At an event a few weeks ago, a friend presented information about helping reactive dogs. I attended (and assisted), and answered some questions during the seminar, so several people approached me afterward to chat. Some of these people were looking for training advice, some were trying to understand the material better, some were just wondering how I got involved. I did my best to refer, elucidate, and answer what I could.
I like meeting other people who own reactive dogs. It is often affirming, usually interesting. One person in particular reminded of myself (some years back) as she told me, with tears standing in her eyes, that this seminar had finally made her feel hopeful about her own dog. I understand how much it hurts to have your heart bound up in an animal who seems likely to shatter under the slightest pressure.
Since she was asking me questions about finding a professional trainer, I took her over to a trainer I knew in the room. I wanted to make sure she got an in-person introduction so they could see if they hit it off, and so that she'd be more motivated to give the trainer a call in the future. And then I did a really stupid thing.
When I introduced them, I tried to give the woman a little compliment. It was meant to be clever, but came out awkwardly, something about how I wanted to introduce them because my trainer friend "deserves good clients." Or maybe I said "fun clients," yikes...that's even worse. And instantly, I knew I'd blown it. Because the introduction wasn't about the trainer's needs, it was about the very real needs of this woman, but I'd framed it all wrong. Worse, I'd made it sound like we were evaluating her for "good client" status (or entertainment value)...not the reassurance or empathy she needed, in her obviously sensitive state.
The first time a trainer betrayed my trust, I waited a year and a half before contacting another one...not wasted time, but time that could have been better spent. Come to think of it, that trainer called me "fun" too. I hope I didn't do something similar to this woman, rendered vulnerable by her love for her dog. I wish I had her contact info so that I could make a better attempt...I apologized in the moment, but the whole conversation got off on the wrong foot as a result, and I don't know what her take-away emotion was. Probably mixed, at best, which may just be inevitable sometimes.
Owning a dog with serious behavior challenges is hard. Not everyone ends up nakedly fragile along the way, but a good number of us do. I never forget that, but I wish I had a more nimble way with words when it came to actually talking to people. Or maybe I just wish that when I opened my mouth, my first instinct was to try to sound kind, rather than trying to sound clever.
Oh well. Nothing to be done right now except learn from the experience. It's not like I don't live with a daily reminder that mistakes are an inevitable part of learning. Or, in Maya's case, something cute you can do for the camera.
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| Under? |
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| Edible? |
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| Irrelevant? |
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| Am I getting closer? |
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| Ta-da. |
