What, me afraid?

If I look back over time, I can see huge improvement, including an increase in things that Angus no longer fears.

Just look at that face! A little anxious (look at those expressive eyes), a lot trusting, a little
(or maybe a lot) desirous of a treat. This dog has a heart of gold.
Photo from this morning’s walk through mist and fog.

This morning when I was about to make the bed—the bed where Angus lay sprawled as though it were his own, which it is not—I walked to the window and opened the blinds. They are metal, and they rattle, and in the past just my touching the string was enough to make Angus flee. This morning I pulled the blind all the way up rather sharply, but he didn’t move. I walked around to the other window; same thing. He just lolled there, not even flinching.

Huh. OK, I guess I’ll make the bed later.

And it struck me then that he is simply not as afraid of as many things as he once was. He’s gotten so accustomed to things like blinds going up and down that he no longer pays them any mind. (He still loathes the roller shades in the kitchen, though. I guess they’ve snapped up one too many times.)

And UPS trucks! For a long time he was terrified of them and lunged and barked whenever one went by. I don’t know why them and not Amazon trucks or Fed Ex trucks or even mail trucks, but it was always specific to UPS. But a week or so ago when he barked at one, it was a surprise and I realized he had stopped being afraid of them months ago. I used to tighten my grip on his leash whenever I saw one in the distance; now I don’t even notice them because, apparently, neither does he.

What else? The fears that prompted us to start him on fluoxetine passed pretty quickly—his fear of the broom on the back steps, his fear of open cupboard doors, his fear of Doug standing in the doorway. (Always a weird fear, I thought—it had to be a doorway, and it had to be Doug. Why? Who knows?)

Over all he seems a lot less twitchy, able to recover quickly when something upsets him. Like this morning, when a short dog with a huge head (it looked like a cross between a bull terrier—the head—and a corgi—the legs) stared at him from across the street, I did my best but Angus ended up barking at him. (Dog owners, please, if your dog is staring relentlessly at someone else’s dog, do not say, “It’s cute!” or “They want to meet!” It’s not cute, and it is meant to intimidate.)

(In fairness, the owner of today’s dog did neither, but she did let her dog sit and stare, instead of moving it along.)

In any case, Angus leaped and barked but within seconds he had shaken it off. Like he shook off the rabbit that we had seen a few minutes earlier. (There’s that rabbit virus going around this spring, perhaps because we have so damn many rabbits, and most of them have those weird little black spikes growing out of the back of the neck, which makes them look even more barkable. So says Angus.)

So he’s better, far better than I dreamed he could be, and I guess it’s the meds, and it’s growing older (he’ll be nine in November), and it’s relentless, constant training (not that I’m great at that, but I try). It’s light at the end of the tunnel. Our previous dog who had some reactivity, Riley, pretty much suddenly stopped being reactive when he turned 10. Maybe we can hope the same for Angus?