The other night, severe thunderstorms raged their way across Connecticut. Shelby, my whippet cross couldn’t get close enough to me, burying her nose in the crook of my arm. She’s a sensitive dog; she notices small changes in the environment before I do, whether it be a slight breeze that picks up or a darkening of the sky.
People who know a lot more about dog training than I do, advise me to brush her off, behave as if nothing is amiss, and simply carry on with whatever I was doing.
This feels wrong. I’ve learned that if advise feels more wrong than right, I should follow my heart. Shelby was trembling; she’s a super lean, string bean of a dog and I imagined I could hear her bones clacking together. So, instead of going about my business as usual, I did what any good friend would do for another; I sat on the couch and consoled her with a steady hug.
After a bit, her body caught up with her reassured mind and she stopped trembling. After a few minute…
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