dog scared of thunder Archives

The storm today had thunder that made me jump just a little and the dog shivering uncontrollably. Even before it came, Donna was already communicating her nervousness, putting her front paws on my chair as she tried to attain some height.

I took out the new pack of doggy sausage from the refrigerator and sat in the living room, cutting it into tiny treats ready to disburse to the dog every time the thunder rolled.

But when the thunder hammered across the sky, she was one mass of jiggling nerves. I’m serious. If you had put your arms around her, she would have felt like a violently trembling Osim massage machine.

The rare treat of being on the sofa gave her no comfort, she tried to climb the coffee table. That was too dangerous. I stopped her. She didn’t feel safe with me, she ran off to poke at the child gate barricading the kitchen, seeking safety elsewhere. Needless to say, the doggy sausage went largely unheeded.

Finally I called her to come and put a t-shirt on her, hoping that having something she was not used to on her would distract her enough to calm her down a little. When she finally settled, it was under the coffee table, enduring the irrational doggy voices in her head.

Suzanne Clothier says it is OK to comfort the dog. The challenge is how does one do that when the dog has already tuned you out?

Hugging the dog is not the option here, Donna does not like to be hugged. She could put up with it on occasion, but hugging her when her tail is already tucked in between her legs just seemed to me to be heaping further pressure on her.

She likes to be petted, but on her own terms and only when she comes looking for you.

That’s why in general, I can only take the measure of her fear by offering her treats. She ignores them when she is too absorbed in her fears. If she had the presence of mind to take them when offered, it means she was gotten calmer.

When she took the bit of tuna I offered, I took the T-shirt off her again. She grinned pretty happily like it was a load off her back. But the thunder continued and she stopped taking the food on my hand, focusing on the fear that has gripped her doggy mind. So I put the T-shirt back on her.

Nope, she has not mastered her fears although she is slightly more responsive with the T-shirt back on. She is worried but not so much now. She tail is only slightly tucked inwards rather than totally curled. Still nervous though judging by ow distracted she is, her ears, eyes and panting.

I’m not sure if the T-shirt helped or made it worse, but at least she settled by my feet and the massage-machine level of trembling had disappeared. She was still salivating more than normal because of the heightened excitement.

I kept offering tuna to her nose but it didn’t work. Since she had laid down by my feet, I sat calmly cutting up the rest of the slighted sausage, packing them into a container for use as training treats at a later time. On hindsight, perhaps I should have petted her more?

Eventually I tried stooping down and getting her attention while offering the tuna. It worked. And as the thunder lightened, I switched to the sausage treats. That worked too. Good.

Here it is the container of tiny cut sausage treats, the result of today’s endeavour to slowly lift her reaction to thunder with food. She went into an automatic sit and was trying her hardest to telepathically send feed me messages. Hah! Fine, one last tiny piece for her.

She’s quite adaptable with the t-shirt.

She gave up lobbying for treats after she realised I was not giving anymore since the rain had stopped. She had somehow managed to get her front paws through the collar of the shirt. I thought it made her look like a Japanese geisha with the obi belt. Haha :P

I felt quite drained after the storm. She must feel so too.

After the rain, we prepared to go out for a much needed walk in the cooled evening air. She sputtered with disgust as I squirted ear cleaner liquid into her ears against her will. She hated me. More than she hated the thunder at that moment probably. She poured all her anger into her beloved Dentastix that she chomped on vehemently, a goodwill gesture on my part for inflicting the ear torture on her.

Then we headed out for a simple walk, no training. Just brisk walking to clear both our heads and our souls.

A lady who passed by us asked to pet her. Donna reminded her of her own dog, she said. In the last few months, Donna seemed to have gained confidence with meeting strangers, compared to when she met Uncle Gardener. She did not react to the lady’s hand hovering over her head.

The evening was cool and wet and she got all her paws muddy. But she returned with a healthy appetite for dinner and now lies on her side sleeping without fussing to play like she usually does after her meals.

I’m sorry if today’s post is a little melodramatic. It’s just how the words flowed today. :P

I decided to order a 3 feet-long crate for her. I wasn’t sure if I should get 2.5 feet or 3 feet because I vaguely remembered reading somewhere that the crate should not be too large so the dog would not eliminate in it. A call to the pet store was unfruitful as it could not give me the advice I needed. The pet store owner was too busy trying to explain to me that a dog crate is a plastic box and a dog cage is a metal enclosure but was unable to advise on which size to get.

I spent some time searching and reading before I found the clarification online. In general, the dog should be able to lie comfortably on her side and to sit comfortably without hitting her head, so a three-ft crate will likely be more comfortable for her 15kg frame. A smaller 2.5 feet crate is only necessary for a dog that is not toilet-trained and is in the process of being house-trained.

We are getting the metal one which allows for greater air flow since our weather is typically hot and humid. Given her penchant for seeking shelter in the galley kitchen and under the coffee table, I think it should work great as a refuge for her (if introduced properly), especially on days when there is nobody home. Fingers crossed!

She doesn’t usually do this because she understands the meaning of a barrier. But when it starts to thunder loudly and the wind howls, she just wants to be near you, in the same space. She pushes into the kitchen without a thought.

For the first time, she launches herself upwards so that her front paws land on the counter top supporting her upright posture. After she is satisfied, she drops down and moves to the small yard where again she was never allowed. She peers into the gloom of the store room but decides against entering. She peers into the drum of the washing machine. The space is too small for her. There is no safe place to hide.

She finally stops by the side of the kitchen cabinet and stares out to the living room, where the thunder blares right outside. Her tail is tucked between trembling legs. You call her but she does not respond, already immersed in her own world of doggy apocalyptic thoughts.

Physically, you tap her gently on the rump to get her attention, ‘sit’, you say. She does, slowly. Does it give her some measure of comfort?

“Help me,” she seemed to be saying with her eyes perhaps. But my dear girl, no one can keep the thunder away.

You walk in and out living life as normal. There is nothing to be scared of, its just a storm, you tell her. You hold the gate for her, in case she wants to follow you to the living room. But her bottom is rooted to the spot. “Do you want a treat?” you ask, knowing full well her little head of horrors is drowning you out. You left the small piece of jerky by her anyway, and tie the gate open with industrial strength velcro.

After she realises that you are not going back to the kitchen, she makes her way to the living room and stood there in the centre for quite a while. At length, she realises nothing is happening to her. And as the thunder dies, she lies down on her own and relaxes into sleep.