Behaviour
He hides under the table at every doorbell or trembles at lorries. Exposed "to get used to it", he got worse. Confidence comes from distance and his own choice.
Worth knowing. Fear that appears suddenly in an adult dog, especially with trembling, a hunched walk or flinching at touch, may be pain or failing eyesight or hearing. Before the plan, see your own vet.
You adopted him two months ago and he still dives under the table when the doorbell goes. Or you have a five-month-old puppy who, overnight, started trembling at lorries and plants his feet rather than walk down the street with the school on it. Or an eight-year-old who has hidden in the bath at every bang since last New Year's Eve. Someone told you to "expose him more", you tried, and it got worse. Below: where fear comes from, what deepens it while looking helpful, and what the plan looks like that helps a fearful dog find his confidence. At a distance, with his own choice, over weeks.
Start by looking closely at what you're seeing, because fear is often mistaken for stubbornness or "not listening". The small signs come first: lip-licking with no food about, yawning when he isn't tired, turning his head away, showing the whites of his eyes, ears pinned back, tail low or tucked, freezing. Then the big ones: trembling, panting when it isn't warm, hiding, pulling on the lead towards home, refusing the treat he'd wolf down at home. That last sign is the most useful one you have. A dog who won't take even his favourite treat is too scared to learn anything where he is.
Three words get used interchangeably, though they mean different things. Fear is a response to something specific and present: the man in the hat is here, the dog backs off. Anxiety is expecting a danger you can't see: the dog is on alert for no reason, scanning, unable to settle, startling at everything. A phobia is a hugely out-of-proportion reaction to one particular thing that doesn't fade with familiarity, as with fireworks. The plan here is for fear and general anxiety. For fireworks and thunder we have a separate page.
Where fear comes from, in the order we tend to meet it. Usually it's a mix.
Born that way. Some dogs come into the world more sensitive, and that is inherited. A fearful mother raises fearful puppies, through her genes and through what she shows them in the first weeks.
The first three months. Between three and twelve to fourteen weeks, a puppy's brain learns what's normal: all sorts of people, children, cars, surfaces, noises, other dogs. Whatever he didn't meet then stays suspicious for life. The puppy raised in a back yard, the one from a puppy farm and the one kept indoors "until he's finished his jabs" all miss that window. They catch up, but slowly and never completely.
One bad experience. At a sensitive age, one is enough: a big dog that bowled him over at five months, a banger thrown near him, a child pulling his ears. Dogs learn this in a single go, without repetition. That's how animals survive.
Fear periods. Puppies go through two stretches when they're frightened by things they ignored the day before: around eight to eleven weeks, and again in adolescence, between six and fourteen months. They pass by themselves if you don't fill them with bad experiences.
Rescue or the street. A dog adopted as an adult comes with a history you don't know. Most open up within three to six months, given time and space.
Us. A lead shortened and tight when someone approaches, a voice going up, a hand pulling him towards what scares him. He reads all of it and adds it to his list of dangers.
Pain and age. A dog who starts fearing things at seven or eight that he used to ignore often has a medical reason: poorer vision in the dark, distorted hearing, pain when touched. Fear that appears late goes to the vet first, and to the plan after.
Being thrown in at the deep end. Trainers call it flooding. The dog is taken to the busy market "to get used to it" and kept there for an hour. At some point he stops trembling and seems calm. In fact he has given up. He's so overwhelmed he can't learn anything, and the next day he's afraid of the market and of the road there. The approach only has a chance when a dog is free to leave and chooses to stay. On a lead, it's a trap.
Forced approach. Dragged on the lead towards the hoover, lifted up and put next to the child he's wary of, held still for a stranger to stroke. Each of these takes away the one thing that would have calmed him: being able to retreat. A dog who can't retreat moves on to growling and, if he has to, to teeth.
Punishing fear. Told off for hiding, jerked on the lead for stopping, "no!" at a frightened growl. Punishment doesn't drive fear out of a dog. It just adds a new one: fear of you.
"Don't comfort him, you'll reinforce the fear." Fear is an emotion. It doesn't grow because you put a hand on him. You can sit with him, talk to him softly, touch him if he wants. What doesn't help is frantic, high-pitched reassurance that tells him something really is wrong. And no amount of stroking replaces distance.
The stranger holding the treat. It seems logical: the stranger gives him something nice, so he learns strangers are nice. In practice the food draws him closer than he can cope with. He reaches the person, eats, realises where he is and leaps back, sometimes with his teeth. The good stuff comes from you. The stranger simply appears, at a distance.
The idea is a single one: the dog learns that the thing he fears predicts something good, and that he can leave at any time. Everything else is a matter of distance and patience.
A bed in a corner where nobody disturbs him: not the children, not visitors, not you. Meals at the same times, walks at the same times, on routes he knows. For an anxious dog, knowing what comes next helps enormously: he stays less tense and has energy left for everything else.
For two weeks you keep a diary: what scares him, how strongly (from lip-licking to bolting), and from what distance it started. For each fear, find the distance at which he still takes treats and still looks at you. That's where you work from, far enough away for him to stay calm. For one dog it's 50 metres from a stranger. For another, the end of the street.
The thing he fears appears (the person, the bike, the big dog) and straight away something very good comes from you: small, soft bits of his favourite treats that he only gets at these moments. The thing goes, the treats stop. Ten to twenty of these moments per walk, on short outings set up for the purpose. After a few days he sees the person and turns to you for his treat. That's how you know he's made the link. Only now do you close the distance, a little, and only if he comes closer by himself. If he stops eating, you've gone too close: back off without a word and start again from further away.
In the books this step is called desensitisation and counter-conditioning. In plain terms, you get him used to it gradually, from a distance, and pair the thing that scares him with something he enjoys.
He decides how close he goes and when he leaves. The lead is long and loose, and you move with him, backwards included. Touch works the same way: your hand comes to within a palm's width and waits. If he moves in, you stroke him for three seconds and stop. If he moves away, the hand goes. A dog who has learnt that retreating works no longer needs to ask with his teeth. And, to most people's surprise, he starts coming closer more often.
Fear also drops by a side route, through things the dog does well and by himself. He searches for food round the house and in the grass, learns simple tricks (touching a target with his nose, putting his front paws up on a step), works his way over low obstacles in the garden at his own pace. Each success gets a cheerful "yes!" and your obvious delight. Each one tells him "I can", and after a few weeks it shows in the way he walks down the street.
When the scary thing appears, the lead stays loose; you don't shorten it on reflex. You speak low and say little. You breathe steadily, because he can hear you. In difficult spots you go first, between him and what scares him, without pulling him. For a fearful dog, a calm person at the other end of the lead is the best sign that he's safe. We know how hard calm is when you're dreading what comes next yourself.
| Day | What you do |
|---|---|
| 1 | Move his bed to the quiet corner; everyone at home learns the rule: nobody disturbs him there. Start the diary. |
| 2–3 | Short walks on familiar routes, long line, no goals. Note what scares him and from how far. |
| 4–5 | First working walk, 10 minutes, from the distance where he's calm, with one scary thing. At home, food searches. |
| 6 | Second working walk. The waiting-hand exercise, two minutes. |
| 7 | Reread the diary. Has anything eased? Does he take treats closer in? If he won't eat outdoors at all, read the section on specialists. |
A dog who has been fearful since puppyhood isn't ill. Fear still goes to your own vet when:
With your diary in hand, the appointment goes quickly. Your vet may decide the plan needs medical support for a while. With severe general anxiety, that's the difference between a dog who can't learn and one who can.
Of everything we do with dogs, nose work changes a fearful dog most visibly. There's research behind it too: a study of pet dogs found that those doing scent searches made more "optimistic" choices than those practising heelwork. On a trail the dog leads, and the person keeps quiet and follows. A dog who makes his own decisions for 40 minutes at a stretch learns that his decisions are good ones. At our training sessions we see dogs who won't get out of the car on day one and are pulling towards the start a season later. At home, begin with food hidden round the house and in the grass. If you enjoy it, come along for an assessment.
An assessment of a fearful dog is done slowly. Often the specialist doesn't even approach the dog in the first session. If someone offers to "snap him out of it" in a single day, on a short lead, walk away.
What dog owners search for most often on the internet about this problem, with the short answer.
Calmly put more distance between him and what scares him, without dragging him: turn round and leave with him. Speak little and low. If he wants to stay close to you, let him; if he wants to hide, let him. Don't hold him there "to get used to it" and don't tell him off. Once he's breathing normally and takes a treat again, the worst is over. Note what scared him and from how far.
No. Fear is an emotion and doesn't grow because you comfort him. You can sit with him, put a hand on him if he seeks it, talk to him quietly. What doesn't help is frantic, high-pitched reassurance that tells him it's serious. And no stroking replaces distance: if the scary thing is too close, leave with him first.
Fear is a response to something specific and present: the stranger is here, the dog backs off. Anxiety is expecting a danger that can't be seen: the dog is on alert indoors, can't settle, startles at everything. A phobia is a hugely out-of-proportion reaction to one particular thing that doesn't fade by itself, as with fireworks. All three are worked on at a distance and without force, but general anxiety usually needs your vet as well.
Yes, from the distance at which he can still eat and still leave, with something good from you every time. Taken into the middle of it and held there, no: that is flooding, being thrown straight into fear, and in a dog on a lead it produces dogs who give up, not dogs who recover. The distance shrinks only when the dog chooses to come closer, over weeks.
Yes, on prescription from your own vet, for dogs with general anxiety or fears so intense they can't learn anything from the plan. Medication brings the fear down enough for the plan to work; on its own it doesn't solve anything. Shop-bought supplements and "calming" products generally lack solid evidence. Talk to your vet before trying anything.
A behaviour that appears suddenly or changes for no apparent reason can have a medical cause. For full details, consult your dog's own veterinarian.
They often come together: the same causes, plans that complement each other.
Shaking under the desk, panting, refusing food. On the night you help him through it; the fear itself you work on during the rest of the year, and it does improve.
He sees a dog 50 metres away and explodes: barking, lunging, deaf to you. Off lead in the park he's a different dog. Reactivity is worked on from a distance, over weeks.
Shaking in the waiting room, growling at the nail clippers, hiding from the brush. Fear of handling can be learned from a single experience and unlearned in small steps.
He shakes at fireworks, in the cold, with excitement before a walk. Or he shakes, drools, goes floppy and found the chocolate. A thirty-second video tells them apart.
An assessment session tells you where you stand and which plan makes sense for your dog. The behaviour programme then works step by step, reward-based only.