No, You May Not Pet My Dog

The Narrative Arc Writing Competition

Reactive rescue dogs offer a whole different kind of love

When I enter my apartment complex, I dread walking up to the elevator.

The elevator is a trigger for my dog, Joey. Anybody that enters or exits is a potential threat to him. It’s just the two of us living together after all, so his guard is up all the time.

Someone leaves the elevator and Joey goes into a frenzy.

My dog is pulling on the leash, barking up a storm, eyes open wide with fear. The fur on his hackles is raised and his tail is tucked between his legs.

He starts to tremble and I feel his shakes through the leash I’m holding in my hands, the tether to his emotions and reactivity.

My dog used to live on the streets of Arizona. He can’t verbally tell me about that time of his life, but I can’t imagine it was easy.

He probably had to fight for his dinners and spend many lonely nights outside. I suspect that the fear he felt when fending for himself never left him.

When I first met Joey, I remember the guarded mistrust in his eyes. I remember how he didn’t leave his crate for days — the fear, a veil that covered every experience he had in the world. He refused to go anywhere near me.

But when he decided he loved me, my life changed forever.

Any concept of personal space he had disappeared. He suddenly was alll up in my business, pawing me for affection. And of course, I instantly fell in love.

I didn’t think this dog was capable of stretching his heart and overcoming that fear. But I believe that when they decide who their humans are, their capacity for love grows tenfold.

Joey was my family’s dog and we adopted him six years ago. I recently moved out on my own and took him with me.

The pandemic made his reactivity even worse, unfortunately. Two years of social distancing and not seeing anyone outside of his bubble have made him fiercely protective. He views anyone that is not my parents, my fiancé, or me as a potential threat.

Good luck if you try to pet him. He shirks from any form of affection unless he has a solid two hours of treat time and socially distanced interaction (I would say Joey’s first love is food above all else).

Reactive dogs vastly overreact to things around them, often out of fear. They appear scary and threatening to anyone who tries to get too close.

The only way Joey doesn’t react to people or other dogs is if there is a ton of physical space between him and his triggers.

My dog is a professional pandemic dog. He’s got social distancing down to a science.

Not only is he anti-social, he’s also an old man. He’ll be ten years old this year. I like to think that his reactivity is equivalent to an elderly man with a cane getting out of the house and shaking his fists, yelling at those damn kids to get off his lawn.

My heart aches knowing that strangers will never know Joey the way I do. They won’t see how he cuddles up to me and buries his head in my armpit for warmth. They’ll never witness how he nudges his head into my hand for more pets.

They’ll only see a dog that keeps them at arm’s length. The depth of his love will not be apparent.

That’s why I try to capture those moments of love and affection in photos and videos. I share them with the people in my life who will never see this side of Joey in person.

It breaks my heart knowing he’s like this. I found myself wishing that he was friendlier and that I didn’t have to hold my breath whenever I had a friend over.

No matter how hard it is though, reactive dogs are worthy of love.

Sometimes, he has good days. He cuddled up to a friend and let her pet him. She gave him tons of treats to soothe him.

But within the span of fifteen minutes, he decided she was too close for comfort and began to growl. The growl soon escalated into a bark and he was back in protective mode.

Loving Joey means loving the bad days along with the good. It means setting him up for success and comfort within his boundaries and being his voice to express those boundaries.

Because of the Internet and influencer culture, dogs have this reputation for being cute, cuddly creatures that make people happy. While Joey is indeed a cute, cuddly creature that makes me happy, he does not serve that role for anyone else.

If anyone ever asks to pet my dog, the answer is a firm no. He will not warm up to you in a span of five minutes. He will not want the affection you are trying to impose on him.

I don’t care how caring and well-meaning and good with dogs you are. I know what is best for him and that he needs his space.

Now that I live on my own, being the full-time dog mom of a reactive dog is a new role I’ve embraced. I am learning so much about dog psychology and behaviour, the whys behind the way he reacts to the world.

I’m learning how I can best love him as he loves me.

Rescue dogs have often been through hell and back. I will never know the extent of what he went through, or if his past haunts him in any way. He is a dog, and what I see is what I get.

But I wouldn’t trade him for the world. He has taught me that love blankets his flaws, that it makes me strive to make the world a less scary place for him.

Through positive reinforcement training and treats, I’m trying to open him up a little and learn that he has nothing to fear. He has me now. We’ve got each other’s back.

My dog may not be perfect, but he loves me. That is enough.

There have been some incredible entries for The Narrative Arc’s Love-is-Love writing competition. This story from

Judy Walker

was achingly beautiful and pulled at my heartstrings. Check it out:

I’ve Loathed and Ignored Her and Despite It All, She Remains as Loyal as a Dog

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