Until your peaceful moment is suddenly shattered by looming potential disaster ahead. You see a woman approaching you with a couple of large dogs enthusiastically straining like sled dogs in your direction. It seems improbable that the one-hundred-pound woman walking them has any control of them whatsoever, and you hold your breath as she yells out, “They’re friendly!” and surges toward you, behind her team of wide-eyed, smiling Labradors. Your dog starts to growl as they break an invisible fifty- yard line, and then escalates into a fit of high-pitched wails and barks as they close in. The labs might be friendly, all right, but they’re sure coming on pretty strong to a couple of total strangers.

The woman makes no apparent attempt to stop them from ambushing your dog as she goes by, calling them “silly boys” as she drags them onward down the street as your little buddy hides behind your legs and snaps at them. You’re torn between anger and shame as you make your final turn toward the park. Your dog did look like a rabid little beaver there for a minute, gnashing his teeth at them. Are those his true colors showing? Did he change from the cool and confident dog you were walking with just moments before? You shake your head and come to your senses. How would you feel in that situation? Given the circumstances, is there really something wrong with the way your dog was acting?

The truth is, most of us have unrealistic expectations for our dogs’ behavior—far beyond what we would ever expect from any other animal, person, or child. It’s pure fantasy that dogs will be the uniformly friendly, social, outgoing, bombproof, affectionate, tolerant, unopinionated, and complacent creatures we want them to be out in the world. This Lab-wielding woman is just one of many naïve and innocent dog owners effectively conditioned to the mindset that expects all “good” dogs to like everybody and everything regardless of the circumstance.

Don’t Pop My Bubble!

You know how you feel when someone invades your personal space inappropriately, how the hair stands up on the back of your neck and you suddenly are a little defensive or want to get away? Even when you logically know that person is not a threat, it makes you uncomfortable if they approach you abruptly, stand a little too close when you’re talking, or touch you without invitation. It’s because you, like all animals, have something called flight distance—the space it would take for you to feel out of harm’s way in case you needed to get away suddenly. It’s the imaginary bubble around you that creates your comfort zone of personal space, and you get very prickly when it’s popped.