How often do we use observation as a tool? We tend to monitor, assess, and weigh up whether what we observe is what we would like to see. We question ourselves – are we getting closer to the goal, nearing the outcome of our agenda? How do these observations cause us to feel, are they enhancing or detracting, creating insight or a barrier?
Bear with me, I’ve been mulling this over – by removing pre-conceived perceptions from observation, we can develop Passive Observation. Observing with no agenda or judgement, but instead just using our senses to absorb the activity of the living that is taking place all around us. Gradually the things that initially seem to be so obvious and important start to drift into the background as we learn to notice the micro world that exists alongside us and, through its subtlety, offers gifts which heighten our awareness.
As the noise of human activity dulls, we realise that we are surrounded by birdsong, the wind rustling the leaves in the trees, the buzz of insects, the footsteps of a beetle, the vibration of the earth – as each level of sound diminishes, we become aware of the quieter layer beneath until we are absorbed within the sounds themselves. We place no agenda on the birds to sing a certain song, or the beetle to choose to take a particular path, yet we find each fascinating in their own way. They are living their own lives, just as the trees above us and the soil beneath us hold millions of lives in their midst. These lives beings beyond the human hand, though it is our choice whether to enhance or destroy, or to simple observe. Passive observation gives us the chance to step aside from the treadmill of life where we so often find ourselves, and to wonder at the beauty and connectivity of earth’s inhabitants.
How is this relevant to dogs, and in particular, to a rescue dog who has been traumatised and learnt to withdraw from interaction with humans? To one extent or another, we all use observation throughout our day; it is a part of our continuous learning process. If we think about it, when we observe, we are already adding to that observation – adding our own bias, history, and expectations. Our thoughts and interpretations will colour what we see; the action we observe creates an emotional response within us. None of us are a vacuum, we each are made up of the genetics handed down from our ancestors, and the experiences we have held over our lives. It is sometimes hard to leave this part of us aside and simply observe without adding meaning or outcome to what we are absorbing. Perhaps we can remember back to our childhood and the fascination of discovery, in a time when observations were noted and left to float away.
Bear with me, I’ve been mulling this over – by removing pre-conceived perceptions from observation, we can develop Passive Observation. Observing with no agenda or judgement, but instead just using our senses to absorb the activity of the living that is taking place all around us. Gradually the things that initially seem to be so obvious and important start to drift into the background as we learn to notice the micro world that exists alongside us and, through its subtlety, offers gifts which heighten our awareness.
As the noise of human activity dulls, we realise that we are surrounded by birdsong, the wind rustling the leaves in the trees, the buzz of insects, the footsteps of a beetle, the vibration of the earth – as each level of sound diminishes, we become aware of the quieter layer beneath until we are absorbed within the sounds themselves. We place no agenda on the birds to sing a certain song, or the beetle to choose to take a particular path, yet we find each fascinating in their own way. They are living their own lives, just as the trees above us and the soil beneath us hold millions of lives in their midst. These lives beings beyond the human hand, though it is our choice whether to enhance or destroy, or to simple observe. Passive observation gives us the chance to step aside from the treadmill of life where we so often find ourselves, and to wonder at the beauty and connectivity of earth’s inhabitants.
How is this relevant to dogs, and in particular, to a rescue dog who has been traumatised and learnt to withdraw from interaction with humans? To one extent or another, we all use observation throughout our day; it is a part of our continuous learning process. If we think about it, when we observe, we are already adding to that observation – adding our own bias, history, and expectations. Our thoughts and interpretations will colour what we see; the action we observe creates an emotional response within us. None of us are a vacuum, we each are made up of the genetics handed down from our ancestors, and the experiences we have held over our lives. It is sometimes hard to leave this part of us aside and simply observe without adding meaning or outcome to what we are absorbing. Perhaps we can remember back to our childhood and the fascination of discovery, in a time when observations were noted and left to float away.
Quietly watching a dog from a distance, reading a book and glancing across now and again, feeling her presence without any expectation, walking away to create space – until one day you notice that she is lying a little closer to you, that she doesn’t feel the need to move when you move nor hold her breath as you walk past. The subtleties of breath, the movement of the skin beneath the hair, the placement of the bodyweight over the feet as she moves, the rhythm as she laps the water she drinks; each we passively observe without expectation.
Within this context, we start to observe the nuances of conversation between one dog and another. A traumatised dog will often just lie and watch, not wishing to become involved but gradually learning about the happenings around her. As she becomes more familiar with the ebb and flow, she starts to assimilate information about others in her environment; taking in the routines and relationships, the dynamics that create a family. She watches the other dogs, she learns from their actions, their body language, their emotional state, until she feels ready to attempt interaction. From tentative steps, she begins to find courage; the responses she gains from the others show her how to adapt within her new world. Each day as I passively observe, I notice that she releases; she lets go of the smallest pieces of her story of trauma – the years she spent growing up while chained in a yard with her mother, the trauma of separation and further years fending for herself in a Romanian shelter – and the hidden chapters that only she knows. Recovering from trauma, she learns first that she can find safety, and from that place of safety she can start to trust herself, to gain resilience and self-reliance. I doubt this journey would happen as it does without the other dogs who live here; Maggie the calm overseer who reads every situation completely, and interprets the emotional state of others in a language I understand, Walter the wise and independent guardian, and Tibbsy who is quietly companionable and gentle. They work in unison to enable a traumatised dog to understand that humans can be kind and trustworthy.
From tentative steps, she begins to find courage; the responses she gains from the others show her how to adapt within her new world.
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