I arrived at the kennels early one weekday morning as agreed. So early that most of the dogs were still sleepy, their usual morning routine had not yet got underway and they were a little curious about such an early intrusion. Most of the residents remained in their beds, moving only their eyes to check out if it was worth moving anything else just yet. A few yawned and stretched their way over to greet me, and a couple even made their way to their feed bowls, just in case. On the whole, it was a peaceful and relaxed atmosphere.

The time was 6 am and the venue one of my favourite rescue kennels. I had seen many abused and badly treated dogs arrive here, many to move on to wonderful new homes, but never any truly desperate to leave. This was a little piece of heaven for them, a place to rest, recuperate, repair, and even remain if they so chose. The ‘permanent’ family of elderly, maimed, not so ‘pretty’ residents were always happy to invite another into its fold if no better offers came along for them. And besides, if they did find a new home, they were always welcome to come along to the many fundraising reunion parties. These were always a sight to behold with ex-residents positively dragging their people back through the gates to say hello to their old chums.

However, this haven of calm had not managed to work its magic on a recent admission and he was the reason for my early call. It was decided early was best for two reasons: because the kennels were not open to the public at that hour, and because there was only one volunteer who could handle my client, and he needed to meet me there before he went off to his ‘day job’.

Sam had been left tied to the railings at the front of the rescue centre two weeks before my visit. That had been another early morning interruption – it was around 3 am when a vehicle was heard speeding away and the burglar alarm of 50 assorted canines sprang into action. Mike’s quick inspection of the perimeter fencing led him to his first very frightening face-to-face meeting with a huge hairy Alsatian-something, who later became known as Sam.

The light right outside the front door had blown a bulb, leaving a section of waist-high railings completely in the dark. Mike swung his torch beam left and right, where it met with empty space. So, accustomed to having boxes of puppies delivered on the doorstep he lent over the fence to see if that was what had been left behind, only to be lunged at by something rather larger than a puppy. A rope lead attached to a battered old collar was thankfully just short enough to prevent Sam from reaching Mike’s nose. This was not a happy dog.

After much adventure, Sam was finally placed in a large enclosure by himself and, since that day, had done all in his power to prevent anyone from entering his domain. The only way to handle him was by using a catch loop on the end of a pole and a lot of manpower to secure a muzzle for any closer inspection. Mike and the team were accustomed to handling all sorts of dogs but had never come across one so seemingly hostile as Sam. If anyone stood by his enclosure he would literally fling himself against the wire in an attempt to get at him or her.

So they called me in!

My first sight of Sam was nothing surprising; like the rest of the dogs that morning he was a little blurry-eyed and wondering whether it was worth moving from his bed. However, within seconds his lips began to curl, his hackles rose and he flung himself at the front of the pen. I was scared and knew that I had to move out of his energy to compose myself before attempting anything with him at all. I excused myself and moved along to sit on a patch of grass out of his sight.

As I attuned myself to him from a distance I was suddenly overcome by the most terrible frustration and anger, but underlying it all I felt a suppressed anguish that was heartbreaking. I felt just as he did. I wanted to lash out and scream at people, I wanted to hurt them…. but what for? I stayed with Sam’s feelings and again there came an ever-deeper emotion, desolation almost. He felt so sad and desperate for love and attention, but at the same time so tense that he would rebuff any attempt. Why? I asked him. Because he was afraid of being touched, it just drove him wild. He wasn’t sure why. Amid a seeming torrent of exhausting and confusing emotions I suddenly had an image of Sam being hugged and I knew this was just what he wanted. He was desperate for physical contact but was also afraid of how it made his body feel. Trying to unravel and understand his mixed messages was not going to help him. He didn’t want to talk; he wanted to be held.

I asked for Sam to be brought out of his kennel to join me on the grass. Secured with his lead and muzzle, out he came. Ready to put into practice all I knew about canine body language in order to be safe and to make Sam feel safe with me, all my imagined efforts were promptly wasted as he simply flopped down onto the grass a few yards to my side. He looked exhausted, and quite unlike the whirling dervish I had seen only moments before. However, aware of just how vulnerable and tense he felt I was not about to throw all caution to the wind.

I kept my eyes away from him, approached him with my body at an angle and my head down. I yawned and stretched and made sure I kept breathing. I know how crazy this latter comment may sound, but it never ceases to amaze me how people – and animals – will hold their breath when concentrating really hard, or when tense, thus creating exactly the effect they do not seek. When I eventually approached Sam to touch him I did so using the back of my hand on his side and he hardly even flinched. I stroked him a few times this way before eventually turning my hand over and just placing it on him. He let out the hugest sigh and rolled over to lie flat on his side.

He then clearly told me how he hated being confined and tied. For years he had never been allowed to move freely, he had always been on the end of a long line or chain. He had also always been muzzled whenever there were children around. I promptly removed his muzzle and lead (we were in a large but safely confined area) and stroked him all over his face before starting with some Touch work.

Many behaviour problems are created by tension or pain somewhere in the body. Pain or tension often creates fear and aggression, which may then become habitual. Sam had no idea why he was constantly so mad at everyone; it was just the way he was nowadays. The mouth is the ‘seat of the emotions’ and working in and around the mouth can help release emotions and break patterns of behaviour. Tension shows itself in mouths in different ways, even in humans, with tight mouths and jaws, tongues held tight against the roof of the mouth (check where yours is!), and the need to keep the mouth busy with cigarettes, gum, and bitten fingernails, even food. In dogs, excessive chewing and licking, tightly drawn lips, clenched jaws, tight chins, and biting are all signs of a tense mouth, often indicating an emotional issue.*

Starting with a series of gentle circular motions around the outside of Sam’s mouth, I then slipped my fingers between his lips and his gums and started to massage his gums. He began to quietly howl but didn’t move away from my touch. All the time I was sending him love and healing and inviting him to talk with me if he wanted to. I suddenly became overcome with what I can only describe as floods of relief, every inch of skin on my body felt like it was covered with tiny electrical shockwaves, like minute spasms. Just as I decided I would have to stop awhile because the feeling was too intense, Sam stood up and shook himself. These were his feelings. He then stretched from head to tail and began rolling around on the grass as if he had to extinguish an itch. Next, he jumped to his feet and looked around, taking everything in, and promptly dashed back and forth and around in circles like an excited puppy before once again coming and plonking himself at my side.

Sam’s story was a sad one of much misunderstanding. He had been part of a family with little understanding of dogs and had been allowed to do as he pleased as a young dog until one day he got annoyed with one of the children and nipped her. From that day onwards no one had trusted him again and he had remained tied up at all times and only occasionally walked with his lead on. He had loved playing with the children and had no idea why this was suddenly not allowed. Whenever the children were around he was muzzled and sometimes they even forgot to take the muzzle off at night. Over time his utter frustration and loneliness and the tension and pains he felt in his body left him feeling both vulnerable and angry. He had no idea how to make himself understood and eventually became afraid even of being touched.

Sam’s dramatic response to our session together was staggering. It was obviously just the right time and place for him to release so much tension. He was at breaking point. It was rather like taking the lid off of a pressure cooker that had been ready to explode. So what was it that had enabled him to make such a breakthrough in such a very short space of time? Was it the TTouch work? The healing? Communication? Or all three? I actually suspect it was something else, too. It was trust. Despite my initial fears I had chosen to trust Sam, something no one had done in many years. That was the key. And I do appreciate that under such circumstances this is not easy.

How do you trust a dog again once it has bitten someone? Indeed, how do you trust anyone again once they have done something alarmingly out of character? You do this by finding out what was the root cause of the behaviour, by looking for triggers to repeat behaviour, and by looking at your own or another’s part in this process. If you choose to not trust again, then you may unwittingly perpetuate the problem by concentrating on it. If you always approach a dog with the fear that it may bite you, you are serving as a constant reminder of the feelings behind the behaviour. Remember, telepathy is the movie of your thoughts and feelings. If you approach a dog filled with thoughts and fears of ‘oh please don’t bite me… I am scared of you… this is going to hurt’, that is just what he sees and he may then respond accordingly, if only out of confusion.

Of course, I do urge caution around animals that have been known to attack (and people, too), and I fully recognize that not everyone responds as quickly as Sam did. But more than that I want to highlight the importance of trust. Of recognizing that a behaviour is a response to a stimulus – external or internal. And that many animals that have got stuck in a violent way of being are often misdirecting their energies and also crying out for help. Anyone out there ever shouted or got angry at a partner when what they really wanted was a hug and some reassurance, but weren’t quite sure how to ask? Trust is never a one-way process – it really does take two. I had to trust Sam, and he had to trust me. Then everyone at the rescue kennels had to give and gain trust, before eventually, Sam was happily re-homed and never again restrained. Although he does, I am happy to say, get plenty of hugs.

*[NB: Dogs with aggression problems should only be worked on by experienced and qualified trainers!]