On Tuesday, we finally had our private session with our wonderful dog trainer, Donna. It’s been a long-awaited meeting… she’s going to help us with the Milo and Skimble problem. We hope.
Donna did a walkthrough of the house, and met Skimble (who had been confined in the computer room for the morning). Her first suggestion - get a tall baby gate across the hall to increase Skimble’s “territory” and get Milo used to seeing the cat up and about. Since this was something that I’d considered doing already, I felt validated in my good instincts.
Before we discussed the cat more, however, Donna asked me to bring Milo and Ariel in from the yard. And that’s where the meeting went sideways. What I saw was normal Milo behavior… he rushed in first, greeted Donna first, and pretty much got in the way of Ariel getting her share of attention. Donna noticed this, too.
“Chris,” she said, “I think we’ve got a problem we’re going to need to deal with before we can really address the cat issue.” In less than five minutes, watching the same two dogs I’d been watching, she’d counted seven instances of canine bullying. Milo wasn’t just asserting himself and claiming the position of Top Dog. He was actively keeping Ariel from seeking or receiving attention with his gaze and with his body. Where I’d seen him sitting politely at my feet, Donna saw something else: “Look. He’s guarding you.”
Once pointed out, I could see it clearly. Ariel, who loves attention and greeting visitors, was hanging far back, her curled tail unwound and hanging low. Every time she made a move to come forward, Milo would lean forward or take a step towards her and stare. Hard. And Ariel backed off.
Milo, in short, is a canine bully… and the focus of his bullying is Ariel, and possibly Skimble.
Donna explained what I would need to do. First, Milo would need to learn to go to “his spot” and stay there, no matter what. Next, all human family members would need to learn how to recognize Milo’s bullying body language - and stop it. No more rushing to the bedroom to finish off any food Ariel had left behind. No more harassing Ariel, trying to get her to “play.” No more hard stares to tell her to back off. Finally, we would continue to work on getting Milo to tolerate Ariel getting attention and treats in his presence.
This is not going to be easy, I think. It’s going to require exquisite timing and consistency from all humans. And there is no timeline for success… all we know is that it’s not going to be a quick fix.
And my anxiety has kicked into overdrive. I want to believe that I, and my family with me, am capable of retraining Milo. I want to believe that he can be retrained… that this is just a temporary problem, born of Milo’s unknown, and likely inappropriate, early puppy months. But…
There is ALWAYS a “but.”
But I keep “hearing” the CPR staffers telling me that this wasn’t a good match. That I should return Milo to them, let them place him in a home with no other pets, let them help me adopt a different dog.
But I keep “hearing” my mother and sisters asking why I keep him, and don’t I feel more loyalty to the pets I already had? He’s a nice dog, but he’s scaring my cat and stressing my other dog.
And when these inner voices get loud, I start questioning my strength and abilities.
The day after Donna came - leaving with a hug and a smile, assuring me that we could do this, it would just be slow, methodical work - Tom and I left on vacation. Ariel went to stay with my sister-in-law. Milo went to a sitter. In their absence, I’m left with thoughts that have no good or easy answers.
I love Milo. We’ve bonded, and I feel like he needs me. But I also love Ariel and Skimble. I want them to live their best, most comfortable lives. As a result… I don’t know quite what to do.
All I know is that the decision needs to be mine, either way I go.
