Overcoming agoraphobia: Getting an overseas rescue dog used to the outside world
When Bruno first arrived he was petrified of going outside, which laid waste to my carefully constructed dog training plans
The rescue I got Bruno from had put all of the people who picked up dogs the same day as him into a WhatsApp group chat. Other members of this group included several of the rescue’s volunteers, who had either fostered or adopted dogs successfully from the charity in the past.
The group chat was created so we could all keep each other updated on how our dogs were settling in, with the volunteers on hand to answer questions about any issues we’d run into since our four-legged friends had arrived.
I initially found being part of the chat saddening and a bit of a struggle, to be honest, because of how quickly and easily it sounded like the other dogs were adjusting to their new lives in the UK.
The first day of it was flooded with the other members sharing pictures of how well their dogs had taken to living in their new homes, and reports of how much these lucky pups were enjoying their first walks, while their owners marveled at how quickly and intuitively their rescues had taken to toilet training.
Most of the messages came through while I was sat on the floor of my lounge with Bruno, who - at that point - was steadfastly refusing to leave the room. Or do anything other than eat, sleep or paw at me for attention.
It read like everyone else in the group was enjoying the version of dog ownership I’d been picturing in my mind in the lead up to Bruno arriving. Meanwhile, I was left coming to terms with just how much work I’d need to do to get him to where they were already.
And when I thought about it all and broke it down, it felt hugely overwhelming and upsetting because I had no idea how long any of this would take. I didn’t know Bruno, so couldn’t say with any certainty how he would respond to training or how long it would get him to overcome any of his fears.
What I did know is the training plans I’d meticulously researched, compiled and typed up in anticipation of his arrival were all arse about face.
A lot of the books I read about how to settle in a rescue dog advise you to make house-breaking a “day one” job and to start as you mean to go on in terms of establishing your feeding, walking and training routine. Dogs crave routine, but specifically rescue pups.
How was I supposed to house-train a dog that was scared of leaving the house? How do you build a routine for a dog that can’t go on walks? And how do you begin training a dog whose brain is already overloaded with all the new things going on around him?
As I was grappling with all these thoughts, the group chat would be alive with message after message popping up with progress reports about pups that were already out and about with their owners, enjoying their first alfresco puppachinos, etc.
On the face of it, my progress updates to the group about how Bruno was faring were far more low-key and unremarkable. Example post: “A little development on the getting Bruno into toys front. Found him playing with a cardboard box today, which is a win, right?”
As the days went on, my anxious little agoraphobe did start to show little signs of progress and curiosity about the weird new world he’d found himself in.
By the end of that first week, for example, he’d at least leave the lounge when he needed to deposit his daily dump. That’s the room I was sleeping and eating in during his settling in period, so that was a hugely appreciated development. I debated for quite a while whether to share that one with the WhatsApp group, but – ultimately – I decided not to.
That said, rather than keep how I was feeling to myself, I did tell them a little bit about how overwhelming I was finding the situation with Bruno, and the response I got started to make me feel a little better.
I got supportive messages and one of the volunteers gave me a call and let me chat through everything I was feeling, before going on to reassure me that Bruno and I were doing really well.
Some of the people who posted messages about how quickly and easily their dogs settled in started to share stories about the teething problems they’d experienced now their dogs were feeling more comfortable in their surroundings.
Their dogs had started being reactive to people in their household, showing signs of separation anxiety or - unlike Bruno - refused to come in from the garden and settle in the house.
As a result, I started opening up even more to the group and asking for help with addressing Bruno’s agoraphobia and getting him into the garden.
Because, in my mind, getting him to a point where he was happy being in the garden, but also confident enough to take himself out there, meant we could start toilet training properly. And, in time, start training him to walk on a lead. And, from that point on everything else we needed to do would follow.
After some back and forth in the group about what I should do, the same volunteer that called me before rang me again.
“What you’ll probably find will happen is that he’ll build such a tight bond with you, one day he might just follow you out there. In the meantime, just carry on with what you’re doing. Leave him be and let him settle in. When he’s ready to go outside, you’ll know…”
The advice made total sense, but – at this point - the flat was starting to feel unbearably claustrophobic.
Even more so since the arrival of Bruno also coincided with the start of some heavy-duty renovation work in the apartment above mine. So on top of everything else my fearful rescue dog had to deal with, we also had the issue of construction noise between the hours of 8am and 5pm, six days a week.
My parents were popping in every so often to do doorstep grocery drop-offs, because Bruno made it very clear from the get-go he wasn’t keen on visitors.
The first time my Mum came to visit, Bruno got so stressed at the presence of a stranger in the vicinity that he left a trail of stress poop and piddle along the skirting boards in my lounge. For this reason, it would be several days until anyone else dared to pay us a visit.
With Bruno now opting to use my puppy pad-covered hallway as a toilet area, he’d started to get a bit more curious about the kitchen, which is off the hallway and leads to the garden. But that curiosity came to an immediate halt as soon as he saw my oven.
As an aside, I learned during this phase of Bruno’s life that being fearful of household appliances means you are suffering from something known as syskeviphobia. I made a point of filing that bit of information away in case it ever crops up in a pub quiz.
In the short time Bruno had been here, I’d hadn’t used the oven at all. I was feeling so anxious about everything to do with Bruno that the only thing I could really stomach that first week was toast. And wine. Lots of wine.
So his fear of the oven had nothing to do with the sounds or smells it gave off. The way he reacted to it seemed to suggest he was scared of seeing his reflection in it. To resolve that, I covered its mirrored surfaces with tea towels but he would pull them off, scare himself again, and leg it back to the safety of the lounge.
After doing a bit of research online, I decided to try using counter-conditioning techniques to help Bruno overcome his fear of it, which involved pairing the scary thing with something Bruno really likes.
So, every time he voluntarily went near the oven (or gave it the merest hint of a suspicious sideways glance), I’d give him a treat.
I also tried smearing his favourite cream cheese spread over the outside of it, but that didn’t really work. He licked it off gleefully enough, but he still wouldn’t walk past it.
When I asked for advice on how to deal with this new-found quirk of Bruno’s personality, someone on the group said they had something similar with their dog refusing to walk through a certain part of their house, so they had resorted to picking them up and carrying them past it.
Now Bruno weighs an estimated 30 kilograms at this time, and I weigh just under about three times that. The oven is about half a metre wide. Now, I’m no Carol Vorderman, but I figured I could get those numbers to work.
So that’s what I started doing with him, in the hope that positioning him that bit closer to the backdoor might convince him to pop his head out into the garden of his own accord. But it didn’t.
Then someone else on the group shared a story about how their rescue dog had to be carried out of the house, through their kitchen, and into the garden for weeks after they arrived. Their dog, like Bruno, was initially agoraphobic, but once they started going out in the garden and grown to appreciate that it was a good, fun space, they soon started going out there unaided.
So, two weeks to the day that Bruno arrived, I resolved that I would give this a go. I carried him from the lounge to the hallway, through the kitchen and into the garden, plonked him down and wrapped him up in a blanket.
It was about 5.45am in the morning, because that’s the time Bruno had decided our day should start. And so the road out front was relatively quiet and there was minimal noise coming from anywhere else.
We stayed out there for about 30 minutes. I was on hand the whole time for gentle pets and reassuring words any time something happened that seemed to spook or panic him. He sat there quietly, taking it all in, until I carried him back into the house again.
In the days that followed, we repeated this process in the morning before work and in the evenings once I’d downed tools for the day. On the second day, Bruno started accepting treats off me while we were in the garden, and on the third day, he started cautiously exploring the grounds on his own, while popping back to see me every so often for reassurance.
Seven days on, I was celebrating the fact that Bruno had started waiting until he got outside to do his morning wee. And within a week of hitting that milestone, he was largely dry in the house. Suddenly it felt like we’d turned a real corner, and a lot of the anxiety I was feeling about the way ahead with Bruno started to lift.