For several weeks this summer, I needed to dog sit Kevin, my sister’s dog. I’ll admit that I’m a doodle person; I love their soft fur, sweet disposition, and snuggly personalities.
Kevin is NOT a doodle. He is 70-pound, muscular, wiry-haired hound who doesn’t cuddle. When he arrived, we made eye contact, and he looked as thrilled to be with me as I was with him. I walked him, and he barked loudly and lurched at every dog we passed. Later, he didn’t want to walk; when I picked up his leash, he growled and bared his teeth.
I quickly assessed the situation. He wasn’t well trained. He’s an angry dog. He’s mean. Big dogs are trouble. Doodles are better. Hounds bark for no reason (I’ve heard stories about that).
Then I paused and realized what I’d done. I’d entered the situation with preconceived ideas, and when I experienced a few negative interactions, I painted a picture of who I thought Kevin was—and why. I hadn’t asked questions, considered the situation, or really given him a chance.
It’s natural to form ideas based on personal experiences. Problems arise when we latch onto our assumptions so that every interaction confirms what we have already decided (this phenomenon is called confirmation bias). As a result, we often avoid collaborating with our Kevins, talk defensively in conversations with them, make assumptions about their intent, and/or impart our negative impressions to others. As a result, others may also alter their feelings about the person.
I needed to check my preconceived ideas and possibly change my behavior. “We need to figure this out,” I told him. “You’re going to live with me for a while.” He looked at me quizzically. I kept talking. I pet him gently. I acknowledged that my neighborhood dogs were new to him. I admitted that he might have some feelings about being abruptly left with a near stranger. I told him that my sister would return as soon as she could. I gave him treats. When we saw other dogs, I asked him nicely not to bark (he occasionally complied).
Over time, we learned about each other. I discovered that he’s terrified of loud sounds. He knows that he gets dessert after dinner and looks at me sweetly while “asking” for it (incessantly, but charmingly). He knows which toys are his and carefully arranges them in his bed. He is incredibly smart and seems to understand much of what I say. He has soft, pet-able ears. From his perspective, he realized that I have a softness for endearing eyes; I melt with just one look. I also respond to gentle nose nudges and other sweet dog interactions.
We both learned that initial impressions, including those formed upon a first interaction or traumatic experience (or through gossip), don’t tell the full story. While Kevin and I might not become best friends, I have grown to appreciate him—his tenacity, intellect, and sweetness. Apparently, I’ve grown on him as well; he seems excited when I come home, he often asks for affection, and he is trying not to bark at other dogs so much.