How Dog Training Made My Partner an Even Better Dad
For me, dog training has always felt much bigger than training dogs. We have an opportunity to listen and connect with another species, AND we get to learn more about how behavior works on this planet in the process. It’s been fun for me to see how my behavior seems to have impacted those around me - namely my partner, Ben. Ben is not a dog trainer, and I don’t actually spend my personal time lecturing him on the science of behavior. I do talk about it in passing or when I’m asking him to change something he’s doing with the dogs. Over time, it seems to have shifted how he moves through the world. For fun this week, I’m sharing two cute moments that I think are a great reminder that HOW you choose to train your dog matters. People are watching and your behavior may end up influencing theirs.
Story One: The Curious Case of The Cloth Diapers and ‘Lazy’ Parents
When I was pregnant, Ben and I looked into cloth diapers in an effort to be more sustainable. Ben was researching companies that could help wash them to reduce the workload on us, and in his research, stumbled upon a page that basically explained the whole cloth diaper landscape today. As it turns out, few of the companies we were looking for remain in business, and the author said it was because “people these days are too lazy” as an explanation for why there is less demand for cloth diaper related services. When Ben relayed this info to me, he said, “It is not fair of the author to call everyone lazy. He didn’t even consider why people might not be using cloth diapers these days. The environment we exist in is so different from generations past, and that’s a much better explanation than just saying people are lazy.” I looked at him, and said, “Wow, am I grateful to get to parent with you.” He was right. We explain behavior by looking to the environment.
Story Two: Why the Way You Pick up Your Baby Matters
Just the other day I was sitting on the couch with our baby in my lap, and I asked Ben to come grab him and change his diaper. Ben scooped him up and our son immediately started sobbing. Ben turned right around and handed him back to me. The baby stopped crying immediately but Ben waited a couple of minutes and then tried again to pick him up. This time he said ourson’s name and asked him if he wanted to be picked up as he extended his arms. Ben stood patiently while our son looked at his hands for about five seconds. Then our son reached over to Ben asking to be picked up. Ben scooped him up and off they went - a smile on our son’s face. This interaction made me so happy. He listened to ourbaby’s cry right away. “No” was an acceptable answer. He later told me that he messed up by scooping him up from behind without any notice or assent. He adjusted by giving the baby some time with me (smart setup on his part). Then he switched his approach to make it more collaborative. He gave our son an opportunity to say yes or no, and he got a yes. Ben did this so fluently - it put a big smile on my face.
So all of this is to say that I think yall are doing a great job. How you train matters for your dog, and you may be surprised to find out how much broader your impact may be … !
The Science Behind Why I Was Unusually 'Annoyed' With My Dogs
It was 4:30pm on a Tuesday afternoon and my dog, Otis, delivered one of his stuffed toys directly onto my lap and looked up at me with expectant eyes. He’s done a version of this hundreds if not thousands of times before, and I can remember smiling and tossing him the toy. But this time, I had to close my eyes and take a deep breath to avoid screaming. I felt annoyed. And then very guilty.
The next morning, I walked both of my dogs in the woods by my house - just like I’d done every morning for years. Every time they stopped to sniff … there was that feeling of annoyance again. When we approached a tree on the trail and they went left when I went right, I felt myself wanting to scream.
Author Christie Catan (above with her son and dog, Otis), is a Certified Professional Dog Trainer, Knowledge Assessed and the co-founder of Tails of Connection.
What the hell was going on? Why were my dogs annoying me so much? Had my dogs suddenly become “annoying” and “needy”? I felt guilty as I remembered all the nights I’d laid my head on Otis’s shoulder and cried because it felt like my body couldn’t possibly hold all of the love I had for him.
Then somewhere from beneath the sleep deprived fog, I remembered: emotions track contingencies.
My dogs were not “bad” or “annoying” or “too needy.” Conditions had changed.
I had gone from a life where I controlled so much of my own time (and had a fair bit of it) and often had the flexibility to stop and play with my dogs when they asked. Now I had a baby who couldn’t eat or sleep without me, and my time was not my own. Suddenly I found myself being pulled in so many directions at once while desperately trying to be present for the beings in my life whom I love so much.
Now my dogs doing things they had always done signaled something entirely different for me. Not because they were different but because the rest of my conditions had changed.
The answer wasn’t that my dogs needed to stop bringing me toys or sniffing on walks. The answer was that I needed to find some ways to get a bit more support.
I look back now and feel grateful that the annoyance I felt was so damn strong. As Dr. Israel Goldiamond (a professor emeritus in psychiatry and psychology and a pioneer in the field of behavioral psychology … much of his work influences dog training today) explained, that strong emotion helped me identify what contingencies were in play … which allowed me to shift some things in my environment.
I am still very much learning how to show up in this new role in my life while still honoring the ones I had pre-baby. But the good news is that I know I am learning. And I have my emotions as little flags that will help me identify what's going on in the environment in case I ever get too overwhelmed to pay attention to myself.
To my dogs: I love you beyond words. I am the mother I am today in large part because of you. I am so grateful that you are with me on this journey. Thank you for your patience. Please never stop asking me to play or telling me to slow down on a walk and look around. I need those reminders.
When It Comes to Anxiety, Do Dogs Feed Off Your Energy?
“Is my anxiety making my dog anxious?” We hear this question a lot! It recently came up in a Psychology Today article entitled “Why Do Anxious Owners Tend To Have Anxious Dogs?” It reads, “The reasons for this relationship are unclear but several studies suggest the causal arrow points from owner to pet.” (This type of conversation pops up often outside of this article too.)
Words matter. If you are someone who experiences anxiety (like I am), this type of language may be enough to bring some of it on. When it comes to dog behavior, I find that the behavior lens is both effective and kind. So I thought it would be nice to use it to look at this question in another way (perhaps to partially remind myself that a label the world has given me as a characteristic of who I am is insufficient to use as a cause of my dog’s behavior).
“Anxious” is a construct -- a label. In the science of behavior, we look at the observable and measurable. There’s a lot to go off of there!
Behavior and the environment are in constant conversation. All of us are learning ALL the time. You can’t turn it off. So yes, our behavior absolutely influences our dog’s behavior and our dog’s behavior absolutely influences ours. Because we are a part of our dog’s environment, and our dogs are a part of ours.
But when we look with a behavior lens, we are empowered. We can define our “anxiety” in observable behaviors. Then we can either change our behavior (e.g. dog tags cue you to exhale rather than tense up) or we can teach our dogs that our behavior means something else (e.g. “oh crap” means turn around with me).
So What About Anxiety? Might We Also Be Giving Environmental Cues to Our Dogs?
Every morning I put on shoes to take my dogs outside. Inevitably, they wag their tails and stretch. I often feel groggy at this time. I don't hear people say my grogginess caused my dog’s behavior. Most people know that my putting shoes on in the morning predicts a walk, and therefore has become an environmental cue for my dogs.
In the first video in the post above, you’ll see that I walked my dog, Otis, to one of my “happy spots.” I felt “calm and happy” during the videos (not “anxious”). I acted out some “anxious behaviors” that I might do if I felt nervous on a walk: I scanned the environment (looking around with furrowed brows) and then tensed up and gasped. In the video, see if you notice how Otis’s behavior changes based on my behavior.
It’s no secret that dogs have evolved alongside humans and have become quite skilled at reading our body language and behavior -- even when it’s super subtle. I wasn’t feeling anxious at all, so Otis didn’t catch my anxiety like one might catch a cold from a friend. But in that video, it is incredibly obvious that my behavior influenced Otis’s behavior.
My scanning cued Otis to scan long before I even gasped. Why?! Here is my educated guess. I am human. I find it super jarring (and aversive) when Otis barks and lunges when I’m not expecting it. His barking and lunging taught me to scan the environment looking for things he might react to in order to avoid being surprised or to prevent his barking altogether. Overtime, my scanning started to predict triggers for Otis, so he learned that scanning meant a trigger was coming. You see how we are both influencing each other’s behavior?
Here is the good news! If we are using a behavior lens, we can actually do something about it! I noticed long ago that I had a bit of a “reflex” to grab up high on the leash and pull up/in when I got nervous (aka a kid on a scooter comes out of nowhere). So I taught Otis that that behavior was no biggie and just meant to look at me for a treat.
Watch this next video in the post above and observe my behavior and Otis’s. I arguably exhibited more “anxious behavior” in that last video, but Otis didn’t respond with scanning or barking or anything that looks “nervous.” Why? Because he learned that me tensing and choking up on the leash means to look at me. We can all do this! If we cannot change our own behavior, we can at least teach our dogs (in a safe space to start) that it means something else (like turn with me or look to ground for a treat).
We absolutely influence our dogs’ behavior, and they influence ours. This is a much broader truth about the relationship between behavior and the environment. It is always a good idea to be curious and observant about how our behavior is impacting our dogs, but we would argue that we can do this more effectively and kindly without using big constructs like anxiety in a causal way.
For the record, I could dance up and down the leash, gasp, swear, scan, and tense up (with real feelings of anxiety) and my other dog, Sully, remains soft and calm. If it were the “anxiety,” why isn’t she affected? It makes more sense when we look at the anxious behaviors as cues … they just aren’t salient signals for her … so no response!
How To Respond When You’re Walking Your Dog and Someone Says ‘Just Calm Down’
We’ve all been there. Your dog does something on a walk, and you find yourself in a spiral of anxiety, guilt, and frustration ready to blow at the next leaf that crosses your path. And then somebody tells you that you need to “just calm down” and perhaps they say “your anxiety is making your dog anxious.” … At which point, your eyes retire to the back of your head.
First and foremost, you are human and feeling a wide range of emotions is normal. You CAN learn to move through the thoughts and emotions that show up. That is very different from expecting yourself to “just be calm” all the time. Second, what the heck is calm!? If someone says “raise your shoulders,” you can physically perform that behavior. If someone says “just be calm,” what are you supposed to do? That feels like a setup for frustration!
As someone with Generalized Anxiety Disorder (and a history of panic attacks), it felt absurd to even imagine feeling calm walking my dogs. After all, if I could “just be calm,” I would have done it long ago. I had very little experience with calm behaviors, so I had to start from lying on the living room floor and build up. It took me months before I could even take a deep breath while standing up. In other words, just like w/dogs, I practiced calm behaviors outside of the conditions I wanted to use them in first.
What happens if we start by operationalizing (defining in measurable behaviors) “calm.” One of the things that helped me the most was actually defining calm in terms of measurable behavior. Once I did that, a huge shift happened: Instead of trying to BE calm, I could PRACTICE calm behavior. Perhaps: Low heart rate, slow and deep breaths, attending to the present moment, relaxed muscles, etc. Clench your whole body (raise your shoulders, curl your toes, scrunch your face, make fists) as you take a big inhale. Hold your breath for three to five seconds. Do a BIG exhale and release all of the tension you just built so your whole body feels soft.
When I brought my “practice” to walks, I gave myself a phrase to repeat (e.g. “All of it belongs” or “Wow”). If I feel panic show up in my body after my dog barks, I say “Wow,” put my hand on my heart, take a breath, and start noting what I feel in my body or notice around me with some compassion (e.g. my chest got tight, my head feels hot, my heart is racing, etc.). For me, this gives me space to be safe in what I am experiencing and then I can practice my “calming behaviors” (breathing, attending to the present, softening muscles, etc.).
By the way, our Attention Unlocked e-course combines giving you ways to support and train your dog (thereby making walking them a bit easier) while also inviting you to bring some awareness to your own thoughts, feelings and behaviors.
How Training Your Dog Is Like Practicing for Carnegie Hall
Looking back, it’s hard to believe I spent so much of my life devoted to furiously tapping my fingers on a sterling silver cylinder. All I seemed to think about for the better part of twenty years were things like vibrato, staccato, and legato. Yes it's true, I'm a recovering semi-professional flute player.
During college, my stomach knotted with shame and guilt when I didn't practice the flute for at least five hours a day. Up until about a month ago, I couldn’t remember the last time I picked up a flute, let alone felt remorse for not memorizing Mozart’s Flute Concerto in D Major. This summer my sister-in-law asked me to play at her wedding, and after a ten year hiatus, I dusted off my flute to serenade her guests. Preparing for that “comeback performance” was the context I needed to finally have the breakthrough I’d been seeking in a different activity: training my anxious and extremely high-energy dog, Stanley.
Why I Wish I Could Have a Training Do-Over With My Pandemic Puppy
Stanley is the first dog I’ve raised as an adult. He opens drawers in our house for fun, so he definitely keeps me on my toes! Photo Credit: Juliana DeWillems
I should start by saying that Stanley, who has a face like a black and white cookie, is a 35-pound mini-sheepadoodle (a cross between an Old English Sheepdog and a Miniature Poodle). From the beginning, he struggled with health issues and was incredibly nippy. He would corner my husband Alex and jump and bite him playfully, sometimes breaking the skin. He was also very reactive to noises and cars, dangerously lunging and barking at them when we were walking down the street. And then around the house, we felt like we couldn't trust him. He would routinely open drawers, paw at doors, or steal human things like socks to run around with. When we finally had to crate him because we weren’t able to watch him constantly, he would demand to leave by barking endlessly.
Alex and I spent months working with Stanley and some very wonderful and patient virtual and in-person dog trainers. Still, we were at a breaking point. We trained him for three meals a day, hiked with him on an extremely long leash (called a long line*, which is designed to give him freedom to explore and sniff) and gave him puzzle toys (to make eating his food a brain teaser). Yet, he still felt like such a hard dog.
How a Daily Training Method Helped Us Find a Breakthrough
Even though Stanley is extremely high-energy, he is incredibly affectionate. He wakes Alex and I up with kisses every morning and he cuddles next to us in bed all night. Photo Credit: Juliana DeWillems.
As the co-founder of an online dog-training community, I was embarrassed that I was failing miserably at training my own dog. At that point, my co-founder, Christie Catan, suggested that I reach out to Pet Harmony to work with one of their owners, Emily Strong. Emily is a Certified Dog Behavior Consultant (CDBC) and a Shelter Behavior Affiliate (SBA) and she co-authored the book Canine Enrichment for the Real World. So we threw a Hail Mary and signed up for 20 back-to-back, hour-long dog-training sessions (through something called the “Intensive Behavior Package”). Over a period of several weeks, we hoped Emily could help make our life with Stanley more manageable.
When we met Emily over Zoom, much to our surprise she explained that Stanley would not be part of our lessons. Instead she listened patiently to all of the daily problems we had with him, and gave us bite-sized exercises in a very organized spreadsheet to help us start to find solutions.
So we started training each day in very short sessions (a few minutes here and there) where we covered many different things. Each night Emily would review our progress, holding us accountable. Slowly and much to our surprise and delight, Stanley started to transform.
How Classical Music Helped Me Train My Dog
One day, halfway into our sessions, Emily told us about her former career as a music journalist and that she had studied piano in college. The coincidence of our similar backgrounds (I also studied classical music and worked in journalism) got me thinking about how a person’s experience as a musician could translate to the practice of training dogs.
It was around the same time that I was suddenly preparing to play in the wedding. During my practice sessions, I reflected a lot on practicing the flute growing up. I remembered starting every morning playing what seemed like endless scales (little pattern exercises to get your fingers moving in coordination with your mouth and tongue). Then I would move onto what’s called long tone exercises where I literally played a single note for what felt like forever. Next I would play these technical exercises called etudes that almost felt like mini pieces to perform, usually with something tricky for your fingers to figure out. And at the end, I would work on the repertoire I was actually planning to perform in the orchestra or for a solo recital or an audition. But that didn't typically mean I would play the entire solo or piece all the way through. Oftentimes I would focus on small sections or measures, working on a particularly difficult spot that was tripping me up.
When my sister-in-law asked me to play the flute at her wedding (pictured here), I was initially reluctant because I hadn’t really practiced, let alone performed, in ten years. I reached out to my college flute professor, Linda Chesis, for advice. She encouraged me to do it, writing, “It may not be perfect, but it will be heartfelt and that’s what counts!” Photo Credit: Zofia Crosby.
And after all that, when I finally strung all of the measures together in a performance, when I was so nervous my fingers were shaking and my knees were knocking, my muscle memory would kick in and it would all just work.
With only a week to prepare for the performance this summer, I didn’t have the same time to be as methodical. However, in the the famous flute solo that I selected - Concertino by Cecile Chaminade, I did break down the phrases that were tripping me up into small chunks. Rehearsing those small sections of a few notes at a time really helped me pull off the performance.
In the funny way your mind sometimes draws the perfect connections, thinking back on this experience made it clearer to me how I could be more successful in training Stanley -- by breaking things down each day just like I did as a classical musician. In high school and college, I accomplished big things (aka playing in front of hundreds of people, auditioning for and winning prestigious solos) and somehow I forgot that the way I got there was by taking baby steps towards my goal every single day.
Before we met Emily, Alex and I were convinced that we should see results with Stanley because we trained him every day, but we didn’t realize that we weren’t breaking things down into small enough pieces for him to be successful. So, when we started training Stanley to do a variety of things, and with Emily’s guidance, our daily training routine began to take shape.
We told Emily that a major goal of ours was to have Stanley relax on his own in the house when we were working during the day. As a result, she had us work on the tiny steps it would take to achieve what was actually a quite complex goal. For example, we began spending a few minutes each day training him to rest on his bed, using something called the Relaxation Protocol. When he got up and decided he was done with training, we'd move onto one minute of muzzle training, with the eventual goal that he could wear a muzzle in our yard and sniff and explore on his own to relax, but not eat everything in sight (he has a sensitive stomach and is a little goat!). After that we would practice crate training for a few minutes, so he’d eventually have another place to relax - especially when we’re not home.
Methodical Training in Music and With Dogs Requires Intense Dedication and Focus
The part of flute playing that really challenged me was when I had to dig into my right brain and think of the entire piece I was playing. When something was very hard to play, I was fixated on what my fingers and mouth technically had to do just to get by (left brain). But in the end, the most important thing was the story I told with each phrase and if that made sense in the context of the overall piece. Telling a cohesive story with a performance is what makes it memorable and special. In an orchestra that got even trickier, since I had to work with other musicians and the conductor and fit my artistic vision into theirs.
The thing is dog training is a lot like that. How can Stanley be expected to perform a recital (walk on a crowded city street or "behave" aka relax for hours when we have people over) without rehearsing in a methodical way? I got Stanley and thought that training him to settle or rest quietly at home would help him perform when visiting my in-laws’ house. Somehow in the process I forgot that practicing the flute in a basement dormitory practice room that smells like mold did not mean I would be able to perform just as well in Carnegie Hall. Not only did I need to practice settling with him in all sorts of environments, I also needed to break settling way down into tiny steps in those different locations to help him be successful. Dogs have emotions and need to learn and practice to perform in different settings just like we do.
At the same time, training a dog and practicing the flute at a very high level requires enormous patience and persistence. Alex admittedly has never done something this methodical and I find him still wanting results much faster. As a result, I still take on most of the daily training. Although at Emily’s urging I’ve started prompting Alex to remember what Emily’s taught us and to keep treats on him at all times (Emily had us buy some nifty treat aprons for the house on Amazon).*
Today I have a lot more empathy for Stanley and for myself as his primary handler. While we haven't quite worked our way up to performing Rachmaninoff, every day our baby steps add up into small signs of progress. I've learned to celebrate the imperfections too (like when he ignores me and plops down at a stranger's feet to demand belly rubs), because those are the little details that make his performance special.
*[Disclosure: This post may contain affiliate links, meaning TOC may get a commission if you decide to make a purchase through our links, at no cost to you.]
The Dangerous Game of Fixing Me
Editor’s Note: For Mental Health Awareness Month, our co-founder, Christie Catan, decided to share this deeply personal essay about her mental health journey.
I stare down at the old hiking boots that I’ve had since 2009 and memories flood every nook and cranny of my body. Suddenly, I am 20 years old standing at the edge of a cliff watching the condors float through the sky. Then I’m taking my boots off to dip my tired feet into a bone-chilling and life-giving glacial lake somewhere in the Tetons. With another blink, I’m lying on the rocky esplanade of the Grand Canyon watching the rising sun turn everything around me into brilliant shades of pink and orange. Then I hear the sound of tags clanging together and feel a sense of joy building inside of me as I watch my dogs race through a creek. A second later, I am sitting in a tree above a stream near my college where I know the water would drown out my tears. I feel a wet nose on my face and it brings me back to the present moment. I reach down and pick my right boot up and flip it over to get a better look at the bottom. I touch a finger to the side of the sole and, with almost no effort, detach it from the shoe. I put the right shoe down and pick up the left one. Same thing. I carry both of my boots over to my fiancé, Ben, and ask, “Do you think I can fix these boots?”
Christie’s favorite hiking boots (pictured here) have logged many miles, and she says she will pick them over any other shoe she owns.
But what happens when it’s no longer just the boots that need fixing? What if it’s your dog? What if it’s another person? What if it’s you? That seemingly harmless word starts to pose real danger.
Why Fixing Me in College Led to Years of Feeling Broken
Most of my college years are a complete blur -- just not for the reasons you might expect. I spent a lot of those years in dissociated states to try to protect myself. There are bits and pieces that stick out, but a lot of it feels like I was numb and motionless while the world whizzed by me without ever seeing me there. I remember lying on a public dorm bathroom floor after just one week at college, knowing something was wrong. A few hours later as I lay in a hospital bed, a temporary sense of relief washed over me as I watched people start to busy themselves with the work of fixing me. Surgeries, procedures, and so many appointments all with the hopes of fixing me.
I lived in my grandmother’s basement as I tried to recover. People were constantly on the phone - either telling some friend about me or trying to find a doctor with the magical fix. A new person appeared in my room bearing some new thing for me to eat or drink at a pretty steady interval, but I had lost my grip on time. The fixing occupied so much of everyone’s time that nobody seemed to have time to just sit down with me and feel the weight of what happened. Based on the praise I got for “being brave” and the constant encouragement to “keep a positive attitude,” it didn’t take long for me to conclude that the massive amount of fear and confusion and sadness I was feeling were not okay. I couldn’t find space for my truth anywhere. So I worked hard to lie to everyone else -- and ultimately, to myself.
Christie (pictured here when when she was admitted to the hospital during a recent bout of pancreatitis) doesn’t believe in glorifying pain or trauma. She says she has found invitations in what she’s gone through to slowly come home to herself.
I look back and see so much love around me as I remember people doing their best to care for me. But a funny thing happens. When everyone around you is trying to fix you, it is easy to start to believe that you need to be fixed - that you are broken.
With All of That Fixing There Was No Room For Seeing and Hearing
I returned to school, and in my very first class back, I had the first (but not the last) panic attack of my life. It was bad enough that they drove an ambulance onto campus and took me out on a stretcher. I had always been able to handle pressure, but suddenly, I felt weak. Despite the hidden emotional roots of this event, I assumed it meant that same thing as all of my physical health struggles: I was broken and needed to be fixed.
While she spent a long time believing she was broken and actively trying to suppress feelings, Christie is now a big crier (and often laughs and cries at the same time). She trusts her body to process feelings, and she is adamant that feeling anxiety and sadness are not mutually exclusive with feeling joy.
I walked around the world with a now crippling level of shame. I seemed to sense that I was falling behind everyone else I knew, and a part of me hoped I was in fact as invisible as I felt. Nobody told me outright, but it felt like there was a time limit for how long I had before I needed to get “over it” and back to my “normal life.” I didn’t have the words to tell people that I had no idea what that was anymore. Today I look back on this time with a lot of sadness and a huge amount of compassion for myself. I was so desperately in need of connection and belonging, and I absorbed all of the information held in the fixing and the encouragement as messages about how I would be accepted in this world. No matter which way I looked, I believed I had to be a different version of myself. I needed to be fixed - that is what I thought people wanted. I did my best to pretend to be okay, and if that didn’t work, I think a part of me believed that I could find some semblance of connection if I continued to be broken. And I was lonely enough to unknowingly make that trade.
My physical health issues lingered and later turned into chronic issues without any clear single diagnosis. But what became most pervasive were the mental health challenges that followed. The fixers told me not to spend so much time thinking about it, and I worried that talking about what was going on would be too much of a downer. People did things to cheer me up, bought me books on being positive, and encouraged me to get back into the world. Many of these things were helpful. Still, nobody just sat down and held me while I cried without trying to fix me. I still couldn’t find any space for my truth - for my humanity.
How Fixing Me Actually Led to My Disconnection
I transferred schools hoping to find some sense of belonging. I now know that it doesn’t matter where you go -- if you feel you are broken at your core, it is hard to feel like you belong. But even so, this particular move actually exacerbated so much of my pain. I looked around and saw all the groups that had already formed, routines that had been created, and inside jokes that had bonded them all together. It felt like another universe, and it only made me feel more broken for not being a part of it. At the time, I didn’t have the language I needed to express what was happening, and so I found myself actually apologizing to other people for bailing on them or pretending like I didn’t care. I became more invisible by the day.
My PTSD and depression from college turned into Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD) after college. I took over as the main fixer in my own life. But when you think that YOU are the thing that is broken, it is hard to know what you are fixing anymore. I spent a lot of time and energy and money trying, but it felt like a game of whack-a-mole. All the while, very few people had any idea what was going on. By conventional standards, I was successful. But I was drowning inside.
Christie assumed she wouldn’t graduate on time after having to take a semester off and was pretty surprised when she realized she would graduate with the rest of her UVA class. She looks back on college and sees so many things to be grateful for. She also sees a younger version of herself who was so sad about the loss of so many things, but just didn’t know how to say it.
I didn’t know it at the time, but all of that fixing sewed disconnection. It made me separate from the fixer and separate from my truth. It created a false binary as I believed myself less than all of the fixers. And when I became the fixer, it gave me a false sense of control over my world. I was so busy fixing that I didn't have to pause to feel. As this version of me sitting here writing this, I don’t fault myself for all the fixing I tried to do. I was overwhelmed and doing the best I could to survive. And I survived. Slowly over time, I learned how to look at all of me with compassion. I started to heal by simply making myself feel seen without the pressure of fixing.
How Fixing Became a Warning Bell In My Life
It’s been a long journey since that day I found myself in pain on a college bathroom floor. “Fixing” is now one of my warning bells that something is off. If I notice myself doing it or notice it being done to me, I use it as a cue to pause and create some space for what is. Tactically speaking (hello die hard fixers), it is hard to take action in a meaningful way without stopping to really understand what is. Accepting what is does not mean you have to like it -- it means you see reality as it is instead of painting it in some other image. As Albert Einstein famously said, “If I had an hour to solve a problem and my life depended on the solution, I would spend the first 55 minutes determining the proper question to ask… for once I know the proper question, I could solve the problem in less than five minutes.” But I don’t think that the tactical reasons are the most compelling ones in potentially shifting how we look at fixing. I think the human reasons are.
Fixing often bypasses a person’s humanity and agency (same for dogs). It creates a power over dynamic rather than a power to dynamic. I now know that it can take a lot of courage to create space for what is without needing to change it. But there is magic in that space.
I heard my “fixing warning bell” go off when I first began doing my own anti-racism work. Fixing makes the fixer feel good -- it is comfortable. So it is not hard to see why my reflex would be to fix as I sat with the discomfort of all the harm caused by white supremacy delusions and my own ignorance. But that “fixing alarm” tells me to pause. And in that pause, I remember the truth. I remember to create space to actually see people. I remember that jumping straight to fixing makes people feel unseen and creates more disconnection. I remember that people don’t need to be fixed -- systems and policies do. I remember that people are powerful even if they aren’t in positions of power. I think of Lilla Watson and remember that my own liberation is bound up with everyone else's. I remember that to partner with and serve is very different than to fix.
What Fixing Means For Our Relationship With Dogs
I used to think in terms of “fixing” a lot with my dogs. Years ago when Otis started showing more reactive behaviors like barking and lunging, I skipped straight past any sort of recognition that his behavior had a function and moved straight into fixing. In doing this, I created even more of a power gap between us and robbed Otis of so much of his agency. I also went down a path of creating a bigger problem because I never stopped to understand what was going on. I had decided that certain behaviors were bad, and I set out to control him. At the time, I had actually convinced myself that it was a kind thing to do. Now if I hear a faint “fixing alarm bell” in my head, I respond quite differently. I almost instinctively say (out loud), “I see you.” This helps me remember that he is a sentient being with agency, and I don’t get to rob him of that. And then I start to unpack what function his behavior has and decide if I want to figure out how to partner with him to access that reinforcer in a different way or if I just need to change the world around him to better support him. With dogs and training, it can be so tempting to ascribe more value to some future vision we have for our dogs. Goals are great - so long as they don’t rob us of all that is in this present moment.
For Christie, nature and dogs have been two of the most powerful healers and teachers in her life. When she started meeting Otis’s fear-based reactivity with so much kindness, she realized that it might actually feel good to speak to herself like that. It was a huge ah-ha moment for her.
People and dogs are not boots. That should be reflected in how we care for them and for ourselves. I am not broken. You are not broken. Our dogs are not broken. We have value exactly as we are. Sometimes we aren’t thriving in this world, but that doesn’t mean WE are broken. Do we all need help and support? Of course! I have just found that the love and support we offer and receive feels so much more loving when it isn’t rooted in fixing a person or another being.
I am human and am still on my own healing journey. If I hear that warning bell go off as I try to “fix myself,” I put my hands on my heart, exhale, and say, “I see you. You are allowed to feel that. All of it belongs.” I remember that I was never broken. I remember that I am whole and worthy and belong to everyone and everything else here. I remember that pausing to show compassion for who I am in any given moment allows me to take action that has space for all of me.
One of the most beautiful gifts we can give other people, our dogs, and ourselves is to see each other. Being seen is so healing.
Showing Up and Getting Curious After That Guilty Verdict
Editor’s Note: In this special editorial for Tails of Connection, our co-founder, Christie Catan, responds to the Derek Chauvin verdict and what she feels it means for our community.
These days, you don’t have to look far to see how hard people work to keep their dogs feeling safe. I’m talking about the bandanas and leash ornaments that read “my dog needs space,” along with the passionate pleas on social media to follow leash laws. On the hiking trail, I’ve watched countless people get enraged when they’re approached by off leash dogs. Then I’ve seen how it turns into a community battle cry as people start echoing how they should be able to walk their dog without fear of being approached by an off leash dog. The underlying sentiment is always the same: Dogs deserve to feel safe. And here is the kicker: we trust our dogs to tell us when they feel safe or unsafe. We believe our dogs.
But what about people? Don’t people deserve to feel safe? Don’t people deserve to be believed? What if they are Black?
Why We Need to Show Up For the Black Members of Our Community
On April 20, Derek Chauvin was found guilty of murdering George Floyd. On the exact same day as that conviction, a white cop murdered a 16 year old Black girl (a CHILD) named Ma’Khia Bryant in Columbus, Ohio.
I feel a massive mess of emotions right now, but as a white woman, this simply isn’t a moment where I need to share them. But it absolutely is a moment when I, and other white people, need to show up.
What I do know is that Derek Chauvin's guilty verdict on all three counts is a lot of things and it absolutely matters, but it is not justice. To be honest, I am not even sure it is full accountability given the number of other cops who were also there when Derek Chauvin murdered George Floyd. Justice would be George Floyd coming home tonight. Justice would be not using guns at traffic stops. Justice would be placing counselors and social workers instead of cops in schools. Justice would be funding communities rather than the police. Justice would be healthcare for everyone. Justice would be dismantling a system that met Ma’Khia’s call for help with four bullets.
Why It’s Important to Get Curious About the Police and Safety
The most basic thing we all need in life is to feel safe. So when we hear people talking about police keeping us safe, please get curious. Keeping who safe? From what? From whom? What actually makes you feel safe? For me, it's about getting my basic needs met without feeling stress, along with having a sense of belonging. Those things don't come from the police. For George Floyd, Rayshard Brooks, Breonna Taylor, Philando Castile, Michael Brown, Sandra Bland and so many others, it was the police that they needed protection from.
A guilty verdict for Derek Chauvin doesn’t keep other Black people safe. It didn’t keep Ma’Khia safe.
It shouldn't take this much work for us to convict someone of murder when it happens right in front of our eyes. It shouldn't happen in the first place. A 16 year old child should be helped and loved, not shot. We (white people) need to keep learning, unlearning, and working -- myself included. I will keep doing my own work because that is one of the best ways I can love people. We keep working for justice by pushing for changes that value Black life; not just for accountability after death.
To the Black Members of Our Community: You Matter
Imagine a world where we (white people) fight as hard for Black people to feel safe stopping at traffic lights, running in neighborhoods, or sleeping in bed, as we fight for our dogs to feel safe on walks. That needs to be our world.
“The dog space” is not exempt from the realities of the world we live in. Dogs are cared for by people. And the best way to take care of dogs is to take care of people.
TOC is a community. I don’t see a way to honor the meaning of community without truly seeing people. So while I don’t have big answers or solutions (and frankly, I choose to look to and support leaders from the Black community who are doing this work like Rachel Cargle, Dr. Yaba Blay, Sonya Renee Taylor, Ijeoma Oluo, and Ibram X. Kendi and Black-led organizations like Movement for Black Lives, The Great Unlearn, and The Audre Lorde Project), I do have the ability to control how I show up in my life and for this community. To our Black friends, I see you. Your safety matters. Your joy matters. Your life matters. You matter. I am holding space for you in this moment.
The Kindness I Learned From My Dog Otis
“You should be able to handle this. You are weak.” This is the song that plays a lot on the radio inside my head. It plays at a nice low volume -- almost imperceptible, but I feel its reverberations throughout my entire body. I feel it in the tightness in my chest that makes breathing difficult. I feel it in the giant lump in my throat that keeps me from speaking. Without thinking, my system starts shoving the fear and shame down, as it's been doing for a lifetime, and I carry on with my day, mistaking my persistence for bravery.
I walk my then seven month old dog, Otis, and I get beet red as he starts barking at a young child on a scooter fifteen yards away. This is not a playful bark. It’s a back-the-fluff-up bark, and I decide I have had it: “This is not acceptable, I have to fix him.” I am not sure I recognize it then, but I know now it is another hit song on that same radio station inside my head. I begin walking down a metaphorical road of trying to shove my dog into the “good dog box,” where only easy, happy, obedient dogs can fit.
After some time, I look over at Otis to find a dog who looks flat from all of my metaphorical shoving. There is less life. Less joy. But that damn fear is still there. It just looks a little different. I realize that what I am doing doesn’t feel loving at all.
I decide in that moment that I am going to help Otis from a place of love. I have no idea what that actually looks like though. So I start to learn.
How Partnering with Otis Changed Our Relationship
Otis (seen here with the author, Christie Catan) is an 80-pound Sheepadoodle, which is a cross between an Old English Sheepdog and a Poodle.
First, I listen and accept. Instead of telling Otis that he shouldn’t be afraid, I ask him what he is afraid of. And when he tells me, I show him that I really hear him by walking to the other side of the street where we can watch scooters pass from a safe distance. I tell him that he is allowed to have feelings and needs and promise him that it is safe to tell me about them. I look at who he is, and I learn to love every part of him. Even the parts that drive me nuts. Because they are just the shadowy sides of the things that make him so beautiful to me.
Second, I “hold his hand” and tell him we are in this together. We take baby steps, and I listen to him carefully so I don’t push him too hard. We sit in the grass, and he eats chicken while we watch scooters pass by from a safe distance. I am a bit bored, but I smile because the whole experience feels like love. I realize I can honor his feelings while also helping him. And I learn that sitting beside him and helping him feels a lot different than fixing him.
Third, I add things into his life that fill up his cup. I pay attention and learn what sort of things he enjoys and what sort of things calm him. I very intentionally start adding those things into his life and feel incredibly grateful to be able to give him this gift. I notice that he starts to communicate more and more as he learns that I will at least always listen (even if I can’t always give him exactly what he wants).
How Training Otis Helped Me Find Acceptance in Myself
As I sit here at my desk with a now three-and-a-half year old Otis at my feet, I start to feel that old classic hit song reverberating in my body again. I decide I don’t like this song very much, and almost as though by muscle memory, I change the station. This action is new for me, and yet somehow, it feels familiar.
The song on the new station goes something like this: “I know you are afraid to feel what you are feeling, but I promise it is safe. We can handle it together.”
Looking at these past few years working with Otis, I realize it was never just about training my dog. In the many many hours I spent training him, I strengthened some really important muscle groups: acceptance, compassion, humility, grace, and love. The more I use those muscles in my relationship with my dog, the better I get at recruiting those same muscles for my relationship with myself.
I am very slowly learning how to accept and honor some of my own fears and feelings. It turns out that what I have wanted all along is what I give to my dog: someone to listen and accept me and what I am feeling, someone to sit with me and help me when I am ready, and someone to enjoy life with. It turns out that I am capable of being that someone for myself - I have had lots of practice. Just ask Otis. I am his favorite someone.
You can follow Christie’s adventures with Otis on Instagram here.
Behind the Scenes: The Making of the Tails of Connection Challenge
Picture our first day of shooting this challenge: As I sit in one of those high barstool chairs, three large studio lights are about two feet from my face. The camera is so close that I worry it must be capturing every single pore. My co-founder, Jess, counts down with her hands, “three, two, one,” and I sit in silence, completely unaware that I missed my cue. She chuckles and begins her countdown again: “Three, two, one.” Silence. This time I know I am supposed to speak, but I lose all ability to form words. Eventually, the words come, but so do some very (and I mean very) awkward eye movements. “What in the world is happening to my face? It has a mind of its own!” Before we continue with this director’s cut and the story of my meteoric rise to on-camera stardom (I hope by now you’re picking up on my sarcasm), I want to go backwards and tell you the story of how we landed on launching a challenge in the first place.
Why We Never Dreamed of Launching a Challenge
This is a look behind the scenes at one of our first days of filming the challenge in my living room.
When Jess and I envisioned Tails of Connection (TOC), we weren’t thinking of a challenge. We’d already assembled an awesome community of dog parents on Slack and wanted to keep taking steps toward our larger goal of launching the dog community of our dreams. Truth: our initial ideas for progress were more like building a jet and flying halfway around the world than taking a baby step forward. Perhaps it was the wisdom from our mentors - both those we met in person and those we felt we knew personally thanks to podcasts (Alli Webb, if you are reading this, we basically believe you’re our friend) - or maybe it was the fact that we couldn’t (yet) afford to build our metaphorical jet, but thankfully we course corrected, so to speak. We eventually hunkered down to figure out how we could produce something realistic that would provide value and give us a chance to get some feedback from our audience. Our brains immediately arrived at building an ecourse of sorts.
How I Ended Up on Camera
We realized that in order to move forward, I needed to be on camera. I never wanted to be “the talent” and had been fighting this concept for months. I even dismissed countless mentors who told us that this was the best way to start. Since we were out of options, I finally agreed, with the following conditions:
We create an ecourse that feels more collaborative than a “me-telling-you” thing.
The focus is on having fun and helping people make training a regular part of their lives. I did not want to promise perfection.
We are clear that I’m not a professional trainer. Don’t get me wrong, I have learned A LOT over the years (and wow do I wish I’d known so many of the simple dog training concepts I learned later in life much earlier), but being transparent and authentic mattered to me.
Our Creative Process for Producing the Challenge
The ex-consultant in me created this spreadsheet to organize our initial concept for the daily topics for the challenge. This definitely evolved as we filmed!
We sat down at The Wing in Washington D.C. to storyboard the content for the course, and as we were going back and forth we tossed out the idea of a challenge, where users could learn together during a set period of time for five minutes a day. We realized that format would allow us to create something fun with community (similar to what we’d built on Slack) around the information that we presented. As a recovering ex-consultant, I built a spreadsheet of all the dog training things I wanted to share, categorized them according to the type of skill (i.e. foundation, basic obedience, advanced obedience, and tricks) and then drilled down into those categories even more. The list got big in a hurry. We initially thought about creating a month-long challenge, but it didn’t take long for us to realize that a 30-day challenge (with new content every single day) might overwhelm people (later, we realized that it would have meant double the amount of work for us - ha!).
So we landed on a two-week challenge and worked to narrow down all of the topics that we wanted to cover. We knew we had to pick the right mix of entertaining and informative activities to fill the 14 days and then provide some space for more experienced people/dogs to progress. I always enjoyed revisiting foundations, so we decided to slot those in on some days as a value-add for any dog, regardless of their experience level with training. Format wise, each day we decided to help make this challenge work for a variety of levels by providing both a “how-to” section that explains how you teach the behavior or game to a dog who doesn’t know it and a “#ShakeItUp” section where we show fun ways to progress and offer other options participants can try to advance a behavior even further. We also invite users to show us the special way that they like to practice each skill in our private Facebook group dedicated to the challenge. Just like Slack, how cool would it be if people started sharing their own videos and other participants could really get motivated and inspired?
What It Was Like Filming the Challenge in My Apartment
Otis and Sully were amazing to shoot with during the challenge. Sometimes they would beat me to their marks “on the set.”
Each day, we transformed my apartment into a set and shot videos in my living room. We decided to invest in a professional camera and lights (which we stored next to my bed - hurray for city apartment living).
Luckily for my relationship with Jess, I got significantly more comfortable on camera. Jess also played the role of wardrobe supervisor and raided my closet. She had me wear the same shirt for every day of the challenge (it’s now collecting dust in my dresser).
In general, filming with dogs made for some interesting bloopers. On more than one occasion, Otis was sitting next to me as I nailed a segment, and then suddenly decided to leave the shot to kiss Jess. For the most part though, Otis and Sully actually did really well. We had to watch the schedule and their behavior to make sure they were willing to continue filming. To keep things realistic, we chose to embrace imperfect takes. In fact, you will notice in the challenge that we used a #ShakeItUp video where Otis fails to do the exercise I set up. We easily could have reshot that segment to capture Otis succeeding, but we wanted to show real dogs having fun rather than being perfect all of the time.
Why We Kept the Daily Challenge Videos Short
Here’s a peak at Jess’s edit bay at home. She spent hours editing the challenge after we finished shooting every day.
From the beginning, we filmed each daily challenge segment separately (e.g. the intro, how-to, perks etc.). We initially did this to reduce the number of “lines” I had to deliver in a given take and give Jess a chance to reframe shots if necessary. We actually envisioned splicing those segments together into a single video for each day of the challenge, but as Jess edited them, we realized that people might also like to watch them separately. For the most part, I improvised each segment and Jess constantly harped on keeping it short (no wasting words) and human (less technical “trainer speak” and more conversational advice). So often when I watch a long dog training video, I need to go back to a specific section of the video when I actually go to teach my dog. However, I can never find the 45 seconds I need in the 29 minute YouTube video. We hope that by creating a better experience, it’s easier to finish the challenge.
This is Just the Beginning
While our vision extends far beyond this challenge, we are really proud of what we have built and are so excited to launch. What we created is far from perfect, but after testing the challenge with a group of dog parents like you, we know how fun and effective it is.
We hope that you will join us!
My Training Journey
Editor’s Note: In April 2021, Christie Catan became a certified professional dog trainer, knowledge assessed (CPDT-KA). She is currently a Lead Trainer at Dog Trained. The following article was written before Christie received her certification.
I should start by saying that I am not a professional dog trainer. It was never my dream to train my dogs, and I always thought that I should leave the training to the pros.
After spending thousands of dollars on training my dog, Otis, I was frustrated. Costly training lessons left me with an obedient dog who lacked enthusiasm and was still afraid of so many things (think feathers, kids, boxes, bags, skateboards, scooters, noises, and the list goes on). I felt helpless and had no idea how to give my dog a better life.
Why I Decided to Train My Dog for Five Minutes a Day
Still determined to somehow help, I made a promise to train Otis myself for five minutes every day (I picked a goal that I could achieve even with my hectic schedule). Committing to those five minutes turned out to be the easy part. Figuring out what to do in our time together proved to be far more difficult.
Despite all the money I’d spent on training, I had no idea what to incorporate in our sessions or even what to research, and I felt incredibly overwhelmed. I bought dense books from the 1980s that invoked psychologists like B.F. Skinner and Pavlov and read articles with training terms that left my head spinning. I even watched YouTube videos about training bomb sniffing dogs (oy vey, I wish you could see my search history). A particular high point was when I ordered a four-hour training DVD set (even my determined inner-nerd didn’t finish these). Soon I also started following any living person who talked about dog training on Instagram, to the point that I was only getting served dog ads (even on my personal, non-Otis account).
Slowly - and I mean slowly - I started to notice patterns in my research. I began picking up on training terms and concepts and I finally had enough basic knowledge to identify the methodologies and trainers that I liked and respected. (I also grew frustrated with how difficult it was to find training content in a digestible format, but that is a story for another time). Interestingly, I observed dogs’ tails wagging throughout many training videos and wanted to help Otis experience the joy of training too.
How I Got Started with Daily Training
When I finally started to implement my research into training Otis for five minutes a day, I set some basic ground rules that really paid off. I vowed to listen to Otis and he became one of my greatest teachers. (I owe him a thank you for being so patient with me as I learned). I also stopped caring about perfection or compliance and no longer trained just to fix problems. Instead, I trained for joy (his and mine) and to help teach him how to thrive in this human world. To this day, I am in awe of what happened:
Increasingly, Otis started naturally choosing to do what I wanted him to do. To be fair, he does not always make the choices I want him to make, and that is okay! I find myself having fewer and fewer reasons to give commands or shout “no” because he has started to become a “thinking dog” who can make good choices on his own.
He became enthusiastic about training and working with me. He will fly over to me when I ask him if he is ready to train. He no longer looks like the pouty kid whose parent just said “it’s time to go” as he runs over to me. He is thrilled to head my way.
Otis started picking me over other things. Previously, I always played second fiddle to other dogs, but now other dogs take a back seat to me.
He grew so much more confident. He started to not only trust me, but also to trust himself to work through fears. He is a completely different dog.
I realized how much Otis (and dogs in general) need the ongoing mental stimulation that training offers. A trip to the dog park is not sufficient for a great life.
I learned to cater my sessions to Otis’ emotional and physical needs. Serving up what he needs has had a huge impact on our progress.
I found joy. Training Otis allowed me to be present, and for me, that is the ultimate gift in this crazy life.
I discovered so much about myself. That may sound crazy, but you would be surprised at how much working with your dog in a kind way has a way of telling us what we need spiritually and emotionally in our own lives.
I met so many supportive people along the way (including amazing professional trainers) who imparted wisdom and reminded me to laugh when I’m outsmarted by Otis.
Spreading the Joy of Training Now and in the Future
Most importantly, I no longer train because I have to. I train because I want to. Some days I don’t train at all because life happens, and that is okay. It has been such a gift to watch Otis, and now, Sully, transform through training. I feel lucky to get to be a part of it.
There are so many things about training that I wish I had known sooner, but chief among them is how much joy it can add to your life. Sharing this joy is what made me start Tails of Connection with Jessica, my co-founder. Our dreams far exceed what I’ve learned, and we are excited for the rest of the journey.
An Important Note
I want to be clear about something. I will always love working with (good) professional trainers! Through my journey, I learned that there is so much to be gained from also learning how to bond with your dog through your own regular training - even if it is to supplement work you’re doing with a trainer. Some of my favorite moments with my dogs have happened as I helped them learn something new or conquer a fear. I had always viewed training as some utilitarian thing, and it felt more like a big chore. I realized it could be as simple as five minutes, and if I wanted to make it a regular part of our lives, it also had to be fun.