Last time we defined the problem.  Separation Anxiety is a true phobia, as terrifying to your dog as a roomful of tarantulas would be to me.

So what do we do?

Well, let’s think about it in terms of spiders.

Let’s pretend that my boss, Dr. Dave, decides today that he loves tarantulas, and is going to release a thousand palm-sized hairy horrors into our clinic tomorrow.  I’m supposed to come in to work every day knowing there might be a tarantula on my keyboard.  Or in my lab coat pocket.  Or maybe one will drop from the ceiling onto my shoulder while I’m doing surgery. 

The answer, of course, is:  Nope.  I quit.  Goodbye forever.

There’s a zero percent chance I could work in those conditions. 

But let’s say I have to.  Can’t quit.  I’ll be bodily dragged into Spiderclinic every day, and no amount of screaming will get me out of it.

And let’s also say that Dr. Dave decides that he’s holding on Plan Tarantula for six months.  I have six months to get ready for T-Day. 

What do I do?

I find a therapist who starts counterconditioning, and here’s what happens.  We start with a photo of a very small spider.  She holds it up from across the room, and while I’m looking at it, I’m stuffing ice cream into my mouth.  Spider=ice cream.  I don’t like the photo, but I can tolerate it. And it’s good ice cream.  Graeters Toffee Chip.

When I can ignore the photo and happily stuff myself with sugar, we switch it for a photo of a bigger, scarier spider.  Ice cream, ice cream ice cream.  It might take me a week of daily sessions, looking at that photo from across the room, but eventually, I’ll be okay with it. And what’s happening is that my brain is starting to make a connection…see a spider, eat ice cream.  The bad is being paired with a good, because brains are like that. It’s starting to change from “see a spider, feel horror,” to, “see a spider, where’s the toffee chip?”

So now we bring the photo closer and closer until I can hold it in my hands.  Just a photo. Ice cream and a photo.  That might take longer, but eventually, I’ll be able to do it.

Now we put a tiny spider in a terrarium across the room.  I’m not horribly phobic, so I’ll be okay with that.  We move the terrarium closer and closer until I can touch the sides and still eat ice cream and not feel like I’m going to pass out.

Then it’s a bigger spider, and repeat until it’s an actual tarantula in a terrarium.  It will take daily practice for months, but in theory, I’ll someday be able to move the terrarium right onto my desk.  Then we’ll open it and I’ll get use to that.  Then I’ll pet it.  Then I’ll hold it on my hand. When I can let it crawl on me and be fine, I’ll have conquered my phobia and be able to go to work at Tarantula Hospital every day without the kind of panic attack that would make me chew the walls down to get out. 

Next time we’ll talk about how to use this same theory for your separation-phobic dog.