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Our (mostly?) border collie Habi came to us in December 2007, then three years old. When we first saw her at the Humane Society, she was melted on the floor of her kennel, so flat that we overlooked her on our first walk-through, tail so invisible we assumed it was bobbed, but with a sweet swift pink tongue when we coaxed her over to the door. We were really looking for a heeler, to replace our late and dearly beloved Pica, but we had researched border collies and Aussies as well. I had great plans for a running partner and agility dog, and Mike wanted a hiking companion. We both wanted a lively, highly trainable dog with a stable temperament who would be good with kids, cats and chickens. Would this meek little girl have enough spunk?

She did. She was spectacularly athletic, incredibly fast, totally housebroken, quickly learned to be respectful of our indoor cat and our backyard chickens, and never chewed anything not belonging to her. She also came with high anxiety, low impulse control, and possessed few social skills. At this point, we didn't know the word 'reactive'. Why it never occurred to us that a 3-year-old border collie turned into the shelter might have baggage is beyond me.

The first inkling of her Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde personality appeared the first night. Although she had walked very politely on the leash at the shelter, Mike took her for a walk that evening and came back shaken, reporting “She turned into a screaming lunatic when we saw some traffic!” That was the first of many end-of-leash rodeos. Whether inside the house or out, the sight of a squirrel, a wandering cat, a passerby, or another dog would send her into a screaming frenzy. “A tired dog is a good dog. She needs more exercise.” Maybe the dog park? We tried a few visits. It would take a good fifteen humiliating  minutes to walk from the parking lot to the park entrance, as we moved forward only between Habi's lunges and shrieks. Once inside, she'd wander the far fringes of the park. If another dog came up to sniff she'd sniff, then snap and snarl. Not so good. Next, we tried running her off-leash as we snowshoed in the foothills (though car rides were rodeos in their own right). She loved it, but though she normally greeted people nicely, occasionally she'd go into a panic-rage at someone's approach. Although she never bit anyone, there were some close calls, so she lost her off-leash privileges, and on-leash walks continued to be so horrible that her exercise devolved to chasing squirrels in our large backyard. We were at our wit's end. When she was relaxed, she was a sweetheart, leaning against us, giving us little kisses, and wiggling into our hearts. But just like “the girl who had a little curl right in the middle of her forehead, when she was good, she was very, very good, and when she was bad, she was horrid.”

Mike had taken Habi through Robyn Walters' obedience classes at the Humane Society, where she was the star of the class (except for leash work), and three months after Habi came to us we left her with Robyn for a week while we went on vacation. Subconsciously, we expected to find a perfectly trained dog on our return. Instead, Robyn pulled us aside and said “She's beyond the bell curve for a border collie. Here's the phone number of a behavioral vet. She's expecting your call”. Bad news, but what a relief! Maybe we hadn't totally lost all our dog-handling skills, and maybe border collies weren't beyond our abilities. Just maybe, there was something wrong with Habi that could be fixed. 

So Dr. Sarah Correll, behavioral veterinarian, entered our lives. After an in-depth interview with Mike and me without Habi, then an hour watching how the three of us interacted, she diagnosed extremely high anxiety, and explained that when Habi was aroused (which was about 90% of the time), she couldn't think. It wasn't that she was being resistant or stubborn about training – her cortisol-flooded brain was non-functional. She also explained that though Habi was exceptionally smart, because of her issues we were asking her to do advanced calculus when she couldn't yet add two plus two. 

Dr. Correll left us with pages of behavioral modification techniques, a Prozac prescription (for Habi), and a no-exercise order. We were to keep Habi totally stress-free for two months, to let the cortisol wear off and the Prozac-induced serotonin build up. “No exercise? But she's a border collie!”  Dr. Correll pointed out that exercise was not a necessity of life, even for a border collie, and that if we didn't resolve this...we knew the rest. For the next two months, Habi was in the house or on a leash in the back yard for potty breaks. No chasing squirrels, no front yard, no car rides, no obedience work – just couch potatohood. We also started using the behavioral modification tricks that Dr. Correll had shown us, to help Habi deal with stressful situations. And slowly, slowly we saw her start to settle down. The first inkling of progress came the morning we heard some thumping from the living room. Peeking around the corner, we watched in amazement as Habi pounced on a tennis ball, whacked it with her feet, and gleefully chased after it! She had never shown any interest in any toy before.

We graduated to sitting in the front yard with lots of treats, watching the world go by. Then we practiced riding in the car, going to dog-friendly stores, and then an obedience-in-the-real-world class. As long as Habi felt she was in a controlled situation, she could think. But she still had unpredictable flashes of reactivity to occasional men and dogs out of class, and neighborhood walks (our neighborhood has lots of invisible dogs behind fences, and Habi's yodels sets them barking, which spins her up in a negative spiral) were still tough. Still, things were going in the right direction. After a year we slowly weaned her off Prozac. She maintained her progress, but we needed more specific training to overcome her remaining challenges. She was 80% better than where we started, but it still took all our attention to keep her on track.

Our neighbor Kevin had mentioned that his boss had a class for reactive dogs. By this time we understood the word. I gave Mary Hunter a call, and after hearing Habi's story, she accepted her into the class. The course is based on Leslie McDevitt's “Control Unleashed” book and seminars. We had read some great dog behavior books over the past year, but this one – WOW! - was written for Habi. Focus, confidence, self-control...my hope-o-meter began to rise.

Although we had made steady progress working on our own over the last year, it was incredibly helpful to work hands-on with a wonderful trainer, and in a class situation. Mary's experience with her own reactive Dani, and the knowledge she has brought back from seminars with Leslie McDevitt and others, has given her a keen eye and a huge bag of tricks to use with our challenging dogs. Best of all, she knows how to make training fun for owner and dog as well.  We discovered that Habi LOVES games, so if we can change a difficult situation into a game, it changes her entire attitude.

The class served as a support group too. It was really helpful to learn from other people with challenging dogs, and to realize that we weren't alone out there. We've made some good friends with whom we continue to work outside of class. Habi graduated from Reactive Dogs, and has just finished Mary's “Getting Started in Agility” class. We don't know if agility competition is in Habi's future, but the foundations are just what she needs, as we continue to work on her dog social skills, impulse control and focus. And Mary has continued to be a wellspring of information and encouragement.

Habi is our girl's third name. Her pre-shelter name is unknown. We called her Kibbee for a year, but this summer we re-christened her Habi (Lebanese for “sweetheart”) in honor of her progress. Life with Habi is never dull, but now it's usually delightful. What an amazing journey it's been so far – and the journey continues.