Being the guardian of a reactive dog in an urban apartment can sometimes feel lonely. There are moments when it seems that all the hard work we put into helping our dogs navigate the modern world has been in vain, and we’re back to square one. It’s difficult to find people who truly understand; most of the time, those on the receiving end of the reactivity become angry, blaming the dog for their behavior and us for how we’re "failing" to raise them properly.
Even close friends and family can become frustrated, pointing out what we’re doing wrong or what we’re not doing, as if we’re not already berating ourselves enough.
Even as a certified dog professional with dogs who also have reactivity and sensitivity to certain triggers, I’m not spared from this feeling of isolation and loneliness. Just one episode of reactivity after weeks or months of progress can be enough to bring my confidence crashing down. It makes me feel like a failure, as if all the work I’ve put into teaching my dogs has been ineffective. Most damaging of all is the doubt it sows in my ability to help other pet parents when I can’t even seem to address my own dogs’ big feelings.
I remember one of my dog Kidlat's worst meltdowns. He has this issue where he remembers the scent of a person or dog he doesn’t like. I have a theory, but I’m not really sure how he came to hate almost everyone living on our floor, especially the person next door and a couple of women who own an Airbnb at the other end of the hall. He can identify them by scent even in places other than our floor. For instance, if he smells them in the lobby, he’ll track that scent and bark angrily at them. He only reacts this way to a select group of people—he’s either neutral or friendly toward almost everyone else in the building.
One time, we were waiting for the elevator after a walk. When the elevator opened, I didn’t instantly notice the woman who was about to exit. It was too late for me to realize it was one of the girls he hates, and he went crazy. It happened so fast: he grabbed the woman’s shorts while barking. I quickly pulled him back and profusely apologized. Luckily, he let go easily and the elevator door closed, but throughout the ride, even though it was just me and Kidlat inside, he continued barking angrily.
That incident threw me into a spiral of shame and self-blame. I never blame my dogs when they react like that, but it’s too easy for me to point the finger at myself, with that voice inside my head saying, “I should’ve done this or that,” or “I didn’t do enough.”
I try to be as patient and compassionate with myself as I am with my dogs when they lose it in public, but sometimes the road can truly be dark and lonely. That’s why I’m grateful for the community of force-free, positive reinforcement trainers and guardians I have around me—my mentor, the dog geeks I meet through online learning platforms, and the fellow pet parents of reactive dogs and advocates of force-free training I engage with on social media. Their work, experiences, and stories remind me that incidents like this don’t define us.
Learning is never linear, every dog can have big reactions to anything, there are just things we cannot control, and sometimes management can fail.
Having a community that understands, doesn’t judge, and offers insights with compassion and kindness is crucial in raising dogs, whether they have reactivity issues or not.
It inspires us to do, listen, and think better for our dogs. If we don’t feel any of that in the environment we’re currently in, it might be time to seek out a different crowd—the right village that will help us raise our furry friends with kindness and understanding.
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