Origin Story
A Tribute to Maya:
My Teacher
and Heart Dog
A new dog and a rough start…
I’ll never forget the day we first met. I had an appointment with my friend Laurie, a shelter volunteer, who had a bunch of dogs lined up for me to meet. I was going to go home empty-handed until Laurie brought out Maya, who was barking, lunging, and pulling her down the driveway. Little did I know that this dog would change my life.
She was breathtakingly gorgeous – a young, velvety, all-black German Shepherd. I was quickly given a disclaimer: she’d been through several homes already and she would be a challenge. Still, I saw in Maya something that got the better of me. I adopted her and diligently followed the advice of the shelter folks: socialize Maya at the dog park, take her to an obedience class, and make up for past trauma with love and affection.
In obedience class, Maya was eager and applied herself. She passed her American Kennel Club (AKC) Canine Good Citizen certification within a few months. She wasn’t quite as good at the dog park though. Maya’s anxiety there often escalated to aggression and dog fights, with frenzied owners attempting to intervene.
I was threatened many times by other owners and I feared I would be charged by the authorities and have my dog seized. Things got so bad that I abandoned the dog park completely. But by then, Maya had become incredibly aggressive in all environments, even if we were just out with friends.
At doggie daycare, she was labelled as trouble and handled as such. She would come home worn out, like she did when we were at the dog park. Not knowing any better, I felt good about it, thinking that “a tired dog is a happy dog.”
By this point, Maya was even more aggressive leashed up and she walked horribly on leash. Funny how the “loose-leash walking” we’d learned in obedience class didn’t quite translate to the sidewalks downtown. To walk her safely, I thought I had to use a head halter. The halter only aggravated and disgusted her, while giving me the illusion of being in control.
Struggling for solutions that never came…
I consulted with trainers who suggested we get into sport to “boost the dog’s confidence.” So we pursued just about every dog sport on the planet, including agility and flyball. Again, she applied herself beautifully. Outside the structured training arena, however, Maya was chronically anxious – pacing, panting, and submissively urinating almost every time I came near her. Unless we were training, she had no interest in me or much else. I could tell that she was deeply unhappy, and so was I.
Around that time, I discovered a famous TV personality who emphasized “dog psychology” and “pack leadership,” which almost invariably resulted in confrontations with the dog – jabs, verbal corrections, and “alpha-rolling” dogs on their back. Still, I remember experiencing an epiphany of sorts. Clearly, I’d failed to be firm enough with Maya!
I started to correct my dog harder, using leash corrections and side-kicks, and I even alpha-rolled her a few times, to her utter shock. The same expert stressed the importance of exercise, so I exercised Maya to the point of mental exhaustion and physical injury. When all was said and done, I ended up with far greater problems. Maya was reactive less often, but her outbursts were more intense. She had become unpredictable and vindictive.
From despair to hope: our turning point…
I had spent five years with Maya, watching her struggle with anxiety, reactivity, and aggression. At the same time, I was nursing a deep sense of failure, sadness, and resentment. Euthanizing Maya, or even rehoming her, was out of the question. And while I don’t judge those who find themselves in such hard situations, I wasn’t prepared to abandon my dog.
I started volunteering at my local humane society, as an outlet for the frustration I felt. I wanted to make a difference for others and learn more about dogs, feeling let down by the training advice that I had received.
There was a local trainer by the name of Sam Malatesta who worked with some of our more challenging dogs, and one day I found out he was offering a seminar. I signed up promptly, hoping this could be the turning point that Maya and I were waiting for.
On the day of the seminar, I was transfixed by the three dogs loose around Sam. They never took their eyes off him. They followed and circled him each time he moved. The profound connection and rapport he had with them – that was what I had been missing all this time.
To help heal Maya,
I had to become a different person…
I knew I would do whatever it took to help Maya become the kind of dog that Sam’s dogs were – “strong and happy, loose and free.” As Sam says, to have dogs like that we need to be “worth looking at,” which involved changing how we think about and live with our dogs.
So I took charge of Maya’s world, redesigning her life in ways better aligned with her identity as a dog. I also took charge of my own feelings and attitudes, learning the art of keeping one’s thoughts and emotions in check when handling dogs.
I realized that Maya was simply a reflection of a lifetime of unfair attitudes and expectations, and terribly unnatural
situations for a dog to sustain. She couldn’t help but fail. And with her self-esteem shattered, she acted out. I reflected on how I’d used her as some kind of an ego-booster, masking my own inadequacies and insecurities. I came to learn that I would never have sound dogs until I stopped looking to them to complete me.
The change was difficult. In the first several months, I shed copious tears regretting our misspent time and beating myself up for failing to realize what was happening. Yet I was also mourning our former relationship, dysfunctional as it was. I was letting go of what I had known for five years, and even the prospect that things could be better did not necessarily make the change easier.
Maya felt the deep transformations within me and resisted only briefly the changes we made to her lifestyle. She could tell I was on to something and gave us yet another chance. Did she sense that I was going to get it right this time?
At last, a new way of life…
The change was hard but not harder than what we’d already endured – not by a long shot! As we adapted, I started to feel greater purity in the air when we were together. It was amazing to see the once-aggressive dog becoming the dog who would help to settle in some of my fosters, who would get bitten by a dog in class and not react. Maya made me rethink how I related to, and lived with, dogs. I wanted to be worthy of her love and devotion, which she had been so willing, yet unable, to bestow.
Thanks to our newfound stability, we were able to resume canine sports and even try sheep herding, an activity I’d long dreamed of learning. I was lucky to meet Kathy Warner at Tee Creek Dog Training. While Sam taught me to be in sync with my dog, Kathy taught me to be in sync with my dog and livestock. This tested our relationship and took it to the next level. Once I learned how to handle myself both physically and mentally in that unique environment, Maya and I enjoyed beautiful herding moments.
As Maya moved into her senior years, we eased up on sport, only occasionally herding. We so enjoyed these golden years – her leisurely off-leash walks, therapeutic swims, and late nights on the couch – reveling in the intimacy we’d both longed for.
There was a particular moment I’ll never forget that illustrated the perfect understanding between us. I was heading to my favorite drive-through with Maya riding shotgun. We arrived at the intersection but found it backed up with traffic because a rather large flock of Canada geese had decided to set up camp. I saw the situation and clearly so did Maya; she could tell something needed to be done. I stopped the car, flashed my signals, stepped out, and waved to the impatient drivers to stay put.
Out came Maya, flawlessly rounding up the flock, zooming around cars to make sure she’d not missed any strays, and gently moving the geese to the park by the road. The geese, known to be temperamental, moved nicely with neither protest nor irritation. Maya was a proper herding dog, peacefully moving her flock.
When she was done, she checked in with me instead of continuing to “play” with the geese: “All done, mom?” she asked with her big eyes. “Yep, all done!” I said ecstatically. “Smart girl you are.” She hopped back into the van as the drivers clapped and cheered. A real YouTube moment for us that she felt equally proud of.
My dog, my teacher, my inspiration…
You might think that this is a story about a dog that changed. The reality is that Maya was who she was all along – sometimes patiently, but often impatiently, waiting for me to get my act together so that we could all be happy. The first half of our decade together was pure hell; the second half was heaven, but it was all worth it in the end.
Doing right by Maya and restoring our bond to each other, as incredible an experience as it was, was not enough for me. Maya didn’t just come around for me and love me hard all the way to the end. She inspired me to help other people experience the freedom that comes with knowing how to raise a dog into the dog of their dreams.
There are no words to describe the loss I felt at the end of Maya’s life, but I knew that there would be one last gift – letting her go not a moment too late. I have missed Maya each day since her passing, and yet she lives on in how I connect with every dog and person I meet. She is the reason I founded Way of Life® Dog Training and wrote my book, The Way of Life Method. Had it not been for my dismal failures and triumphant successes with Maya, our many moments of despair and joy, I would not be sharing my knowledge with others today. Rest in peace, girl, for you are eternally loved, sorely missed, and fiercely remembered.