Biology Reference
In-Depth Information
fit. He would walk into a training center already barking and growling, hackles raised. he
same obedience handlers who used to smile when they saw Zev arrive for training snatched
up their shelties and schnauzers at the sight of Solo. AKC obedience trainers with decades of
companion-dog and utility-dog titles to their credit strategized with me. Perhaps Solo needed
a new kind of halter, maybe a Gentle Leader, to guide his wayward muzzle through the Sturm
und Drang of his life. One trainer with whom Zev and I had worked for years suggested that
I needed to discipline Solo severely for his behavior. I quit her. I was getting good at quitting.
I'd never had a dog-aggressive dog. It was like a scarlet A, confirming what many people
already knew: German shepherds were dangerous. I dove into research. I ordered expens-
ive videos and books on canine aggression. My fearful anticipation of Solo's reactions would
travel down his leash and right into his limbic system, making the overall effect exponential,
confirming what he already knew: Dogs meant trouble. That made Solo even more trouble.
My relationships with other dog owners began to suffer.
A trainer accustomed to cheerful Labrador retrievers looked at me with dismay and
shrugged after Solo roared and leaped on a shorthaired pointer who had bounced over to
greet him when Solo was on a down-stay in an obedience class. “For God's sake,” I snarled,
mostly to myself, “keep your dog on a leash and under control.” I was at the end of my own
leash. I was starting to get people-aggressive. I left the class early and e-mailed Joan, who sent
back reams of wise advice. I cried again that night in David's arms—angry at Solo, at the
stupid pointer owner, at myself.
Now it was much worse. I wasn't simply invested in the idea of this pup: I loved him.
He was my dog and my responsibility, lying quietly in the backseat on the long drives home
from failed puppy classes. I was failing him miserably, seesawing between training systems,
avoiding places I knew other dogs might be.
None of Joan's many shepherds had exhibited Solo's behavior around other dogs. Later,
she told me that when Solo was born, she had worried. Knowing what we might be facing,
she had tried early on to find a litter to put “HRH” with, to no avail. No one in the immedi-
ate vicinity had a litter close to his age.
“Quite honestly,” Joan e-mailed, “I am now convinced from years of training, and now
Solo, that the majority of puppies missing a complete litter experience just don't learn how to
handle the nuances of a variety of dog interaction. They don't learn the give and take.”
People kept asking me, after watching Solo growl and leap: “You named him after Han
Solo, right?” No. Absolutely not. I had never liked
Star Wars
much, and I didn't like the char-
acter, even if Harrison Ford had played him. Yet the description fit Solo to a T. Charismatic.
Selfish. Brash. A talented, reckless misfit.
A loner.
