Rach's Experiences of Living with a Difficult Dog

Rach's talk from our Spicy Social on 26/11/24

Good evening, everyone, and thank you so much for coming tonight. I know how hard it can be to carve out time for yourself, especially when you’re managing the needs of a challenging dog, so I really appreciate you being here and I hope you get so much from this evening.

For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Rach, I’m the owner of Focus Dog Training, and this is a very important topic for me. I’ve lived with my own ‘difficult’ dog, Bob, for 10 years now. Bob has taught me more about patience, resilience, and creative problem-solving than I ever thought I’d need to know! And it hasn’t always been easy. From his absolute insistent need to hump every dog we meet, to moments when I doubted I was the right person for him, there have been plenty of ups and downs.

I remember years ago, Bob decided that our next door neighbour was his sworn enemy and any time he appeared Bob would go absolutely mental; barking, lunging, air snapping, the lot. There was absolutely no talking to him. At the time I was a baby dog walker and I was mortified. It was made even worse when my neighbour said “aren’t you supposed to be good with dogs?!”. At that moment, I wanted the ground to swallow me up. Now, I can look back on that situation and although I can’t say I can laugh about it, I am really pleased about how far both Bob and I have come, because at the time, it felt impossible.

I know some of you may have had moments like that too, either a cutting comment, a withering look or even straight up aggression from people and my hope tonight is to share some stories and experiences that might resonate with you. If nothing else, I want you to leave here feeling a little less alone and a lot more understood.

Now, perhaps controversially, I’ve not organised my talk chronologically.  Instead I’ve organised it by ‘feelings’ because owning a spicy dog means we experience a kaleidoscope of emotions and what I really want to do is validate all of those.

Let me give you a quick overview of Bob to help set the scene. Bob is a nearly 11-year-old Labrador and my first dog. I got him during my time as a children’s nurse, doing exactly what I now advise others not to do—I saw his photo on Facebook, visited him one afternoon, and brought him home via Pets at Home. He’s been a huge learning curve for me ever since.

These days, Bob struggles with arthritis in multiple joints, which has significantly affected his behavior, especially at home. Thankfully, we now have good pain relief in place, and he’s living more comfortably. But looking back, I suspect he’s spent most of his life in some degree of pain. He’s always had a quirky walk and big feelings about odd things—particular people, the concept of doing a ‘chin’ target, or pushchair rain covers… but only when they’re on the Chevin!

To the untrained eye, Bob might seem fine. At home, he barks when people come in but settles quickly. On walks, he looks calm, but in reality, he finds other dogs approaching him very stressful. He tends to avoid them, but if they get too close, he’s likely to hump them to manage his anxiety.

Interestingly, Bob has become an invaluable stooge dog for us. His quiet, subtle behaviors make him perfect for this role, but only because we’ve carefully trained him for it. He’s rehearsed the process so many times that he feels secure, knowing exactly what to expect. Lauren and I are always watching closely for any signs he’s uncomfortable, so we can adjust and keep him feeling safe. This setup works well for Bob and the dogs we’re helping.

But, when I first brought Bob into my life, I had absolutely no idea what I was in for. At the time, I was working as a paediatric nurse on the children’s high dependency unit at the LGI, so I was used to handling stress—but nothing quite prepared me for Bob’s inability to walk on a loose lead.

It might seem trivial to talk about Bob’s loose lead skills in a room full of spicy dog owners but I tell you what, I have never felt frustration with that intensity towards another living creature before.

At the time I thought his pulling was just because he was a ‘typical teenager.’ I had no real dog knowledge, so like many of us do, I turned to Google for answers. I tried everything I could find: stopping when he pulled, walking the other way, offering him treats. And while he’d take the treat, he’d immediately launch himself back to the end of the lead like a yo-yo.

I escalated my efforts, buying every tool and gadget I could find. I tried an anti-pull harness that was supposed to turn him towards me—it didn’t work, and looking back now, I realize it may have even contributed to some of the joint issues he struggles with today. Finally, in sheer frustration, I switched to a slip lead, and when that didn’t work, I wrapped it into a figure of eight around his nose. I was desperate.  So desperate that I was willing to override that niggling feeling that this wasn’t quite right in order to achieve what I thought would be a nice walk.

I vividly remember one day walking up Tinshill with Bob. I’d heard about a lovely walk on Pinfold Lane and thought, ‘If we can just make it there, it’ll all be worth it.’ Instead, I was dragged the entire way. By the time we reached the top, I was standing there crying my eyes out, feeling completely defeated. I ended up calling my mum to come and pick us up—I just couldn’t face walking back down the hill.

Looking back, I can see how overwhelmed I was. I thought I was doing everything I could, but nothing seemed to work. It felt like I was failing; other people have got well behaved dogs, why can’t I? And if you’ve ever felt that way with your dog, please know you’re not alone. It’s so common to feel lost and frustrated when you’re in a place of not knowing or understanding, especially when you’re doing your best and it still feels like it’s not enough.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that it wasn’t about ‘fixing’ Bob or finding the perfect tool. It was about learning how to meet him where he was and building a relationship from there.  He wasn’t pulling because it was fun or he was naughty.  He was pulling because he was stressed.  And me changing things all the time and adding painful tools just made that worse. But at that moment on Tinshill? I didn’t understand that, and it all just felt impossible.

One of the hardest parts of my journey with Bob has been navigating his pain. About three years ago, we were told he had arthritis, but the vet initially reassured me it was mild and didn’t need treatment. That didn’t sit right with me. A few months later, I went back and explained that something was off—his behavior had changed. He used to only hump big dogs, but suddenly he was trying to hump every dog, even a miniature dachshund! That’s when we started him on Onsior, a NSAID.

It didn’t end there. A while later, he stopped wanting to go upstairs, so Librela was added to his treatment. At one point, the vet suggested weaning him off Onsior, but when we tried, he became barkier and more unsettled at home. I pushed to keep it because I just knew something wasn’t right. Then we noticed muscle wastage in one of his back legs, and that opened up a whole new chapter.

We started hydrotherapy and physiotherapy, but I couldn’t shake the question: why was there muscle wastage? The vet explained it was because Bob was offloading from that leg due to pain—but at the same time, I was being told his pain relief was ‘good enough.’ That contradiction was maddening, and I started to feel stuck, like I was failing him.

A breakthrough came when we started working with a massage therapist who specializes in pain. This wasn’t just a turning point for Bob, but for me too. Bob loves his massages—they make him feel like a puppy again for a few days—and for me, it became a safe space to process my feelings. Slowly, I found the courage to seek a second opinion. I prepared my case, jumped through a few hoops, and finally, we got Bob started on gabapentin alongside his other meds. The change has been nothing short of amazing.

Now, Bob asks to go on walks again. He sleeps on his back, legs in the air—something he hadn’t done regularly in ages. And my favorite sign of progress? He’s back to being a cheeky little sod, stealing food off the counter when I’m distracted taking my daughter to nursery.

But getting here wasn’t easy. The guilt was crushing. I cried during his massage sessions! I kept questioning if someone else would have handled things better, if I was letting him down. And the sadness of watching him in pain, so quiet and withdrawn, when he used to be so full of spark—it was heartbreaking. 

One of the most useful things Yaz, his massage therapist said to me, was “he doesn’t attribute his pain to you”.  I’m carrying that burden, but it’s not one he’s asked me to carry.  He gets up in the morning and goes “oh thats how it feels today” and then he sees me and goes “oh, it's you, I like you”.  The two things are not related to him and that helps lighten my guilt.  It doesn’t take away the sadness for him, but it does help with the guilt.

Our life together has been full of ups and downs. Bob has struggled with dogs, he’s faced significant pain, and I’ve had my fair share of frustrations. But one of the biggest breakthroughs came when I realized how much Bob loved simply doing things together. That realization changed everything.

I stopped obsessing over the perfect loose lead walk, no matter what the internet said, and instead focused on building our relationship. We joined a trick training class, and it was a game-changer. Suddenly, we had a shared language, something we both enjoyed. One moment from that time stands out so clearly for me. Bob was in the middle of some random trick, and I looked down. We locked eyes, and in that moment, I felt the biggest rush of connection—I thought, ‘God, I love you.’ My heart felt like it could burst! That moment of pure love and pride was such a turning point for us.

From there, we started bringing that connection into other parts of our life. Instead of forcing loose lead walking, I added tricks and games to our walks. Bob loved it—it became our thing. He was so focused on me and the fun we were having together that it helped distract him from the potential stress of dogs nearby. In fact, he’d get so into it that he’s tripped me up with excitement!

This shift was so profound that it’s now at the heart of how we train at Focus Dog Training. If you’ve ever been to one of our puppy classes or had a private session with us, you’ll know we encourage you to have meaningful conversations with your dog. That idea—that connection—is thanks to Bob. How amazing is it that one special Labrador has influenced so many people to build stronger bonds with their dogs?

I know that living with spicy dogs is hard and want to encourage you to celebrate your own small wins. Whether it’s your dog sitting calmly for a second longer than usual or simply making you laugh on a tough day, those moments matter. They’re the building blocks of a beautiful relationship. And trust me, the determination it takes to get to whatever your end goal is makes those moments of pride all the sweeter.

Wrapping up then, I’ve felt really alone on most of our journey. When I was married, the dog was my problem.  And now I’m single, the dog lives with me. My family tries to be supportive, but they don’t always understand just how hard it is to live with him and see him struggle. And then there’s the embarrassment—like when I cross the road to avoid people on walks or have to explain to people that no I’m sorry our dogs really can’t meet, mine will absolutely try to hump yours.

What’s helped me the most, certainly in recent months, is leaning on my close friends who really get it—friends with their own spicy dogs who don’t judge but just listen and support. Lauren has been incredible, helping me brainstorm solutions and reminding me that I’m not alone. She gets it because she goes through similar things with her dog, Luna. Yaz has been another lifeline, creating a safe space where I can work through my big feelings without judgment and helping me come up with plans to move forward. I’ve learned that while my brain loves jumping straight to solutions, sometimes I need a bit of help processing the emotions first.

Another thing that’s truly lifted me is being part of our amazing FDT community. Many of you here tonight are part of it, and I can’t tell you how much I value the time we spend together each week. Whether we’re laughing about our dogs being absolute divas or sympathizing over the struggles, those moments mean everything. They remind me that even when it feels hard, I’m not in it alone.

That’s what I hope for all of you tonight. I hope you find some lightness, whether that’s through laughter or by sharing the weight of your challenges so someone else can help carry it for a while. None of us are meant to do this alone, and events like this are proof that we don’t have to. Thank you for your time this evening, I hope you enjoy each other's company!