be found here.)
The first case history (of
my own dog Freddie) can be found here.
In Freddie’s case, I witnessed the original trauma first-hand, and saw the
resulting behavioral disorder that developed very quickly as a result. There
was no guesswork. This is the easiest type of case to diagnose, the one where
the owner was witness to the original trauma.
A second case involved a
boxer named Fancy whose stress was probably the result of being kept in a crate
at the vet’s office during an important social development phase. Fancy’s story
can be found here.
A third case, of Noodles,
a dachshund, who was biting his owners, his dogwalker, and eventually me, can
be found here.
Noodles was easier to diagnose than Fancy because his affect and behaviors were
off the charts.
Now comes the story of
Odysseus and Penelope (Oddy and Penny), two miniature schnauzers who were
attacked by another, much larger dog, while out on a walk. Penny actually came
pretty close to dying from her wounds, and was in the hospital clinging to life
for several days. She pulled through, but, oddly enough, didn’t suffer from
post-traumatic stress. Oddy, on the other hand, who wasn’t hurt as badly, did.
Why the difference?
Entangled Schnauzers
First it’s important to
understand how the dogs’ personalities differ. They’re roughly the same age.
Penny is about two months older than Oddy. She’s also much smaller; Oddy is
almost the size of a standard schnauzer. And while they have some surprisingly
similar character traits in some ways, they’re also quite different.
When I first met them, I
found that Penny was very playful, a little mischievous, and liked to
roll over on her back for tummy rubs. She was much smaller than her
“brother,” but seemed to be in charge of things. She also seemed to dislike
going on walks, which I thought might have been a repercussion from the attack,
but was told that she’d always been like that.
Oddy, on the other hand,
didn’t know how to play except with Penny. He also exhibited more tension,
stress, and showed less emotional elasticity than his “sister.” For instance, I
never saw him roll over on his back for a tummy rub or for any other reason.
They would play together
every day, but if Penny found another dog she liked to play with Oddy was
unable to join in. All he could do was stand there, barking at the interloper.
Penny had been a part of the household since puppyhood while, for various
reasons, Oddy had been kenneled at the breeder during certain important
developmental phases, and hadn’t been brought into the household until he was
nearly six months old. I don’t know for certain that this accounts for the
difference in their responses to the traumatic event, but there is evidence
showing that children in foster care may be five times more likely to develop
PTSD following a trauma than kids raised in a traditional family
setting.
Personally, I believe that
the dog-human bond which develops during puppyhood bears some important
similarities to having a normal childhood with loving human parents.
All that aside, there may
be another reason Oddy was more affected by the event emotionally, though Penny
sustained the most physical damage.
Life-Threatening
Physical Injuries & Narcissistic Hypercathexis
In 1920 Sigmund Freud
wrote about the symptoms of PTSD (then referred to as “war neuroses”). He said
that “two characteristics emerge prominently: first , that the chief weight in
their causation seems to rest upon the factor of surprise, of fright; and
secondly, that a wound or injury inflicted simultaneously works, as a rule,
against [their] development.” (“Beyond the Pleasure Principle,” 1920, Freud
Reader, 598.)
If this is true, it might
explain why Penny didn’t develop symptoms of PTSD, and why Oddy did. It also
explains why, generally speaking, a soldier who isn’t seriously injured is more
likely to develop symptoms of PTSD than those who are.
First, I think it’s
important to understand why Freud refers to what we now call PTSD as a
neurosis. Neuroses are anxiety-based behaviors or sets of behaviors, where the
energy invested in them is out of balance, either with the normal reasons for
producing such behaviors or with the amount of energy that might normally be
expended on them. In dogs the 1st might be something like humping inanimate
objects or chasing cars, and 2nd might manifest as separation anxiety or
obsessive guarding of toys or other objects. Second, most if not all
neuroses are the result of repressed emotional energy, which is true
in both humans and dogs.
In Freudian terms, the
mind’s “control panel” (the ego) has the job of deciding which internal and
external stimuli (excitations) should be a) paid attention to, b) ignored, c)
have their energies blocked (repressed), or d) have their energies projected
(cathected) onto persons or objects in the environment including the subject’s
own body. So the gross physical trauma—the sheer mechanical force that
accompanies a serious, life-threatening injury—demands that none of the mind’s
energy can be wasted on “mere trifles;” it all has to be projected onto the
body itself so as to facilitate and enable healing. Or as Freud put
it, “the physical injury, by calling for a narcissistic hypercathexis of the
injured organ, would bind the excess of excitation.” (610)
Meanwhile, for the subject
whose injuries aren’t as serious, those same emotional energies aren’t
projected (or cathected) onto the body, they’re repressed by the mind,
resulting in what Freud called “the compulsion to repeat,” which is one of the
chief features of PTSD (i.e., the subject is unconsciously compelled to repeat
the initial trauma over and over).
Furthermore, Freud made it
quite clear that fright, fear, and anxiety were not synonyms; they represented
clear distinctions in how we relate to danger. Anxiety, he said, “describes a
particular state of expecting the danger or preparing for it, even though it
may be an unknown one. ‘Fear’ requires a definite object of which to be afraid.
‘Fright,’ however, is the name we give to the state a person gets into when he
has run into danger without being prepared for it; it emphasizes the factor of
surprise.” (598.)
Once again, if we look at
the stories we hear from veterans about how their PTSD developed it’s not
uncommon to hear them say that the danger “came out of nowhere,” or “I wasn’t
prepared for what happened.” And since PTSD is classified as an anxiety disorder,
and anxiety is a state of “constantly expecting … danger or preparing for it,”
this makes sense.
While I don’t believe dogs
think about their experiences, or try to explain or understand them through
internal monologues, I think the basic principles can still be applied.
If I’m right, then Penny’s
injuries necessitated that whatever psychic (mental or emotional) energy she
had available at the time be focused (or projected) solely on to the tasks of
self-preservation and healing. Meanwhile the excess energy the traumatic event
had stimulated in Oddy had no place to go. It got stuck, which in turn created
an unconscious compulsion to repeat the event, over and over.
“Life Is an Adventure—Where Will Your Dog Take You?”
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