A dog’s sixth sense – Take Less Rest

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Yesterday, because I had an early appointment, I went for a walk carrying sausages. Although it may be a bit boring, this is good for them because they are still quite reactive to traffic and people coming towards or behind them. I realized that the more they did it, the better they would be, as long as they felt safe and secure, so I kept reassuring them. While I hate it from a pain standpoint, I also realize that it’s good for me too, so we all benefit.

We were all pretty relaxed, and I was playing around with them when I saw a guy coming towards us, although there was nothing out of the ordinary about him. As he got closer, he smiled and greeted me with a cheerful good morning and then stopped.

Willow immediately started barking (this is not unusual), but this was combined with behavior that was very unusual even for her. He actually shrank back, making himself as small as possible behind my legs. His tail was right between his legs, his neck was raised, and he was peering at her, barking aggressively. This was something he had never done, being a shy but very friendly little dog.

At the same time, Bear, who had been very relaxed and friendly lately, started growling hoarsely, baring his teeth, as well as moving backwards, so that he placed himself between me, Willow, and this guy. I was completely shocked, and my first thought was: What do they know about this person that I don’t?

The man answered briefly, also reacting to their behavior and stepped back, saying, “Oh, I just wanted to say hello, I love Dachshunds!”

I smiled slightly and said, apologetically, “Sorry, they made the save!” before quickly passing him, Willow leading the way, eager to run. Interestingly, Bear, besides moving forward with us, kept growling and kept stopping and looking behind us to see where this guy was going. The man himself continued walking, but the two dogs were clearly agitated, and their behavior was so out of character that something was clearly wrong.

Many years ago, with my first Dachshund, Henry, I moved into a housing association flat on the first floor of a small block. The housing association recently took over the apartments and, although pets were previously banned, the new management are keen to give it a try. As the first pets on the block, Henry and I were interviewed. We were lucky because Henry was the perfect candidate. Quiet, very friendly, obedient and, frankly, the easiest dog in the world who, long before it was considered normal, came to work with me every day, meaning he had his own reference.

I was teaching at a middle school, and I had asked for unpaid leave when Henry needed surgery to remove his dew claws. The Chief, reluctant to lose me, asked if he was the kind of dog that could come with me. I laughed as he really did. If asked to stay in his bed, he won’t move for love or money (or biscuits), and he is the calmest, kindest, friendliest dog in the whole world.

We agreed that Henry would come to work with me, and one of his parents lent me a pushchair to take him to and from work, so he didn’t have to walk.

Once the stitches were out, I left it at home as usual. At around 7.45am, the Principal stuck his head in my classroom door saying: “Henry, look what I have for you!” When I explained that he was at home, having had his stitches removed on Friday, the Principal said, almost insulted, “I don’t care, go and get him straight away, he’s part of our family now and we need him here!”

That was the start of a three year contract where Henry came to school with me every day, never taking the lead and was a vital part of helping the children in our care, and it was at that point that I moved house. The Principal had written him a reference and they were quite impressed by him, so the interview was successful, we moved on.

We had lived there about three months when one morning at half term the doorbell rang. Henry would always give two deep woofs, come to the door with me, his tail moving 19 to a dozen but still. I locked him in the sitting room and went to open the front door.

There was a man, probably in his early 40s, dressed casually but neatly. As he spoke, Henry uncharacteristically started barking from behind the door. The man showed me his housing association ID card and told me they were replacing some windows in the ground floor flat. He said he wanted to check the windows throughout the flat, so that any necessary repairs could be carried out at the same time.

Inviting him in, I opened the living room door, saying, “Don’t worry about the dog; he’s friendly…” as Henry flew at him, growling and barking. To my great surprise the man was clearly frightened and backed away. Despite my screams of ‘No!’, Henry kept walking, dodging my attempts to grab his collar as the man retreated down the hall, with Henry clinging to his pant leg growling and shaking him. I was shocked, apologizing profusely when the man frantically ran away, saying: “I’ll come back another time when you’ve got the dog under control!”

I couldn’t believe it and felt terrible, protesting the Dachshund who had now calmed down and was just staring at me, his tail wagging! Concerned by the Housing Association’s new ‘pet’ policy, I called their office to apologize again and try to rearrange an appointment when I could confirm his usual exemplary behavior. The housing officer listened to me and then asked me a bunch of questions, ending with: “Is that guy still there?”

I said, I think so, as he went upstairs. He told me to close the front door and wait in my flat, saying someone would come, before suddenly hanging up. Completely confused, within minutes, I heard sirens and three police cars (at that time) coming roaring by. From my window, I saw officers running into the building. A few seconds later, my doorbell rang. Worried about his recent behavior, I locked Henry in the bathroom (even though he was usually ‘waggy’) and opened the door for the police.

Long story short, the man who knocked on my door was a con man who, after gaining access to various flats in the area by posing as a housing officer, robbed them, intimidated them and then sexually assaulted the often elderly residents. All the victims were women and there had been a series of attacks recently.

It turned out that the housing officer I spoke to the day before had called the police about four women on another block, all victims of assault. Still at the location, the police managed to arrest this fugitive in the flat of one of my elderly neighbors upstairs.

Henry, always the friendliest of dogs, knew this man was a threat and knew what I didn’t, when I let him into my house. He was presented with a box of Bonio biscuits from the police officer who recorded my statement, and the housing association gave him a certificate of bravery and a tin of dog biscuits, labeling him a ‘hero’. I have never been prouder.

Since that first incident, I have learned to always trust my dog’s instincts, and I have experienced three very extraordinary incidents with different dogs where I know for sure that my dog ​​has protected me from danger and dangerous humans. They have a sixth sense that we don’t have and will protect us, at the risk of themselves.

I always say to people, “Learn to read dogs!” It will always give you good benefits, for many reasons, this is one of them.

Of course, I’m sorry if yesterday’s guy was harmless, but Willow and Bear clearly don’t think he’s dangerous, and, at the risk of overreacting, I’m listening to them!

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