Strays by Jennifer Caloyeras

missing appendages. I didn’t care what Kevin said.
    Kevin was hell-bent on driving home his point. “You have to remember that these dogs weren’t born this way. They learned this behavior—and if they can learn it, then they can unlearn it. So that’s our job.”
    â€œSo they’re going to school to ‘unlearn,’” said Randy.
    â€œPrecisely. These dogs are now all spayed and neutered, which helps,” said Kevin.
    I knew that this could drastically reduce aggression, especially in males.
    â€œI know a few guys who could use some neutering,” said Talbot. I wondered who she was talking about. I knew of one ex-boyfriend named Andy Dunn I’d like to add to that list!
    Kevin talked over our laughter. “So there are a few different types of aggression, but the ones we’re going to focus on are dominance and fear.”
    â€œWait, so you’re trying to tell me that puny little Tinkerbelle here has an aggression issue?” asked Randy.
    â€œAbsolutely.”
    Randy shook his head. “Hers has to be fear. She’s got to be afraid of everything! I mean, she kind of should be, considering her size and all.”
    â€œActually, hers is dominance-based,” said Kevin. “She is particularly food aggressive. If you go anywhere near her when she’s eating, or if another dog gets in her space, she’ll attack.”
    â€œThatta girl,” said Randy. Tinkerbelle rolled over on her back.
    â€œMost of the dogs here have dominance-based aggression. Except for Roman,” said Kevin.
    Of course. My dog would be the exception.
    â€œHis issues are fear-based.”
    Roman was apparently afraid of everything, and the person who was supposed to get him over his fears was afraid of him. We were a perfect couple.
    â€œAnd Iris, if your dog still doesn’t listen, you need to do an adjustment,” said Kevin.
    â€œHow do I do that?” I asked.
    â€œKeep control of the leash and bring your thumb and middle finger to the dog’s rear and gently place some pressure on it.”
    I watched Kevin do this, and Roman immediately sat down.
    â€œDon’t forget to praise your dog!” Kevin reminded us.
    When it was our turn, we each found our own area of grass to work on.
    â€œI think my dog has rabies!” I heard Shelley say. Her bulldog was constantly gathering large amounts of foamy saliva at the sides of his mouth and compulsively drooling.
    â€œThat’s just the breed!” shouted Kevin. “He comes from a long line of droolers.”
    Roman was doing pretty well on the leash. He wasn’t pulling or tugging as badly as the day before. I decided to try my hand at making him sit.
    â€œSit.” I said. It came out as a whisper. I tried again. “Sit!”
    Roman stopped walking and looked at me. But all three legs stayed standing on the grass. I attempted a correction, bringing my fingers over Roman’s back. But before they could make contact with his fur, he began growling and snarling and jumped (on his one hind leg) up to my arm, which, in my state of panic, I was able to move out of the way quickly enough. I dropped the leash and ran toward Kevin, who was already moving quickly in my direction.
    â€œI’m done dealing with that dog!” I yelled at him. I didn’t know if I wanted to cry or kick something. I felt humiliated. Defeated. Scared. How many more times was this dog going to intimidate me?
    I walked over to a big cypress tree and sat down, leaning on the flaky bark. I watched as Kevin tugged and yanked on the leash until whatever anger had possessed Roman passed and he snapped back to reality. Kevin walked him to the office and then came back out to me.
    â€œWhat did you do with him?” I asked.
    â€œI think he’s had enough for the day. It’s not an easy process for him.”
    For him! What about for me? How could the dog be both an aggressor and a victim? It