By Beth Lowell

If you had asked me not so long ago if I was afraid of dogs, I would
have said unequivocally, "No. Absolutely not." Cats? Never.

That all changed when I adopted my dog Dasher in 2001. Dasher came with a full complement of issues, mostly revolving around fear - including leash aggression, fear of large trucks, shovels, and people wearing headphones, among other things, due to lack of proper socialization. She was a resource guarder, had pica and an extremely high prey drive. On top of it all she was a Border Collie mix with brains and a need to use them. I was in for a crash course on dog behavior. We went to all kinds of training classes and seminars and I read every book I could get my hands on.

I was between jobs at the time and after a few months when I could find neither a job nor the dog walker I'd need when I went back to work, I decided to become one. Throughout the course of my petsitting career, I've met dogs and cats of all sizes, ages and temperaments. Although I could never choose one as my favorite, because of my experiences with Dasher, the ones with issues remain closest to my heart.

Today if you asked me if I am afraid of dogs or cats, my answer will be "Sometimes." I was filling in for another sitter recently, taking care
of a nervous Pomeranian named Buddy. I'd taken care of him before. When I first met Buddy and his owner I was impressed by his impeccable behavior and loving nature. But on the first day of my assignment,Buddy growled at me as I tried to put on his leash. Buddy was not so secure without his dad around. Buddy's owner was surprised when I told him what had happened. He only knew how his dog behaved when they were together. I've seen this more times than I can count with pets. By the end of the week we had come to an uneasy truce, and I loaned his owner several of my favorite books to try to help Buddy gain some confidence. Overcoming insecurity is not an easy task. I've been working on it with both my dogs for years.

Months went by and I was called to help Buddy again. When I arrived on that Monday, Buddy seemed to have forgotten who I was and that we had ever gotten along at all. When I let him out of the bedroom where he spent the day, he charged for the front door barely moving his head to look at me. I offered him a treat. He wasn't interested. I upped the ante and squirted the kong filling I found on the counter onto the top of the treat. He wasn't interested. I found a slice of cheese in the refrigerator. This, he accepted. I approached him slowly with the leash. He growled.

I put the leash down and sat on the floor a short distance away from
him and offered Reiki. He seemed to calm down a little bit. He still
sat at the door but it was as if he had exhaled a little anxiety. He
dared look my way once or twice. I approached with the leash again.
Instead of clipping it on to his collar, I slid the end through the
looped handle and gently lassoed him with an improvised choke collar. As soon as we were out the door Buddy was running as fast as he could. Not with joy at the prospect of a walk, but to get away from me. I took longer strides to keep up with him so he wouldn't strangle himself. Neither of us liked walking this way, and the walk was not an easy one The only grass within a block in either direction belonged to a church and an apartment complex, the lawns of which were both posted with "No Dogs" signs. As soon as we found a patch of grass for Buddy to do his thing, we turned around and scurried back home. Back inside, I distracted Buddy with a few morsels of cheese while I wiggled the leash off over his head with a pen. I gave him the rest of the slice afterwards and told him I'd see him the next day.

Tuesday when I arrived I offered Buddy Reiki again. He still stationed
himself at the front door but this time he lay down and almost dozed.
But Buddy was still uncomfortable as I approached with the leash. He
moved stiffly as I got closer to him.

I remembered the words of so many owners whose unsure dogs I had met. They told me to act like I was boss, not to act scared in front of the dog, and that I had to take charge. One client laughed at me for being hesitant about putting on her defensive Papillion's harness; after all he was such a little dog. Meanwhile, she had just returned from the emergency room after sustaining a serious bite to her hand after
intervening in a spat between her Papillion and her miniature poodle.
Just because you're not scared doesn't mean a dog won't bite. Anyone who's watched 'The Dog Whisperer' knows that. Sensitive to fear in dogs, I prefer not to push them, even though it might take me longer to do some things.

I slipped the noose over Buddy's head again and we went for our frantic walk. On this day I brought a long wooden spoon that I used to loosen the leash from around Buddy's throat when we returned home. He nervously looked from me to the spoon to the cheese I'd placed in front of him. Anxiety permeated the room. I thought to myself that next time Iwould refuse this job.

Wednesday came and when I arrived and let Buddy out of his room, I sat on the couch. I didn't offer him a treat. I offered him Reiki again.
This time he hopped onto the couch with me. He lay down against me. I could see that Buddy was relaxed. I slipped the noose over his head and on this day he didn't seem so determined to get away from me. Our walk lasted a little longer than it had the previous two days. When we returned from our walk I rewarded Buddy and thanked him for trusting me.

I was looking forward to Thursday, our last day together. Our Reiki
sessions had gone so well that I visualized myself putting Buddy's
leash on the normal way, attaching it directly to his collar. All day
on Thursday I couldn't wait to see Buddy who was my last appointment. I couldn't wait for our Reiki session. I couldn't wait to get the leash on. I sat on the couch as I had the day before. Buddy approached and licked my hands. He climbed across my lap before settling next to me. He kept turning his head to look at me and pushing himself into me until I gently placed my hand on his back, the first time he had allowed me to touch him. I stroked his soft fur. He yawned and snuggled into a ball.

It was time for our walk, and the moment I'd been waiting for. Buddy
trotted expectantly to the door. I approached with the leash slowly. He shifted and I saw him tense and withdraw ever so slightly. Something inside me shifted as well. I knew I should not place expectations on the outcome of any Reiki session, but in my eagerness, I had. When I saw Buddy's hesitation, I knew that today was not the day to try to hook on his leash, even though it was our last day together for now.

I didn't feel the disappointment I would normally have expected to
feel. I realized that it was okay to hope for an outcome but that there
was a difference between hoping and placing expectations. This
realization transcended beyond my experience with Buddy although it
took me awhile to see it. I started placing fewer expectations on life
and noticed that I became more flexible and accepting of what came my way. It made it easier to see that sometimes it's okay to change a goal. Sometimes what we have made a goal is not what we are really seeking.

I knew that Reiki had done what it was supposed to do that week with
Buddy. It had made a difference, both in Buddy and in me. If I get a
call for Buddy again, I'll be there.

About the Author:  Beth Lowell is a dog lover-owner-walker-writer and artist who has recently expanded her horizons into the world of Animal Reiki. She is looking forward to the journey! You can contact Beth at: beth@animalslovereiki.com or visit her website:
www.animalslovereiki.com.

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