Because of course, it wasn't always so. There was this distinct period -- about the first three or four months of life with Maya -- where none of the above could be said. It wasn't just the shower...she slammed into me on a daily basis, ignoring my personal space (and low damage threshold) and over-reacting to anything and everything I did.
It was chaos. During the first few months, Maya blackened my eyes several times, usually because I exercised poor timing in choosing to tie my shoes or pick things up off the floor. She knocked me down the stairs a couple of times, and once, when I sat on the bottom step aching and trying to assess the damage, turned around and apologetically split my lip wide open. I was covered with bruises from her slamming into me and/or pawing at me, and took to sidling down the stairs with my back to the wall in order to try to prevent further damage. One time, a dog wandered past our back fence while I was out in the yard with Maya, and she took off after it at a dead run. I happened to be standing in her path, and without pausing she ran me down, knocking me off my feet and causing me to spend the next few days icing my knee, limping around, and cursing whatever temporary insanity had caused me to bring home a dog at all.
Poor impulse control is closely related to reactivity, with similar roots in lack of socialization. It was also, at least partially, a function of age: Maya was an adolescent, and adolescents of any species are seldom renown for their excellent judgment and careful consideration. Then too, there was the fact that we could barely take Maya out of the house at this point, so she had a lot of energy to burn. It wasn't malicious, it was just relentless and horrible.
This also relates to why I didn't start blogging about Maya for many months. I wanted to document some of her progress, because I knew it would matter to me later, but a blog titled "My Dog is an Asshole and I'm Not Sure I Can Cope" really wasn't the stuff of my dreams. But other than noting her fabulous ears, I had little other material.
The shower was particularly bad. Forget quiet contemplation or lively karaoke, I needed to be on guard, especially considering the slippery footing. Things got particularly risky once I turned the water off, because Maya considered this a cue to start helping herself to her favorite treat: licking my dripping legs. Ick.
It wasn't just icky, it was dangerous. As soon as I turned off the water, I'd hear her tail begin thump-thump-thumpity-thumping against the floor as her excitement built. I'd try to snatch enough towels off the rack to cover my ridiculously tender skin, and she'd try to barge into the shower, crowd into me, and start licking. If I pushed her away, she'd push back harder (Maya loves a good wrestling game), and if she didn't feel like she was getting enough to lick, she'd paw at me and leave great welts and scratches.
I couldn't just lock her out of the bathroom, because she wasn't potty-trained. Without fail, taking my eyes off of her for even a few seconds meant an "accident." I don't know how to say this delicately, but there is little point in taking a shower if the next thing you have to do is get down on your knees and scrub dog shit out of the carpet while your dog careens around, out of her mind with relief that you are together again and knocking you disastrously off-balance. I could crate her, but she'd shriek at the top of her lungs every time. We shared a wall with a neighbor, and didn't want to push our luck too far. I couldn't tether her, because she would twist leashes/cables/tethers around her neck when I wasn't watching and proceed to strangle herself. So, I let her in the bathroom, closed the door, and tried really hard to keep my feet under me in the slippery shower.
It's funny thinking about this now. As I've said, Maya is my first ever dog. Owning a dog brings a steep learning curve, and if I found myself in the same situation now, I'd bring in a cupful of treats (or stuffed Kong). As soon as I turned the shower off, I'd pitch the treats on the floor, dry off hastily, and avoid a great deal of superficial damage.
What I did instead was use the reward Maya wanted most: licking me. I was already beginning to do a lot of self-control exercises with Maya in other parts of the house -- building a "leave it," doggy zen, sit and make eye contact, "back up," and more. It was all very hard for her, but the basics were beginning to click. So I used the same exercises post-shower.
As soon as I turned off the shower, I'd whip a towel off the rack and hold it like a matador's cape, effectively blocking Maya's access to my legs. Then I'd instruct her to sit. As soon as her butt hit the ground, I'd hold out one set of five pink, wiggling toes, and graciously allow her to lick them dry. We started there, then added a longer sit, backing away if she was crowding me, eye contact, and a wait for release. It took months, but it was marvelous!
Turns out this is application of something called the Premack Principle: more probable behaviors (licking) will reinforce less probable behaviors (not mauling me). A foundation of smart dog training, and incredibly valuable to me, my physical well-being, and my happiness in the shower. Plus, who knew my little dog would work so hard for just a taste of my toes?
Of course, we've come a long way since then. When I shower, I no longer fear injury or insult. Maya has developed other interests in life, so when I am busy getting clean, she is usually lying on the couch and watching robins hop around our back yard.
Sometimes, when I turn off the water and pull the shower curtain aside, I find Maya lying at the bathroom door. When we make eye contact, her tail gives a few thumps against the floor and her ears waggle hopefully. If I feel like it, I extend one set of pink toes and issue an invitation; eyes laughing, Maya walks over and graciously dries them off for me.
You know, I don't miss Maya's puppyhood at all.
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