How (not) to manipulate a runaway pet

I was really sleepy yesterday morning. I’ve also skipped a couple of morning walks with Chienne, and I hate to let go of that habit. So I shuffled down the hall at 6:30, checked the Weather Channel and found that it was already relatively warm outside and would obviously get worse as the sun continued to rise. I wanted – desperately – to go back to bed, snuggle into my many pillows and soft blue sheets, and sleep. Instead, I put on my new shoes and socks, grabbed my keys and opened the front door. I stared blankly at the dog when she paused at the end of my front walkway, and tried to figure out what struck me as wrong.

“Oh, no. Chienne! Come back – I forgot your leash.” I murmured, then gasped with outrage when she sprinted away, enjoying her accidental freedom.

Still half-asleep and now quite befuddled, I closed the door for a moment. The heat from outside wasn’t helping me think with any clarity. Then I absently picked up the leash, and opened the door again, hoping the dog would be waiting for me outside.

She wasn’t.

I was more annoyed than worried. She’s run away a couple times before – normally by backing out of her collar when she’s on her leash, so at least this time she was wearing her name and address on a tag. But I wanted to be able to scold her if she chased another dog (she did that last time) or entered someone’s yard (she set up camp on someone’s patio, just out of reach of their dog’s chain on her first trip alone). Plus, I can’t just sit and wait when she’s running around loose, so I walked down the road after I’d caught sight of the white tip of her tail.

We’ve been through a couple of obedience classes. Plus, I’ve lost her before. So it’s not as if I have no idea as to what strategies to use to get her back. There’s no sick panic anymore – I assume she’ll eventually come home. This means I can skip more quickly to irritation over the inconvenience of chasing her around.

Recall games in obedience classes were pretty simple. I got down on the dog’s level, crouching on the ground, and used my happiest voice to call to my furry "friend" (she was more of a mortal enemy at this point), maintaining my high level of excitement when she (theoretically) scampered toward me for pets, cuddles and praise. It’s hard to find the energy for that level of happiness before 7AM (“Here, Chienne! Who’s the pretty girl?! Where’s Chienne? Oh! There she is! Such a good girl!”), but I gave it a shot.

Didn’t work. At all. She looked at me with some level of disdain then trotted off in the other direction.

So I muttered some inappropriate assessments of her level of intelligence, then followed after her. I have a problem with this too. A couple of years spent at an off-leash dog park have trained her to keep track of me, but then she does her own thing as long as I follow. So my old strategy was simply not to follow. But then I lost her completely a couple of times, got scared, and now trail along after her.

I started thinking, between plotting out punishments dire enough for the continued insult of running from me, about why it was so irresistible to chase after that which won’t be caught. There’s some competitive or needy impulse in me that demands I bring this dog back with me. It’s a similar feeling to when a friend isn’t returning my calls or emails or if a guy seems to be losing interest and backing off. Now sometimes I really like these creatures – pets, friends or men – and would be deeply bothered to lose them. Other times I think it’s just irritating that I wasn’t in control of the situation. Regardless, I’ll try to trick said creature into returning to me.

So the happy “come on!” trick didn’t work. Perhaps Chienne knew it was fake because I’m usually at least vaguely peeved when she gets away. This goes against obedience rules too – I’m always to reward her for returning, regardless of the amount of running she did in the interim. I fail at this – I’m too transparent for her to know I’m anything other than hurt and furious by the time I catch her or she decides to come home. So let’s continue with my manipulation strategies!

I'm already mad, so I decided to go with it. As I walked briskly after her, I would offer insults when I got close enough. This releases some of the negative energy that I have to chase her at all. I also try to mix guilt into this angry phase. Remind her that I buy her kibble, put it in the special container so it stays fresh, and give her some every morning and evening when her bowl is empty. I also offer fresh water, and the leftover milk when I have cereal. I buy her hot dogs and cut up half of one into small pieces for a special treat. I buy Snaps because she loves them – there are 2 boxes in the pantry in addition to those in her treat container, “none of which you’ll get because you’re a bad, bad dog!” I let her sleep on the furniture and under the covers at the foot of my bed. She has a dog door and a fenced yard which I mow for her. She has three – no, four! – baskets of toys we’ve accumulated.

I find this rarely works – with dogs because they don’t understand what you’re saying, and with people because they’ve likely already considered the benefits of being with me and been able to live without them. Plus, it highlights the positives but doesn’t consider the negatives.

So let’s do that – think about why she ran at all. Our walks aren’t always fun. I’m trying to move briskly through the neighborhood and allow her relatively few opportunities to sniff for as long as she’d like. She has a retractable leash, so there is some freedom to stop and look, but then she has to jog to catch up or face a “Come on!” from me. I also don’t allow her to go very far into people’s yards. Nor can she walk in the middle of the street. She has a 5 foot wide zone of OKness that stretches a bit into a yard and a bit into the street. When she insists upon leaving the zone of OKness, I tug her back to it with a reprimand. That’s probably annoying for her. I also tend to pick the route based on how long I want to walk and which hills I want to tackle. Perhaps she had a different walk in mind when we left the house. This understanding isn’t that helpful though. I still want her to come back home, and I still want to walk how I walk. Though I did try to slow down so she could smell a bit more this morning, for the most part, I want to lose myself in my thoughts and walk quickly. That’s just how it is.

Given that I’m not willing to compromise too much (and, again, the fact that she doesn’t speak enough English to understand if I did try to bargain with her) I was still left chasing her tail.

She stopped at one point to bury her head in a shrub, and I sprinted for her. Just took off and ran as fast as I could (which probably isn’t very fast), using the irritation that following her around for 15 minutes and getting a blister from my new shoes (dammit!) had built up. She glanced up, saw me coming, and sprinted away. When she turned to see me sigh, scowl and ease back into a walk, she settled into a trot. Still moving away, but not as quickly. “Nobody likes desperation.” I reminded myself. Though the desire to fix everything as quickly as possible is there, it’s not something that gets excellent results. When anyone sees something coming that fast – that eager – the instinct to flee is nearly overwhelming, even if you like your pursuer a lot.

The opposite of desperation? Indifference. So I would play hard to get. “Fine.” I called out. “I’m going home.” Then I took several steps away from her, resisting the urge to glance back to see if she was watching. Obviously that’s not how you play – you have to really commit to pretending it doesn’t matter. I ruined it, of course, turning around to find myself staring at her tail. She’d turned and walked the other direction, confident in 1 of 2 things. Her ability to find her way home alone or my turning around to continue to chase. She really was indifferent, so I was left chasing her again. This is infuriating because the whole point of playing hard to get is to, well, get what I wanted! To have the object of my chase be indifferent is adding insult to injury!

So, though I knew it wouldn’t work because it never does, I tried again. I devised a plan that would have me telling her of my extreme excitement to go home, perhaps I’d even jog there to display my very joy in getting back! I also decided to offer this ploy.

“I could get another dog, you know.” I told her nonchalantly. “Other dogs would love to live with me. Eat the special kibble. Use the dog door. Play with those toys. I’m a good mom – I could have another dog. In fact, my new dog – let’s call her Sophie – would probably be better than you.” I nodded decisively, assuming she was paying attention despite her continued journey away from home. "Sophie would never run from me because she'd love me very, very much."

I also understood that it’s a pretty pathetic ploy (and that I’d look certifiable if anyone was outside and heard me talking about my new dog, Sophie, as I walked after the one that wouldn’t come home). But sometimes it helps – reminding myself that there are other creatures who might actually be more compatible. Those who want to spend time with me, who would return even if I accidentally let them go. Who would refuse to be scared away by my overly dramatic nature and sometimes insecure view of myself.

So I told her about my new dog. Then I did, in fact, jog toward home, happily talking about how great it would be when I got back. How I’d drink water and have treats and, well, look online for this new dog I was going to obtain. I do like the name Sophie, after all.

I just ended up glancing back, way the hell away from where Chienne had stopped to sniff yet again, unconcerned that she’d be replaced. Fine.

But I was starting to get slightly concerned. My left heel (because that foot is slightly smaller than my right, so new shoes will rub a bit while being broken in) was really sore, I was tired and hot, and I wasn’t sure what I was going to do to get this dog back.

I caught up to her as she listened to some dogs bark inside a 2 story home near the end of the 3/4 mile cul-de-sac we'd been walking.

“Just come here.” I said softly, tired and sad that she’d run for so long. She – torn between listening to the dogs she liked and running from me she obviously didn’t care for – walked away slowly.

Then I smiled. I knew she wanted those dogs. So I’d trick her, then trap her. An evil plan, perhaps, but one that would likely be effective. So I walked up the steps, causing the dogs to bark all the more, to the small porch and front door.

“I’m going in.” I lied to my dog, bending down to tie my shoe, hoping I wasn’t going to have to get these poor people to open the door (though they deserve some kind of award if they could sleep through the barking).

I didn’t. She happily pranced up the steps, arriving at the door before me and wagging her tail in expectation of being a guest in someone’s home. I fastened the leash around her collar, told her we were going home, and walked down the steps. I waited only 30 seconds before going into a tirade about how bad she was, how inappropriate her behavior had been, how perhaps I’d take walks without her from now on. And I kept her close to my side as we trekked home.

It’s different with people. They’re generally under little to no obligation to be dragged where I want them to go. I can trick and trap, of course, but they’ll only escape again if that’s what makes the most sense. The better technique, I decided, was to give people a reason to stay – offer some happiness and comfort that they’d hesitate to leave – or to allow them a freedom that might bring them more contentment elsewhere. This hurts – it’s never pleasant to leave someone or to allow them to go. I form deep attachments to people – I tend to love easily and deeply, and though I can talk myself out of it, that's a long, difficult process. So I chase – try to rely on basic obedience, then insult the desire to leave at all, try guilt, then attempt some understanding at the reasons behind his/her decision. Make a desperate attempt at capture, then quickly shift into false indifference. I’m fond of manipulating, so I’ll probably try the hard to get ploy more than once, then determine some way to associate myself with an alternate desire so you’ll get one thing you want, but have to take me with that nice object or event. But people who want to leave? They leave. And people who love me in return? Well, they stay. They’re the ones who end up mattering most of all.

Chienne, by the way, was ignored and any attempts at reconciliation were sharply rebuffed all day yesterday. I forgave her last night and offered her a taco for dinner. I even scraped off the lettuce and tomato for her. Then we walked together this morning and I tried to be less autocratic. I picked our route – a longer one this morning in the slightly cooler, cloudy morning, but allowed her a bit more freedom to enter yards and look around. Not too much, but a bit of leniency might be fine.

She’s curled up in the chair right now. She hopped up and stared out the window for a moment, perhaps considering where she might go if she was free to leave the property. Maybe she was just checking things out – considering the flower beds I weeded this afternoon while she curled up on the doormat on the porch. After she'd looked outside, she curled up on the big cushion and nuzzled in. She’s falling asleep as I write this, and I think she’s happy enough. She – unlike people – has limited options. And if I’m being honest, I’ll admit that I rather like that she’s obligated to hang around.

I’d miss her very much if she left.