Crisis at Claim Jumper
The other day, I took Glindy with me
to Claim Jumper as I often do for lunch. However, the visit was not
routine.
As I was leaving the restaurant, a young woman carrying a baby was
standing by the hostess counter, and Glindy decided the baby
merited closer investigation (she's fascinated by babies). Before I
knew what had happened, Glindy had stood up on her hind legs, put
her front paws on the woman's hip, and took a big sniff of the
baby.
Of course, I immediately pulled her off, and apologized profusely.
The woman didn't seem particularly fazed, but an older woman
standing near her seemed a little panicky about the baby's safety.
No harm was done—Glindy is a rude but gentle soul—but
it was a very embarrassing moment nonetheless.
This situation brought two important points home to me: control,
and neurodiversity.
Firstly, Glindy's behavior was clearly not acceptable. Part of the
problem is that I haven't been working Glindy very much of late,
and we've both fallen out of practice. (That's not an excuse, but
an observation.) The other problem is that the longer leashes I
often use with Glindy do not afford me the level of tight control I
need in these situations, so I've taken steps to remedy that.
Since that incident, when I expect to be in tight quarters I keep
my longer leash attached to her buckle collar, but also place a
short 8-inch traffic lead onto her prong collar. This enables me to
get instant feedback about her position, and to deliver instant
corrections if she's not heeling closely enough. The other leash
remains attached so that I can drop the traffic lead when necessary
(e.g. when sitting in a chair to eat) without allowing her totally
off-leash.
Because of the importance of good behavior in public, I can't rely
strictly on positive reinforcement to resolve this the way I would
prefer. However, this new two-leash system is creating a marked
improvement in her heeling. We're definitely going to need to work
on this until I regain full confidence in her, though.
Secondly, while I apologized very sincerely to the woman for
Glindy's behavior, my social instincts were (unsurprisingly) not
entirely on target. I assumed that no harm had been done since
nobody was screaming or running around in panic. It only occurred
to me much, much later that the situation may have called for a
little more sympathy on my part.
You see, part of having Asperger's Syndrome involves a limited
capacity to sympathize with others. I can certainly empathize with
someone's desire not to be jumped on by a strange dog, no matter
how friendly—hey, I wouldn't like being jumped on,
either!—but in the heat of the moment, it simply never
occurred to me that the woman might have been frightened or angry;
I had no awareness of her emotional state at all. Instead, my mind
focused on the concrete facts: that jumping on people is wrong, and
is socially unacceptable.
As a result, the apology I gave the woman was sincere. "I am
so very sorry," I said as I pulled Glindy away. However,
it wasn't until much later that I realized that most neurotypical
folks would have instinctively followed up with "Are you okay?" or
"I'm sorry if my dog frightened you or the baby."
Anyway, these problems happen in the course of training—thank
goodness Glindy was wearing her "in training" leash sleeve. The
important thing is to analyze what happened, and take steps to
address it constructively. After all, you can't prevent mistakes,
but one should always try not to repeat them.