A couple of weeks have gone by and I finally feel ready to talk about what happened without crying.
Leah has always been insecure. When I first got her, I remember she'd tremble from going outside and she refused to walk- as soon as I put her on the ground she would try to claw her way up my pant leg.
I have been seeing two dog psychologists, one over summer when I visited our summer house, and one that I've been meeting in the city where I live who has known Leah since she was 3 months old. At six months, the latter psychologist commended me on my effort with Leah, since she actually approached and sniffed her. By the end of our talk, Leah could be petted and she even gave the psychologist a few licks on the face.
I thought I was making good progress with her. Sure, her insecurities are still there, and she has met some bad people on some of our walks. In a couple of instances, her fear turned to aggression but I always have a strong hold on the leash and try to avoid people that make her uncomfortable or try to approach us.
During the last "active walk" I was on, the dog psychologist I was seeing regularly came up to me and dropped a bomb. She said that Leah's problem was probably genetic or as a result of something that happened during her first 9 weeks- before I got her. She didn't think there was much I can do. She told me that I had to look into the possibility of putting her down in the near future if her insecurity escalates.
This was a horrible shock for me, especially since Leah had made such progress during the walk itself. For example, she used to be too stressed to accept or search for candy, but she did so during all the moments she was expected to.
That weekend, I felt horrible. I was at a low point of my bipolar cycle and the news just made me feel hopeless and terrible. My psychologist told me that she believes Leah was my lifeline, the only reason why I was still striving to live. And it was true. I could not imagine a life without her comfort. Every time I looked at her, I started to cry. I cried all the time for two days.
As a last resort, I went to the pet shop in town where I had gotten so much help from. All the workers knew Leah and she had come to trust them. Thankfully, the one working at the time of my arrival was a dog trainer. And so I told her what had happened. Embarrassingly, I broke down in the middle of her shop and told her that I had no idea what to do. Someone I had trusted a lot with and looked up to for the last 9 months or so thinks Leah is hopeless.
The woman listened to my story and then told me, frankly, that the dog psychologist I went to was known to give up easily on problem dogs, even though that's supposed to be her specialty. She said the thought it was BS, especially since she had seen how much work I'd put into Leah and how much progress we had reaped together. She offered her help and recommended some other people to me, so I initiated contact with them.
After a few days of depression, I suddenly began to feel angry. Angry with myself for having almost given up so quickly and at having believed the psychologist's words. Angry at the psychologist for saying such things without really trying.
I have since then met a new dog trainer/psychologist who has gotten very good feedback from those he has helped. He came to my apartment and met Leah, and I've seen from how he handled her that he knows what he is doing. He has a program meant for problem dogs or as preventative measures for people who have just gotten a puppy, and I am enrolling Leah and I in it. Hopefully, he will help us move forward.
Leah truly has become my lifeline, and I am so happy that I have found someone who is willing to help us.
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