This isn’t about people with dogs vs. people without dogs.
This isn’t about parents vs. those who don’t have kids.
This has to do with common sense, education, and (as I’ve said here before) respecting dogs for who they are.
The story I’m going to tell you happened a little while ago — but it’s happened many times before and since, and I’m sure it will happen again. It’s happened to dozens of people I know, and maybe it’s even happened to you.
I was taking my dog for a long walk in the park. She’s an anxious dog, and she reacts to things — dogs, people, cars, bikes … you get the idea.
So I wanted to go somewhere off the beaten path, somewhere I wouldn’t have to worry about all those things, and we could just walk and breathe and enjoy the beautiful day.
I knew of a dirt path through one section of the park, and we turned onto it. I never feel closer to nature than when I’m walking alone with my dog. I feel like a scent hound, aware of all the wonderful woodsy smells. Or maybe I’m more like a sight hound, noticing wildflowers, trees, birds and clouds.
And people.
Up ahead, I saw a family walking toward us: two adults and two small children, somewhere in the 3- to 5-year-old range.
I heard my dog’s breathing change before I even looked at her. I knew she’d be leaning slightly forward, focusing on what was ahead.
But no worries. It’s a big park, right?
I moved to the outer edge of the path, trying to stay as far away from the family as possible and sending the clear message: Please give us space.
We were about 25 feet away from the family, when one of the little kids suddenly screamed out, “Puppppppppppyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!!” and began running 100 m.p.h. — right at my dog’s head.
I spend every day working with my dog on her issues, and we’ve made great strides over the years. We now walk with a pack of people and dogs, she’ll stand side by side with other dogs, sniffing the same blade of grass, and she’ll happily take a treat from a stranger.
I work hard making sure all her experiences will be positive because I am a firm believer in setting a dog up for success.
So the last thing I needed was some little boy running maniacally toward her, screaming and waving his arms.
My dog began lunging on the leash, barking and snarling, as I kept trying to move her farther and farther away from the child.
I waited for the parents to call out to the little boy, “No, sweetheart! Don’t go near that dog. She doesn’t want you to pet her.”
But they said nothing. In fact, they stood and watched fondly as he hurtled across the grass toward my dog, who was doing a great imitation of Cujo.
When the child got within 10 feet or so of us, I held out my hand in “stop” position and yelled, “STOP!” I looked directly at the parents and shouted over my dog’s barking, “PLEASE DON’T LET YOUR CHILD COME NEAR HER!”
The little boy looked at his mother. “Come here, honey,” she told him. “THAT dog doesn’t like you. THAT dog is a MEAN DOG.”
I didn’t say anything.
“You should get chains for that animal!” the father called out.
I didn’t say anything. But I bit my tongue so hard, I could taste blood.
It’s not that I had nothing to say. Oh, there was plenty I would’ve liked to say! But I knew that these people wouldn’t get it even if I tried to explain.
I would have liked to tell them that my dog is NOT a mean dog. She’s a dog who is afraid.
She is afraid of other dogs, and she is afraid of tall men, and she is afraid of screaming, out-of-control children. She barks and growls and snarls and lunges because she wants you to think she is tough — so you’ll stay away from her.
All she wants is to be left alone. But I knew these people would never understand.
In all my experience with dogs both in and out of shelters, I’ve yet to meet one who was mean. I’ve met dogs who are frightened or injured, and so will do what it takes to protect themselves. But they are not mean.
The following day, my dog and I were on a walk when a father and young child approached us.
“Can I pet your dog?” the child asked.
My heart sank. My dog wasn’t barking because the child wasn’t running or doing anything startling, and I so very much wanted to be able to say, “Sure, come on over and pet her.”
But I knew the minute the child reached out his hand to pet my dog, she’d go into her barking-lunging mode. Hands coming toward your face are scary.
“No, I’m sorry. She gets nervous around people she doesn’t know,” I said. “But thank you for asking.”
And then I looked at the father and added, “And thank you so much for teaching your child the proper way to approach a dog.”
How does your dog react around children? Let us know in the comments section below!
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