Managing noise: Lesson from a German shepherd

July 31, 2024Nancy Crowe

As the July 4 fireworks intensified, Iona the German shepherd trotted from one window to another — an elevated version of what her mom calls (and I paraphrase) guard dog stuff.

By the time night fell, a calming chew had taken the edge off, but she was still distressed by the pops, bangs and booms she could hear and feel but not see. How was she supposed to respond to this threat with insufficient data?

I told Iona, as I’ve been telling animals for decades, that it’s just human noise. It’s rattling, to be sure, but manageable. Even though she couldn’t see the source of the noise, she was safe at home and we would ride it out together.

My partner, our honorary daughter, Iona and I settled in to watch a movie. Eventually, Iona curled up on the sofa (of course she’s allowed) with her mom, and a bit later she shifted around and stretched out with her head in my lap. I told her she was very brave even if she didn’t feel brave.

On the same night, a client of mine sat on the pasture fence as horses gathered around her. The humans on the nearest street seemed to have an endless supply of fireworks, and she stayed with the herd until the worst was over.

We are all confronted with “noise” that scares, confuses or angers us. We can’t control it, but we can manage its impact. One way is by acknowledging it and being present.

Even when we perceive the sound differently (say, like a dog and a human), we can sit quietly together and see if something better surfaces. Even if it’s just a kind word or an ear scratch.

A warrior and her dog

August 8, 2019August 8, 2019Nancy Crowe

RightSide_FINAL-397x600 It would be easy not to like LeAnne Hogan, the principal character in The Right Side (Atria Books, 2017), a marked departure from Spencer Quinn’s popular Chet and Bernie mysteries. The Army sergeant is recovering at Walter Reed Hospital after a disastrous mission in Afghanistan left her without her right eye and with her face and psyche badly scarred.

You want to thank LeAnne, for whom the Army has been her life, for her service. She would lash out at you for that. Various people offer kindness and assistance, and all she can think about is punching them out. Her only connection to a possibly humane world is her hospital roommate, Marci.

That’s when you realize — if, like me, you have no experience with military service, war, or the kind of injury and betrayal LeAnne has experienced — that you have no clue and just need to keep reading. Especially since you already know from the cover and description that there’s a dog in this story.

The dog doesn’t enter the picture until later, after Marci has suddenly died and LeAnne has made a cross-country drive, winding up in Marci’s home town in Washington state. As animals do, the big black canine turns up at a critical moment. Later named Goody, she annoys the hell out of LeAnne, but the two begin to find a way forward.

LeAnne tried running again. The dog helped, partly by pulling her along, but after what must have been a few hundred yards — meaning much farther than her first attempt — LeAnne began to suspect there was more than that to this little resurgence. Something the dog had deep inside was making its way down the leash and sharing itself with her. How was that possible? Did life run on some sort of magic rules that she’d missed the whole time? All LeAnne knew was that strength from the dog had passed into her own legs, and although she didn’t come close to running the way she used to run — and this performance wasn’t even respectable — she was doing better.

Turns out Goody was just getting started, and so was LeAnne.

It’s worth noting that Quinn, in the acknowledgments, thanks two Army veterans for reading and critiquing the manuscript for the novel. Truth may be stranger than fiction, but authenticity never hurt a good story.