⊰ Separation anxiety, Or… ⊱
Many years ago (in the current galaxy), back when I was still working as an assistant at a veterinary clinic while also studying dog training, one of the clinic’s clients approached me and asked for my help.
I knew and loved their dog, Layla (Night in hebrew), from their visits to the clinic. The problem was that when they left the house, Layla would bark non stop. It was a serious situation, neighbors were complaining, and the municipality was already involved.
I told her I hadn’t finished my studies yet, but she said she said she had checked the signs online and concluded it was separation anxiety. So, she had already given me the diagnosis, and now we "just" needed to treat it, as they say, the keys were already in the ignition.
I came to their home, and something didn’t sit right with me about Layla’s "separation anxiety." She didn’t show the usual behaviors, like following them around the house and such (see link to song below).
I decided that before starting to work on “separation anxiety” with things like encouraging independence and practicing departures, I wanted to see with my own eyes how she behaved after they left.
They lived in a garden apartment in a building, and Layla was left outside in the yard when they went out.
We stood and observed her from a hidden spot, and sure enough, as promised, after they left, Layla started barking non-stop.
To our great surprise, the neighbor from the floor above opened her window and threw leftover chicken to Layla.
Layla's logic was: if I bark and there’s a rain of chicken, I guess I’ll keep barking. That’s the as powerful reinforcement you can get.
The training turned into “neighbor education”, explaining to her that the dog was loved and well cared for and that she wasn’t barking because she was hungry, as she had thought.
We had to mentally prepare the neighbor for a temporary worsening of the barking, because Layla would think: wait, what’s going on? Where’s my chicken rain? Maybe I didn’t bark loudly enough.
It took a bit of time, but once the neighbor stopped feeding her, Layla stopped barking.
If I had gone ahead with treating the dog’s so called “separation anxiety,” it wouldn’t have solved the problem.
Of course, I shared the story in detail with my teachers and classmates.
Years later, during an occasional lecture in Beit-Dagan, the lecturer told my story as an example of why proper diagnosis is so important, and I, sitting in the audience, excitedly told everyone around me that the trainer in the story was me, and the dog was Layla.
It was nice to be part of the curriculum.
I can’t talk about separation anxiety without thinking about The needy dog song.
