This summer, my partner and I have been chipping away at cleaning up our property, removing invasive weeds and plants, and replacing them with native species. We want a property that is friendly to native pollinators and provides a home for all sorts of critters, insects, and amphibians.
It’s work that we both enjoy. We both enjoy weeding and getting dirty. Learning about the native wildlife, the native plants, and the ways to cultivate thriving ecosystems has been an awesome activity for both of us. It’s something we’ve been working toward for a few years.
And, because I spend most of my time working with pet parents and professionals alike, I tend to look for the lessons learned in my own experience, and let me tell you, I learned a big one from this project.
When we finally were able to start cleaning some of the stuff out and picking out plants, it was like a dream come true. We had the stuff, we had the plan, and we had the time. We were starting with a multi-tiered retaining wall right outside our front door. I was in the weeds, pulling and digging, hacking and slashing, all with total joy and meditation. And it was great!
There was the single bzzbzz flying around, and I thought nothing of it. I find the insect life delightful to watch and experience. A few minutes later, I had more bzzbzz flying around, I stood up, took some steps back, and yelled “Nathan, I think…”
First sting.
“WE HAVE A PROBLEM!” accompanied by the comical flail and smack bug dance that I refined during my time in Florida summers.
Second sting.
Retreat toward the house. With complete disregard for my partner’s safety, I hear him yell “RUN AWAY!” Third sting.
I ran inside, slammed the door, and smacked every inch of my body ready to fight to the death with anything that came inside on or with me.
The dogs were confused, I was confused, and after the dust settled we were able to laugh about how this whole thing is just very on brand.
We called it for the day so that I could mend my wounds, and we could call in the professionals to help us with the nest. Turns out, while digging out weeds, I happened to uncover, and aggravate, a ground wasp nest.
A couple of days later, we were able to get back into the project. The wasps were remedied and we could, to our knowledge, proceed as planned safely.
But here was what I noticed.
If I saw a flying insect out of the corner of my eye, I would freeze.
If I heard one flying around, I’d jump up, take 6 or 7 steps back, and pause thinking, “Oh, no. Not again.”
The rest of the project of clearing the weeds no longer held the same joy and sense of satisfaction it held a couple of days prior. Instead, I was hypervigilant and jumpy. I couldn’t wait to be done.
Every time I would go to walk out the front door, I would check out the window to see if anything was flying out there.
As we moved on to other areas of the yard, I had expected my response to diminish. I only got stung there, so why would I panic on the other side of the yard? I was wrong, that anxiety held across the yard, in the back, and outside the property line.
A few days later, I went on a walk in a local nature reserve. I heard a faint bzzbzz next to my left ear, and did a complete flail and smack dance in the middle of the trail.
Three wasp stings, and 60-something mosquito bites later, I’ve walked away from the yard project with a whole lot of joy, but also a new anxiety: a worry that this next insect is gonna be the one that gets me.
And I thought about all the dogs that don’t want to walk down that street.
Or the cats that won’t venture into that hallway.
Or the birds that won’t get into their carrier when it is early in the morning.
Or the pets that won’t go outside after the sun goes down.
Or the dogs that whale eye and shiver when their person picks up their keys.
The house we live in has been one we’ve repeatedly returned to for over a decade. I’ve weeded in this yard so many times. I’ve walked through that front door thousands of times. I’ve spent hundreds of hours in the yard. I’ve spent years walking through trails, working outside, and being in nature.
It took one event, albeit, a rather unpredictable and painful with a lasting impact event, for me to develop an anxiety response when I walked out the front door. Or hear a buzz in my ears. Or see a flying insect near my person.
My appraisal is that it was one small thing. But that one small event, even in the landscape of thousands and thousands of other events, had a lingering, lasting impact on my behavior. So, while I’m working on chillin’ around those things, I can also use that experience to find a little extra empathy and understanding for the pet that is struggling, even if it seems silly to us.
It can be easy for us to say, “Sparks, nothing has happened to you on this street, come on!” But sometimes, something small but mighty can leave a lasting impression. Something as simple as a trash can falling over two houses down, or even a dog barking all the threats from the end of the cul-de-sac on that one walk may be enough for your pet to say, “You know what, this is too hard.”
Once we take our pet’s word for it, then we can start to dig in, trial and eval to see if we can find what makes that challenging for them, and start to teach our pet that they don’t need to worry about that thing.
The good news is that there are a lot of things we can do to help our pets feel safe and secure in this world. Sometimes, they just need a little extra support.
Now What?
- If you know that your pet needs a little extra support, we’re here for you!
Happy Training,
Ellen