We, as a social species, are incredibly touch-deprived. We’re supposed to be holding hands, playing with each other’s hair, sitting by and on each other, and napping beside each other. Because many of us do not feel comfortable with another human in our space, we redirect that sensory need to other things, like blankets, coats, fuzzy socks or slippers, playing with our own hair, chewing, etc.
Other social species also like to touch and be near each other for comfort, fun, and safety. Social animals that live with humans still need the same kind of reassurance that they are safe, accepted, and that they can communicate their needs with us. They’re like little kids.
Can you look at a little kid holding their hand out to you and ignore them? Can you ignore a baby who’s whimpering because they feel lonely?
A dog/cat/bird/rabbit, etc, leaning against you is talking to you with their body language. Maybe they need something, maybe they’re bored, or maybe they’re happy to see you and they’re expressing that by sharing their very valuable, closely guarded, personal space. Personally, I want to know what they’re telling me, wouldn’t you?
Yes, some animals can be too pushy and demanding of our attention, and that can become dangerous if they make us trip over them or push us hard enough to cause injury, or start nipping for attention. There’s ways to communicate with them to tell them when it’s okay to snuggle and when they need to give you room to walk.
It takes a lot of time, training yourself how to communicate in their language, daily repetition, reinforcement of boundaries (like making the kitchen a critter-free area and giving them a different space to eat and drink that’s out of tripping hazard range), patience, and a scheduled break time where the animal can play and initiate all the hands on contact they want.
It’s not the animals’ fault for wanting attention, and it’s not your fault if you get overwhelmed when you become an animal’s sole source of entertainment and comfort. Some people simply can’t meet certain animals’ emotional and energy needs. Not every person is meant to be a caretaker. That’s okay. But it’s important to know your own needs, and how much time and energy you can spare to learn about and work with an animal.
My last dog was purchased by my parents when I was still in school. They left him in my care to feed and walk and play with every day, and groom and clean. We both got frustrated with each other because I had to also cook and clean for my parents and myself and handle six hours worth of homework every day. I didn’t have the capacity to look after a puppy at the time. My dad threatened to get rid of him. My mom tried to force the pup to cuddle with her, and bond through treats. That didn’t work either. He was happy to accept human food but dog food was scorned.
It took months for me to figure out how to work with both my parents and the little Tasmanian devil screeching, chewing, and peeing on all of our furniture (including his kennel). Technically we should not have bought a dog then.
But I took the time to read up on the breed’s personality, issues other people had with them, and ideas on how to work with a non-food motivated pup. (Apparently that breed is notorious for being difficult to train because they’re made for thinking on their own and roaming around outside all day, hunting and chasing. My dog was just following his breed’s handbook. It wasn’t his fault his territory was chair legs and rugs instead of grass, dirt, and shrubs.) I had to rein in my frustration first and foremost because getting mad at a terrier just makes the Terrier feel mad right back at you. We were in a vicious feedback cycle. My dog wanted off the leash to explore. I wanted him to stop destroying my house and stay close to me in the only fun place I ever took him. Outdoors.
The solution was to find a safe way to give him what he needed without risking his safety. I tied at least twenty feet of leashes together from our previous dogs, and jogged with my pup in a wide open grassy area. I kept as much slack between him and me as I could so for the first time, he didn’t feel trapped. I let him smell whatever he wanted for however long he wanted. I brought out a water dish and toys to play with outside, and I made time for us both to just…Exist outdoors.
It didn’t take long before both of us stopped feeling suspicious of and frustrated with each other, and started to enjoy our daily sunshine time. When it was rainy out, I filled a large toy with treats and smaller toys for him to root through, and take apart, and I jogged up and down the hallway with him, and up and down stairs. We played until he stopped. I gave him attention every time he asked for it. And soon, I had a happy little guy who followed me around the house, napped in the same room as me, tried to barter with me by offering all his toys for something I had, and every now and then, he wanted to lean against me.
It was hard to teach myself how to be the right person for my dog, but I will never regret taking that time and effort to learn. He was worth it. He was worth all the destroyed carpets and furniture and vet visits. Fourteen years wasn’t nearly enough time with him.
If I could smell his baby powder fur and hold him close for one more hug, I would kiss his silky head and tell him what a good boy he is, and how much I love him. I’d tell him he made me a better problem solver and made me more appreciative of leaves swirling in the wind, and birds hopping in the grass. The memories of him freaking out over a box turtle, yet sitting down to calmly watch two fawns, and gently trying to teach my toddler cousin how to play fetch are all priceless.
I can’t afford to care for another dog now, and I may never own a pet again. I know the energy tax they come with. But if I was told I could have my dog again for another 14 years, I’d make it work. I’d give him more kisses and more time to sunbathe, and more places to explore. I’d feed him better food, make better choices, buy pet insurance, and never let him hear the words “bad dog”. Because he never was a bad dog. He was a smart dog who tried to teach his stupid human how to speak dog, and learned far more vocabulary words and hand gestures than I realized. Once I earned his trust, he chose me as his person. That’s an honor no human has ever given me. I will cherish it forever.
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