When Doggedness Doesn't Work, Is It Time to Give Up?

What happens when being dogged isn’t enough?

For years, living in a chaotic city neighborhood, I experienced repetitive negative events while walking my dog, Beau.

The whizz of scooter riders terrified Beau, prompting him to bark and lunge. He was 80 pounds, which meant that when we saw a scooter, I was sometimes dragged partially into the street, where traffic was dense and drivers were unwilling to stop. Some scooter riders laughed and taunted or mocked Beau’s reactivity, eroding my sense of community.

Stepping out the door felt like stepping into a minefield. I began to look everywhere for signs of a scooter rider in the distance. But then, the scooter riders started coming up from behind us, unexpectedly on the sidewalk.

I pursued behavior modification training for Beau’s reactivity, but after 10 months, Beau was still as vehement in his response to scooter riders as he was prior to his training.

Our behaviorist dog trainer determined that Beau’s level of exposure to his trigger was impeding his progress. Since we had to walk outside for him to do his business, there was no way to eliminate his exposure. I began to wear a large neon sign that read, “Anxious Dog, Respect My Space.” But no one respected our space, and walking outside was increasingly stressful.

To compound the scooter situation, Beau was randomly attacked on three separate occasions by unleashed dogs who, unprovoked, ran out of their yards or houses while we were on a walk. The owners took no responsibility. I had to physically defend Beau myself, shouting at an owner to leash the dog, as doing so was the law. Beau was also attacked in other scenarios, one requiring emergency surgery to repair his wounds.

I was determined to find a way to control what I couldn’t control: scooter riders, random attacks, or any other triggers, including running kids, bouncing basketballs, and people taking drugs. Yet, after a while, when I couldn’t assert my will over our affecting circumstances, I slipped into a feeling of powerlessness.

Still dogged, I continued to believe that I could overcome our adversity.

I drove Beau to a different neighborhood to walk. But there were scooter riders everywhere. I couldn’t avoid them. And my own triggers were tested even more as we encountered gang violence, including a near-miss shooting.

Despite my persistent work, the situation didn’t get better. In fact, as time went on, things only got worse, and not only externally, but internally: I developed paralyzing anxiety, acid reflux, and migraines.

My doggedness wasn’t going to change the reality in which I lived. I thought I should give up trying. I decided to do something else: Change where I lived.

The Benefits of Pivoting

I began to look for a new apartment, not just because of Beau’s outdoor reactivity, but because of other circumstances as well, including several break-ins in my building and a money-hungry new property management company, both compromising my personal safety and my financial well-being.

Unfortunately, I discovered that I was unable to afford to move. In response, I embraced my tenacity: I took on a second job.

For three years, I worked long hours and saved as much money as I had left in my bank account after paying my basic monthly bills. I hired a wonderful realtor who sent me housing listings in my price range within a 30-minute drive of my workplace. Having lived in slumlord conditions for decades, I desired homeownership rather than renting.

But after a year of realistic looking, I saw that my planning and perseverance weren’t enough to combat an extremely challenging housing market in which I was consistently outbid by $50-$100K on properties listed in my price range. In the rental market, finding a dog-friendly unit was a rarity, especially within a 30-minute drive of work.

Personal Perspectives Essential Reads

I thought moving might not be possible. But I didn’t want to accept that my doggedness would fail. I clung to the belief that where there was a will, there was a way.

By this point, I was diagnosed with adrenal fatigue from stress. I wasn’t sure how I’d continue to indefinitely endure my living situation. I considered giving up, just accepting my reality, and resigning myself to misery. What hubris did I have to think I could improve my happiness and sense of well-being?

Then an apartment listing came up: a one-bedroom dog-friendly rental in the suburbs. The price was on the lower end of the market rate. I took it.

Three weeks ago, Beau and I moved. His reactivity and my nervous system dysregulation haven’t been cured, but have improved along with our situation. We’ve encountered three scooter riders, one a repeat “offender” who slowed down both times and profusely apologized for the disturbance. In our previous neighborhood, we’d see two to three scooters every time we stepped out the door.

Now, my work is to let go of a type of cognitive bias I developed in our old neighborhood: the assumption that Beau and I will have a negative experience every time we walk outside.

Control Shift

While I can’t control the behavior of those around me, I can control whether I suffer or find enjoyment on my walks with Beau. I can choose to be prepared for the unexpected, but I don’t need to be hypervigilant. I can be optimistic rather than pessimistic about how a walk might go. I can pay attention to the birds chirping, the quiet streets, the peaceful yards and houses in our neighborhood, and the friendly people, rather than the chance that something might come along to terrorize us.