Lobo'sStory
I often refer to Lobo as my “game-changer” dog. He was my first solo responsibility dog, my most favorite sidekick, and one of my greatest teachers.
We did everything together: errands, neighborhood walks, Nature excursions and hiking, jogging, hanging out, sleeping, picnic-ing, journaling at the park or a cafe… Lobo and I were inseparable.
There was a lot I didn’t know about “raising a dog”, and I was hungry for information. I started meeting other folks with dogs, routinely meeting up for play dates and romp sessions. Doggy happy hours and birthday parties (don’t judge). I met a lot of great folks who shared some useful tips and information with me about raising a dog. The importance of exercise, “socializing,” training, etc. Who the best vets in our area were. Pet insurance. All of this was completely new to me, and I ate it up. It was through these channels I learned about some guy out in California who was starting to take the dog world by storm. A certain fellow by the name of Cesar Millan. He was known for walking the streets of L.A. with a huge pack of Rottweilers (a sight to behold) and was just starting to make a name for himself. People were in awe of his ability to relate to and communicate with dogs, maintain order and control in huge packs of them, etc. I was hearing remarkable things. This was pre-TV show and book deals, and his name was tucked away in my mental filing cabinet.
When Lobo turned the ripe ol’ age of 3, a stork appeared with another blue blanket.
A cinnamon-colored pup with golden, amber eyes. I named him “Tucker”. And although it took Lobo a little bit to warm up to him, he eventually did; and the two became inseparable. Lobo took little Tucker under his paw and taught him everything he knew. Heck, he did the bulk of the training. It was the 3 of us against the world. My boys. Oh, how I loved them so.
I was married at the time, and just 2 weeks after Tuck came into the picture, my husband and I decided to call it quits. As soon as the divorce happened (and all the glorious changes that came along with it), it was like a switch flicked in Lobo. Who was once a very social, well-adjusted, balanced dog, became the polar opposite. Although there were a select few dogs he’d never turn on, everyone else was fair game to him and became his sworn enemy. I didn’t understand this or know what to make of it. What was happening?!? This heightened my anxiety levels even more, which, of course, exasperated his.
I was desperate to get my Lobo back.
I sought the help of a number of different trainers, focusing on “purely positive”… because, well, I loved my dog and, quite frankly, “purely positive” sounded nice. I’d never want anyone to “force” or “do harm” to my boy (common misconception and mentality in choosing trainers). Although lovely people and great obedience trainers, this wasn’t an “obedience” issue. I didn’t know there was a difference at the time, and no one was pointing it out to me. Come to find out, “obedience training” is just “brain training”; subscribing meaning to verbal cues and commands, and this was their specific training lane ~ which would place a limitation on what they could achieve with my Lobo behaviorally. He knew every cue, every directive, and had a laundry list of tricks he could execute seamlessly (especially when a piece of chicken was present); but while he was a well “trained” dog, he was still not a well “behaved” dog. And his behaviors were only intensifying and getting worse.
This highlights the difference between 2 very important parts of every dog.
The mental body and the emotional/ psychological body. These two aspects of a dog absolutely need to be developed and spoken to in raising and training.
There were some critical ingredients each and every one of those trainers missed while the mental aspect of Lobo was getting spoken to and developed; these ingredients being: 1) state of mind, 2) the emotional and psychological shade of “behavior”, and 3) the human ingredient… me! The part I played in all of this and what I was bringing to the table. What I was doing (and not doing) that was contributing to, impacting, and influencing his state of mind and behaviors.
Things weren’t improving and I didn’t know what to do; so – like most folks- I began avoiding potential issues. In my mind, Lobo was now “dog aggressive” (and becoming “human aggressive”), so I readjusted my day-to-day to accommodate this new story and reality - and prevent the possibility of anything bad happening. I couldn’t walk both him and Tucker together anymore because of Lobo’s pulling, lunging, and insane reactivity on leash. It was too much for me to handle, so I’d go running with Lobo and wear him out; then swap him out for Tucker and take Tuck out for socializing, play or an off-leash hike. I didn’t want Tucker to miss out on playing with, experiencing and learning from other dogs (another thing we teach about).
After exhausting my finances through training help for Lobo, I’d gotten to a point where I couldn’t afford where I was living anymore. I had to move once again, find a roommate, and was up against the same issue I had in the beginning. Most dog-friendly roommate situations already had other animals living there, and I couldn’t bring an animal-aggressive dog into the mix. I had my hopes set on one last trainer. One last ditch effort. A 2 week board and train behavior modification program. This had to work. It just had to.
I was receiving great reports from Lobo’s trainer. He was living with other dogs without any issue and responding very well to the program. For the first time in a very long time, I had hope… and it felt good.
I moved into my new home armed with this new hope and, not soon after, the day came for Tucker and me to be reunited with our beloved Lobo. I was so excited to see him and witness all the changes and new behaviors he’d adopted! Life was going to be exponentially better now. We would be all together again. The nightmare was over. My Lobo was back, and everything would be better. Finally.
This hope would be short lived, as all those new behaviors and all that training that was supposed to be instilled in him? They all flew right out the window as soon as he returned to me.
I didn’t get it. I couldn’t and didn’t understand. What was happening?? What the hell did I just pay all that money for?!? He, of course, didn’t get along with my roommate’s dog, and wanted to kill the cats. Everyone and everything was a threat to him, and it was affecting him emotionally, mentally, and physically (he’d developed chronic diarrhea from the stress and anxiety of it all, and we were having to go out several times a day and night so he could relieve himself. I couldn’t afford to take him to the vet, so I tried to help him with a bland chicken and rice diet <— I didn’t know better at the time).
My room was corner-to-corner trash bags of my clothes and belongings. Hardly any room to move. And Lobo couldn’t set foot outside of it. He was isolated to my bedroom so he wouldn’t hurt any of the other animals. Whenever we left my room, he was on a leash. The thought that I may have to find him another home crept into my awareness, along with feelings of immense sadness, guilt, shame, grief, confusion, anger……
One night, very late in the evening, my roommate came home with her new boyfriend after a night out on the town.
As they stumbled in, I was heading out with Lobo on lead to use the bathroom. It was around 2:30 a.m. He’d woken me up scratching at the door. When they got to the top of the stairs, her boyfriend came over and said, “Ah- so this is the problem guy, eh?” and stuck his hand in Lobo’s face (big no-no for any dog)…. and you can guess what happened next. Lobo clamped on and blood went everywhere. I was mortified; I didn’t think it was in Lobo to do something like that. I simply couldn’t believe what just happened. My roommate was yelling at me, at the dog, saying that Lobo wasn’t welcome in the house anymore and ever again. I took Lobo outside, fell to the ground and sobbed. What was happening? What was happening to my boy? Why couldn’t anyone help him? Why couldn’t I fix it? What am I not doing? And, what do I do now?!
The tears wouldn’t stop coming. I was at a complete loss.
I had no family to turn to. No support system. No one I could ask for help. I went down my rolodex of friends and asked everyone if Lobo could stay with them until I could figure out what to do. I asked friends of friends of friends and was desperate for help. I even called my ex-husband and begged him to let Lobo stay with him until I figured things out. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger, I pleaded, I’ll come by every day and walk him, feed him… I’ll take care of ALL his needs, I just need a place for him to stay. Please. I’m begging you. I have no other choice. “I’m sorry, no,” he said.
The following morning, Lobo, Tucker, and I met a friend with her dog (one of Lobo’s oldest and dearest doggie pals) at a local park.
I couldn’t stop crying. I didn’t know what to do, who to call, where to go… and to top that off, he’d now bitten someone, which added to the story. My friend listened to me cry and tried to comfort me the best she could. Then she finally said, “Kim- I know you don’t want to hear this, but you might have to think about putting him down.” What?!, my heart bellowed, No! No- that’s not an option. “You’ve tried everything. You’ve tried training, placing him temporarily… and now he’s bitten someone and isn’t allowed back in the place you live. You can’t keep living like this, nor can he,” she said with tears in her eyes, and as gently and sympathetically as she could. Was this how my life with Lobo was going to end? Was this really happening?? I couldn’t make a decision like this. No, I just couldn’t. There had to be another way. Something else I wasn’t thinking of…. there just had to be.
As the morning slid into the afternoon hours, my friend stayed by my side and was with me during the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make in my life. Nothing compared to this. She met me at my place, I snapped a few more shots of Lobo and Tucker together (one pictured to the right), took Tucker inside, then we left with Lobo to the animal shelter.
I was hyperventilating and crying harder than I ever have in my life.
My entire body was convulsing and shaking. I could barely walk. My friend completed the paperwork for me… I couldn’t do it. Physically or otherwise. We were instructed to drive around back and through the gate. I spent a few last minutes in the back of the van with my Lobo. My precious boy. It was a tight squeeze with all the shame. Guilt. Anger. Sorrow. Feelings of betrayal. Doubt and second-guessing. Self-loathing and judgment. All shared space with us in those final moments.
I led him into the building and was directed to a cement space with a chain-link gate. He walked into the space, and I closed the gate behind him. He turned back around with a quizzical look on his face. My sobbing continued. He knew something wasn’t right. He walked his front paws up the gate, and stuck his little gray nose through an opening between the gate and concrete wall. His tail wagged a few times, then slowly fell still. I told him I loved him. How sorry I was I failed him. And told him I loved him again. Then I turned and walked away. His cries bellowing over mine. I reached my friend’s van, and fell into the seat, sobbing uncontrollably.
This is really tough for me to write. Revisiting this. That was a very dark, very difficult chapter in my life. And while I don’t believe in regrets, this story will always be a source of great sadness for me as I find myself sitting here saying to myself, “If only I’d known then what I know now”… but that’s impossible. And I shouldn’t do that to myself. Life is a journey. A process of learning. Growing. Becoming. And unfolding.
Not soon after, I started seeing this Cesar Millan fellow everywhere.
He’d just started publishing his teachings and work, and even ended up with his own TV show, “The Dog Whisperer.” I devoured everything he released and started thinking about my relationship with myself and my dogs in a completely different way. I started to see where I went wrong in my dynamic with Lobo. Lobo wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t a vicious dog. His aggression was a direct response to a number of things, including the information he was receiving from me. Everything we do with a dog is some form of a conversation. We’re always sharing information with them; and there was much I was doing and not doing that was impacting what was underlying and driving his behaviors.
We are our dogs’ primary source of information in this world. They’re looking to us for their cues, guidance, directives, and how to feel about each and every scenario when enter them into. They have individual, instinctual, and breed-specific (even if mixed) needs that must be met and provided for. Dogs are dependent upon us to do this for them and cannot meet these needs themselves.
Although it wasn’t always like this, what I represented in Lobo’s world was imbalance, insecurity, and weakness. I represented a source of energy he didn’t feel safe, secure, or comfortable following in the world. There was no “captain steering the ship”, and someone needed to take the wheel. I was living in survival mode. In a constant state of nervousness, fear, anxiety, stress, and emotion. I had lost my grip on “life”. Lobo recognized this, took the wheel, and assumed the vacant position as captain of our ship.
We live in a far-from-instinctual world. And when a dog starts calling the shots and leading us in a world he doesn’t instinctually understand, this will only create more imbalance, defensiveness, frustration, anxiety, you name it. They don’t understand this world like we do, and it’s our responsibility to guide and help them connect those necessary dots.
Dogs. We domesticated them, we need to assume the responsibility of fulfilling their needs.
Helping them obtain real world and functional knowledge and understanding. They’re not born with this. They don’t come to us pre-programmed. They don’t come to the table understanding what what we consider to be “appropriate’, polite, or respectful behavior. The onus 100% falls upon us to teach them this; but we can’t teach without first understanding how to communicate clearly and effectively (hint: it goes way above and beyond anything verbal).
We need to educate ourselves on how to meet their needs so we can avoid more situations like this. Avoid more dogs getting bounced around from home to home, dropped off at high-kill shelters, unfairly judged and labeled, other dogs, children, and other people getting bit, etc. When we understand how to meet and provide for their needs, learn how to step up in the way they need us to, and begin to understand the varying, influencing ingredients that shape and condition behavior (as information and feedback, a manner of expression, a form of communication, and a reflection of what’s in excess, what’s lacking, and what’s completely missing), quality of life significantly improves for all.
The day after Lobo transitioned, Tucker and I took a walk down the streets of Old Town Alexandria (Virginia).
We were on its main stretch of road, King Street, when we came upon an unbelievable thing. Written across the sidewalk in bright pink, spray-painted letters was the word “LOBO”. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was a man sitting on a milk crate playing the trumpet, and I asked him if he knew how that word got there. What did it mean? He replied it’d been there all morning and he didn’t know. Tuck and I ran up to the local CVS, purchased some disposable cameras and emptied both rolls on that one word. His name. His beautiful name and a dog that would forever be deeply imprinted upon my heart. I like to think this was Lobo’s way of letting me know all is well, he’s at peace, and very much still with me.
This experience changed the entire trajectory of my life and put me on a path I least expected. Looking back, it doesn’t surprise me at all. I always gravitated towards animals as a child. Animals and Nature have always been my confidants and safe havens. But this is where PackFit was born. Our “why”. It was also where PackFit’s “how” was born. How we do what we do and the “whole dog”, “whole scenario” approach we take. This isn’t just a “business”, it’s much, much more than this. It’s a mission. I am on mission through this work I do. Lobo’s and my story is such a common one, and it’s our mission to do all we can to ensure it doesn’t continue to get repeated.
