Black Dog Syndrome

Throughout ancient mythology and folklore dogs are commonly associated with death, as guides of the spirit or guardians of the underworld, but the black dog holds a special status as a universal symbol of malevolence and death. Black Dogs are phantoms, ghostly apparitions who appear at night on dark lanes and foothpaths, in thunder storms, at crossroads and gateways and at places of execution. They are said to simply vanish or fade from sight and to disappear into the earth or in a flash of light. They sometimes walk on their hind legs and through solid objects and no one dares to venture past them; they are associated with the Devil and if they cross your path at night, they may set you ablaze.

In some places the spectral Black Dog is known as "Shuck" and is said to be headless. Shuck or "Shock" is derived from the Old English scucca, meaning 'demon.' They were also called Black Shag, Trash, Skriker, Padfoot, Hooter and Barguest – from the German bargeist or 'spirit of the funeral bier.' In 1127 big and loathsome Black Dogs were seen with black hunters who were riding black horses and goats. Such packs of spectral hounds—with or without hunters—are reported to have been seen all over Europe, and are generally known as the Gabriel Hounds or Gabble Retchets – from an old word for 'corpse.' Thought to be the restless dead or the souls of unbaptized children, these phantom black hounds were huge, with big eyes that glowed in the dark.

Some people deny the existence of what is referred to as "black dog syndrome" – a term that has become common in animal shelters. It predicts that dogs with black fur will languish without attention while dogs with lighter fur not only get attention, they get adopted. And black dogs get the lethal injection and an end to their lives. This does happen and it happens in shelters everywhere and people who are partnered with large, black dogs will tell you that others don't receive them with the same eager affection they do smaller dogs with lighter fur coats. What is it that operates on adopters as they go down a row of cages, passing by those that contain black dogs? Are myth and folklore a part of our genetic make-up, perhaps somehow encoded in our DNA? I suppose that's possible but I think that something much more simple and basic influences us. I think it is a single, powerful word.

From Old English, the word 'black' was first associated with dark or malignant purposes in 1583. It is defined as a color lacking hue and also as gloomy, pessimistic, dismal, sullen, hostile, threatening, evil, wicked, deliberately harmful and boding ill. It indicates disaster, misfortune or potential danger and the illegal and misleading, treacherous, traitorous and villainous. It symbolizes ambiguity, secrecy, and the unknown. It is equated with the sinful, inhuman, fiendish, morbid, grotesque devilish, infernal, monstrous, atrocious, horrible and nefarious. Black has come to symbolize death, mourning and bereavement. Bad guys wear black hats while good guys wear white ones and villains are dressed in black. Black magic is destructive or evil and black days are sad or tragic, like the Black days in 1929 when the Stock Market fell and fell again. This word has a lot of baggage and a lot of power.

As our eyes fall upon a black dog, we don't consciously run through these associations – they act upon us behind the scenes, unconsciously, and this is exactly how we relate to most of our waking experiences in life. Our minds are full of illogical and superstitious beliefs and some, while seeming completely rational to us, can be truly insane. I encountered a man walking two Yorkshire terriers a few days ago. When they saw Jack, both strained on their leashes to get to him. The man began to shout "No Running!" as one little dog sounded the telltale honk of a collapsed trachea. The three dogs circled and sniffed. The man grabbed the honking dog, opened her mouth and forced his very large finger into it and down her throat. She squirmed in distress. It didn't help her but somehow, he thought it would.

Have you ever really examined the beliefs you hold about dogs? I admit that this is hard to do without bias and prejudice but if you could do it you'd probably be humbled and amazed. Have you ever become fully conscious as you interact with a dog to learn what you are thinking about in that instant and to see what those thoughts would have you do next? Some of us have, of course, but we don't do this routinely. We don't do it very often with family members, friends or co-workers either. That's just the way we roll!

In The Conceptual Dog, readers will practice a type of hyper-awareness – the kind that dogs still employ. We'll set our determination to make conscious living a habit. We'll start noticing and controlling what we think and be in control of how we react, and we'll stop leaving our minds to the influence and energy of the unexamined words, thoughts and beliefs that lead us into enmity and conflict. We'll make sure that every interaction we have with a canine is compatible with our truest natures and this will naturally honor theirs. Basically, we're going to begin to wake up. The dog has been waiting a long time for this and it can't happen soon enough!


(c) 2009 Madison Moore, The Conceptual Dog. All rights reserved.

The Automaton

Our unconscious controlling attitudes toward dogs cause us to regard them almost as René Descartes* described them – as automatons. Descartes argued that because animals do not use language they would be completely indistinguishable from machines built to resemble them. His point was that the use of language is a sign of rationality and only things endowed with minds or souls are rational. All else are mindless slaves. This fallacy persists in the thoughts and actions of many. Instead of allowing a dog to think, to imagine and create, to formulate a plan and to bring forth the resolve to enact it, we command him. And he becomes an automaton – a mindless follower.

The word “command” is the very source of our unconscious controlling attitudes. We use it so casually and so often that we are numb to its meaning and to the ideas it conveys. When we command, we make another comply, we force, threaten and intimidate. One who commands must demand compliance to maintain authority and control. To give away any power to subjects would eventually bring them into conflict with our edicts. The disagreeable, slow and the reluctant-to-obey must be punished.

Yes, there are situations in which a dog’s response is urgently important but research shows that performance latency and predictability degrades in dogs who have been made to comply, particularly when their guardian is not near enough to make good on their threats. There are some very essential conditions under which dogs don’t or can’t give us the response we expect when and where we ask for it but the unconscious processes that follow the intent to command will disallow us any awareness or consideration of them. They will cause us to leap off into immediate corrective action. We will repeat our command again and again, to the point of shouting. We’ll handle the dog’s body. We'll become arbitrary and oppressive, frustrated and angry. We will give threatening facial and body-language signals. We may use our might and force to gain compliance and we might deliver a painful and frightening punishment.

The failure will be regarded as an intentional slight or refusal and as disrespect for our ultimate “pack-leader” authority. The act of commanding gives us an unconscious “do this or else” perspective. We turn the energy of absolute power upon the dog and deliver him unto powerlessness. I don’t believe that we really mean or intend what this word implies.

If we were to issue requests or suggestions instead, we would create opportunities to see how the dog we are communicating with actually feels about the interaction. That surely stands an old paradigm on its head and its something that commanding doesn’t allow. We can learn what makes him happy, what he’ll absolutely flip for and what he considers to be uninteresting. We can give him a chance to think and to create unique responses. In turn, we can alter our thinking and behavior to meet the dog at the place where he is most joyous and most involved. Instead of commanding an automaton, we'd be participating in a creative, happy and inspired partnership. And this experience will kill off another old fallacy – that the dog actually lives to please us.

*A 17th century philosopher, mathematician, scientist and writer considered to be "The Father of Modern Philisophy"

Can We Actually Make a Dog Come When Called?

Many of us start off really well when we begin teaching puppies to come when called. We play happy recall games, giving the cue, clapping hands and running away to excite a chase. We give lavish attention and throw treat parties when the pup follows and the recall cue becomes one of the most fun words the young dog knows. From a sound sleep, up they leap upon hearing it. Yet, what we meticulously establish can be destroyed so quickly that we are left wondering what went wrong with the dog. What went wrong usually has nothing to do with the dog. It is us who ruin this most important cue and we do it in a couple of ways.

Recall and end the fun or deliver some nasties:
Dogs have their own thinking, feeling experience of life. There are things they enjoy and things they don’t. When we use a recall cue to end the former and deliver the latter, the cue becomes a warning to the dog that her response to it will not only end the fun, but it may give her a case of the nasties. Many of us are aware of this so we make every attempt to refrain from such foolishness. We don’t use our precious recall cue to end a dog’s fun or when we must trim nails, give a bath, or pull some tag-alongs out of his fur. Ouch! We can actually be impeccable with this strategic self-control and still ruin the cue in the other ways.

Consider the cue an edict from the king:
Many canine educators and guardians hold the opinion that you must “make” a dog do what you “command.” Any refusal is seen as willful noncompliance. When our request becomes a sovereign decree, we will not suffer delay or what we think to be refusal. We can quickly feel irritation, frustration and eventually, even anger. Our feelings can be heard in the sharpness of voice and seen in the clenching of teeth. Some of us give a hard look. Fists fly up on hips and we adopt a squared and rigid stance. We repeat the cue with contempt for the challenge. And even if we offer no overt signs or gestures, our feelings permeate the electromagnetic environment. Through it, dogs are immediately aware of our emotional state.

The truth is that our introduction of aversive experience (whether realized or intended) is the very reason why most dogs don’t come when they are called. A prompt or a cue is a request for a particular posture or activity. A command is an edict from the king. When we stop using words of absolute power, we will be a lot more aware of our role in helping a dog to interpret our communications and willingly provide the responses we expect. We will assume responsibility for any failures, reasoning how to fix our mistakes and keep moving forward. We build the energy of partnership and respect when we ask.

A Dog Language Renaissance

The word "dog" elicits thoughts of innocence, nurture, protection, happiness and love. But don't the words we use to describe the dog and our human-dog relationship conflict with these understandings? We "own" the dog. We call the dog an "it." We "get" one, "have" one, even "buy" one, just as we buy "things" for our pleasure and for our home.

We need a shift in consciousness - A Dog-Language Renaissance. When we look into the eyes of the dog, we can see a conscious being looking back. When we consider the inner reality of our union, it is unlikely to be that of an "owner" and a "thing" possessed. Words, like thoughts, powerfully create our reality. Through them we unconsciously regard the dog as chattel and we are lead to acts of suppression and control.

We can learn to willfully align our words with our truest feelings and with the authentic nature of the canine being. Let's replace the lexicon of ownership with that of partnership and watch our relationships evolve into a rebirth of empathetic connection and cooperation.

I am proud to say that I am a dog-partnered human. The dog at my side is a "he" not an "it." I don't "have" him, I share my life with him and in that sharing, we are both blessing beyond measure.