Dogs in the Red Zone

Dangerous Aggression

Imagine this—you come home to your upscale apartment building after doing a little grocery shopping. The elevator stops at your floor and the door slides open. The first, and last, things you see are two snarling 120-pound Presa Canario/mastiffs breaking away from their owner’s leash and charging straight toward you.

That’s how life ended for Diane Whipple, a thirty-three-year-old lacrosse coach in San Francisco, in January of 2001. The dogs’ owners were both convicted of involuntary manslaughter and served four-year prison terms. This was perhaps the most notorious dog-attack death in the United States, but it’s not the only one by far. Eighteen people on average die each year in this country from dog attacks. We spend more than $165 million treating the nearly one million serious dog bites that occur every year. Dog bites result in approximately forty-four thousand facial injuries in U.S. hospitals. And tragically, 60 percent of facial dog-bite victims are children. Most of the dogs responsible for these bites will end up as statistics—just part of the 2.7 million animals put to death in shelters every year.

Remember, these animals did not “premeditate” their attacks. They weren’t “born killers,” nor did they suddenly turn into killing machines. Unlike a human murderer sentenced to death for his crimes, none of these dogs had a sense of right or wrong about taking a life—whether human or animal. As I’ve said before, there is no morality in the animal kingdom; there is only survival. If dogs lash out in violence, they are acting on their fight-or-flight survival instincts. Dangerous aggression is not the cause; it’s the outcome of a dog’s serious behavioral issues. And more often than not, a violent dog’s aggressive behavior has been deliberately exacerbated—or even nurtured—by the very human beings who are allegedly its caretakers.

In the wild, dogs are natural predators. They are also hardwired to physically defend their territories. But aggression against humans—or other dogs—should never be permitted in the domestic dogs that live with us. Never. If we are to be our dogs’ pack leaders, the first rule of the pack should be “No violent aggression!”

I made my reputation as a specialist in dog behavior by rehabilitating some of the most formidable dog breeds out there—pit bulls, Rottweilers, boxers, and German shepherds. I love these brawny breeds, but they are definitely not appropriate for all owners. Unfortunately, when a dog owner can’t handle his high-energy, powerful breed dog, the owner, the dog, and sometimes, innocent bystanders suffer.

I believe that more than 90 percent of the time what I call red-zone aggression is preventable. The majority of cases where I’m called in to help involve some kind of aggressive behavior. And in more than twenty years of working with dogs, I’ve met only two red-zone cases that I believed could not be rehabilitated as social animals that could live safely with humans. Based on my own

experience, maybe 1 percent of all the dogs who’ve come to me with aggression issues have a mental imbalance, or are so deeply damaged by humans that they can’t safely be returned to society. The upshot of this is we’re putting a lot of animals to death who don’t deserve to die. The only “crimes” these dogs committed were ending up with the wrong human caretakers.

Defining the “Red Zone”

I never encountered a dog in the red zone until I came to the United States. I’d seen rabid dogs and dogs physically fighting with each other, but once one dog had established dominance by putting the other to the ground, usually the contest ended right there. In nature, threatening behavior usually serves to deter outright aggression. Unless an animal is weak and must be executed by the pack, it is in the pack’s best interest to keep aggression to a minimum. Before I arrived here, I’d never seen a dog that didn’t stop his aggressive behavior—pinning another dog to the ground or chasing or scaring a person away—after getting a warning bite. But the red zone was something else entirely. The red zone means killing—be it another animal or a human being. It’s not a dominant or territorial thing. The intention of that dog is to assault its target until he exhausts it. Until there is no life left in it.

A red-zone case won’t listen to you, even if you are holding on to him. It doesn’t matter if this dog is your lifelong companion who sleeps in the same bed with you. Once that red light goes on, it’s as if you didn’t exist. The dog will struggle against you, and would rather die than cease his attack. You can hit him, yell at him—he won’t hear you, he’s that focused. His mission to kill overpowers any pain you might inflict, and in fact, striking or screaming at a dog in the red zone will only accelerate or intensify his lethal state of mind. He’s a dog with a fixation—but a deadly one

A red-zone case is never something that happens overnight. That’s why it is so tragically preventable.

“Ticking Time Bombs”

“I had no idea that he would ever do anything like that. How could you anticipate something like that? A totally bizarre event? How can you anticipate that a dog that you know, that is gentle and loving and affectionate, can do something so horrible and brutal and disgusting and gruesome?”

Those were the words owner Marjorie Knoller spoke in her own defense at the Diane Whipple murder trial. Ironically, Knoller and her partner, Robert Noel, seemed to be the only ones in their San Francisco neighborhood who hadn’t “anticipated” such a “bizarre” reaction from their Presa Canario/mastiff mix pair, Bane and Hera. These dogs were already in the red zone by the time the two lawyers adopted them, and in the words of a veterinarian who sent Knoller and Noel a warning letter about the dogs, they were “ticking time bombs” just waiting to go off.

The story of this senseless and preventable death began with a Folsom Prison inmate whom attorneys Knoller and Noel were representing and whom—for whatever reason—they ended up adopting as their son. This inmate was trying to start an illegal Presa Canario breeding business from his cell. Powerful dog breeds like Presas, Cane corsos, and pit bulls are exploited because of their extreme strength and territorial tendencies, and, unfortunately, are often condemned to lives as “gladiators” in illegal dogfights or as guards for crack houses, meth labs, and other criminal activities.

In the San Francisco case, the two Presas, Bane and Hera, had been kept for the inmate by a woman who had a farm near Folsom Prison. After they attacked and killed some chickens, sheep, and a cat, the woman decided she didn’t want anything more to do with them. While she and the other people on the farm cowered in fear, the two dogs were kept chained up in a remote corner of the property, which only served to increase their frustration and aggression. Eventually, the inmate persuaded his two city-dwelling lawyers to adopt the dogs.

Once they had experienced killing the weak farm animals, Bane and Hera were already deep into the red zone. No one on the farm corrected them after they killed; they just banished them to their corner. Then the dogs were brought to the city and taken in by inexperienced owners, to live in a one-bedroom apartment, where their pent-up frustration continued to build. They got lots of affection from the two lawyers, but the way they reciprocated the affection was by jumping all over their owners—by dominating them. The lawyers did seem to walk them frequently, but the dogs were always out in front, dragging the owners along and dominating them during the walk. After the tragedy occurred, several witnesses came forward to describe having seen Marjorie Knoller chasing after the dogs as they pulled her on their leashes, totally out of control.

In the city, there were no goats or chickens for these dogs to target. Most of the weak energy they sensed there came from human beings. When the dogs were in the apartment building elevator, all they had to do was snarl, and people would back away from the elevator and refuse to enter it. People shrank back in fear whenever they saw these two formidable dogs on the street. This cause-and-effect intensified both dogs’ dominant states of mind. To them, a human projecting fear was no different from a chicken or a goat projecting fear. Fear is fear. It’s weak energy. No one had blocked their dominant, aggressive behavior when they attacked the animals on the farm. And no one was blocking it now. The dogs had no idea why the woman at the farm had gotten rid of them. They knew only that dominant, aggressive behavior was how they had learned to survive and gotten their way. So why should they change their behavior now?

I wish I could turn back the clock and start this terrible story over. I’d begin by conditioning these dogs from day one that aggression is not acceptable. Period. To do this with such a powerful breed of dog, however, requires an enormous amount of work and energy. Ideally, these dogs should have been getting four to eight hours of primal activities and exercise every day. They should have been socialized from the time they were puppies to accept other animals and other dogs as members of their pack, and humans and especially children as pack leaders. Humans should not have been conditioning them to engage in dominance “games” such as tug-of-war and wrestling. As the dogs got older, they were always going to win such games, thus increasing their perception of their own dominance. Their owners should never have used pain to inflict punishment. These dogs needed exceptionally strong, consistent, calm-assertive humans as their pack leaders.

For those who would argue that the dogs’ breed was at fault, it is indeed true that Presas, Cane corsos, pit bulls, and Rottweilers were all originally bred to be canine “gladiators.” But they are animals and dogs first, before breed. That same powerful energy can be redirected and channeled into other activities. Humans were gladiators in the past, too, but today we redirect that energy into basketball, baseball, soccer, football, and hockey. Presa Canarios were originally bred to be guard dogs, but they were also used by the Spanish to herd. Herd dogs don’t kill their flock. Presas and their relatives have in the recent past made excellent show dogs. Their physical and psychological energy has been redirected into their performance in the ring.

Breed doesn’t necessarily have to shape a dog’s behavior, but powerful breed dogs have special needs and require special people to care for them—dedicated and responsible people. Unfortunately, these two lawyers were not equipped to deal with these powerful animals. They took the dogs to obedience training, but as you know by now, learning to respond to commands does nothing to take away an unbalanced dog’s fear, anxiety, nervousness, dominance, or aggression.

The owners said they “loved” the dogs, but once again, affection isn’t the most important thing our dogs need from us. They also need rules, boundaries, and limitations—and from what witnesses later said at the trial, it looks as if these dogs’ owners were at worst negligent or at best inconsistent with rules. One neighbor who was bitten by one of the dogs said that Robert Noel’s only comment after the incident was, “Hmm, that’s interesting.” Other witnesses described seeing the dogs threaten and attack other dogs as early as two days before the killing. A professional dog walker testified that when she asked Noel to muzzle his dogs, he told her to shut up and called her offensive names.

Diane Whipple, the innocent victim, had also been bitten by one of the dogs, and since that day had been deathly afraid of them, going out of her way to avoid them in the building. The dogs’ owners not only didn’t apologize to her after that incident, but more important, they also never sought professional help to see to it that the dogs would be comfortable with Whipple and safe for her to be around them in the future. The owners did absolutely nothing, thus ensuring that the next time the dogs encountered Whipple’s fearful energy, she would again be a target.

The attack on Whipple was the stuff that horror movies are made of. It lasted from five to ten minutes, and the medical examiner said that only the soles of Whipple’s feet and the top of her scalp were left intact. She died at the hospital within four hours of the attack. Two more unnecessary deaths resulted from the tragedy—both Bane and Hera were put down. Bane, the male, was euthanized on the day of the attack. I offered my services to try to rehabilitate Hera. These dogs were not born killers; humans taught them to be that way. But even though I believe Hera might have had a chance at rehabilitation, by that point public outcry had sealed her fate. Even if I had been able to turn her behavior around, no one would have trusted her again.

Creating a Monster

I’ve said before that pack leaders are born, not made. Red-zone dogs are just the opposite—made, not born. Humans create dogs to be red-zone monsters. We started thousands of years ago by breeding dogs to be fighters, selecting them for certain characteristics and matching them up with a similar mate. Pit bulls and bull terriers were bred in the Victorian era for combat in the ruthless sports of dogfighting and bull-baiting. They were selected for their ability to clamp onto a foe with powerful jaws, holding on with relentless pressure. Rottweilers are descendants of ancient Roman drover dogs. They traveled with the Roman army as it fought its way across the European continent, guarding the army’s gigantic herds of cattle by fighting off wolves and other predators. During his invasion of Britain in 55 B.C., Julius Caesar described the ancestors of the mastiff breeds fighting alongside their masters. These dogs showed such bravery that they were brought back to Rome and pitted against other dogs, bulls, bears, lions, tigers, and even human gladiators in the Circus Maximus. These ancient mastiffs were the ancestors of Bane and Hera, the Presa Canarios that killed Diane Whipple.

We breed these dogs to be warriors, but under their armor, they’re simply dogs with more powerful weapons than other dogs. They don’t begin life as dangerously aggressive; we can socialize them as puppies to get along with kids, humans, even cats and other animals. Though fighting is in their genes, they need guidance to bring this instinct out. In modern America, dogfighting is illegal, but it is much more common than you might think. “Dogmen,” pit bull breeders, believe that the only way to preserve the line of “pure” American pit bull terriers is to prove their “gameness”: their ability to fight to the death. These men engage in a sport known as “game testing,” throwing their dogs into a ring with another dog and culling out the ones that manage to survive but that don’t perform to the breeder’s standards. These losing dogs are either killed by their owners or abandoned, left to wander the streets. Sometimes they’re lucky and are picked up by a rescue organization. Usually, they’re picked up by animal control and eventually put down if a home can’t be found for them—usually for the simple reason that they happen to be wearing the outfit of a pit bull, a Presa, or a Rottie. And sometimes they attack and kill other dogs—or people.

It has also become fashionable and macho for gang members to have big, tough dogs at their sides—which they wield like four-legged artillery. Illegal dogfighting has grown to become a popular activity for some gangs. Betting on which dog will make it out of the pit alive is a thriving form of gambling. Dogfighting isn’t confined to gangs and criminals, however. According to the New York Daily News, in the United States, an upscale dogfight underground exists in which thousands of dollars change hands. “We’re like a secret society in the last sport that’s Out There,” boasts an unnamed source quoted in the article. “We’ve got all walks of life involved, celebrities, Wall Street brokers, ordinary people.” No matter where these dog fighters come from, what’s scary is that those who get off on this blood sport sometimes bring their kids along to watch, creating a vicious circle of brutality. They’re desensitizing a new generation to cruelty to animals, and to violence in general.

People who raise pit bulls, Presa Canarios, Cane corsos, or other dogs for fighting turn these innocent dogs into killers by abusing them. When they’re young, the dogs are never allowed to be puppies; they have to be warriors all the time. The owners will start smacking the dog in the head at an early age, putting hot sauce on his food, teasing him, letting him be attacked by a bigger dog—all because they believe that this treatment will make the dog tough. They will punch him and pinch him repeatedly until he bares his teeth, at which point they’ll stop pinching him. In this way he learns to bare his teeth for self-preservation. They’ll buy chickens and let the dog chase one while praising him. Then they’ll tie the chicken up so the dog can learn to kill. The dog has absolutely no choice in the matter. When the dog is no longer useful to the owner, they’ll discard him like trash—often dumping him in a vacant lot or leaving him by the side of the road. That’s why you’ll see so many powerful breeds—pit bulls and pit bull mixes, boxers, Rottweilers, mastiffs, and German shepherds—in shelters. Many times they are considered “unadoptable” and will eventually be put to sleep. My Dog Psychology Center is home to many such dogs that were judged “lost causes” before they came to me for rehabilitation. Some of these “lost causes” are now living happily with human families, or have productive jobs with police or search-and-rescue organizations.

For people who raise pit bulls or other dogs for illegal activities, it’s all about looking good. They feel that if they walk around with a very muscular dog with scars and cropped ears and a chain around his neck, they’re going to look rough and tough, and have status immediately as a real bad guy. Fortunately for their dogs—or at least the ones who survive to get a chance at rehabilitation—these “bad guys” are also bad dog trainers and handlers. First of all, they start the abuse at an early age, making the dog more traumatized about fighting than desiring to fight. The dogs actually become very fearful, anxious, and tense about fighting. They fight only out of fear—out of fight-or-flight response.

Their owners’ ineffectiveness is why I have such great success rehabilitating such dogs. First, I invite the dogs to go into a calm state of mind. The animal in them immediately recognizes that this is a far better situation than the one they’ve been living in. Unlike humans, who have the power (or curse) of denial to keep them in an abusive situation, animals will always move toward balance. Automatically, the brain says, “Hey, finally I get a rest.” They are relieved to be out of that state of constant tension. Yes, they’re still pit bulls, but before that they’re dogs. And dogs aren’t supposed to kill one another. So once I block those pit bull genes, the true colors of the dog inside are allowed to surface. The brain is no longer sending pit bull signals; it’s sending only dog signals.

Breed and Aggression

Though there is no such thing as a red-zone breed, statistically, pit bulls cause the most bites in the United States, accounting for 41 of the 144 fatalities since 2000, according to the National Canine Research Foundation. Rottweilers ranked second, with twenty-three attacks. Those numbers are the reason why pit bulls are banned in two hundred cities and towns across the United States, including Miami, Cincinnati, and Pawtucket, Rhode Island. In some states, homeowners can’t get home owners insurance, or have to pay hefty premiums if they own certain breeds. For instance, Allstate won’t insure homes where people own pit bulls, akitas, boxers, chow chows, Dobermans, Rottweilers, Presa Canarios, or wolf hybrids. While higher insurance premiums may be one way to encourage more responsible ownership, I believe that the outright banning of breeds is not the answer. (Interestingly, the American Kennel Club doesn’t even recognize the pit bull per se as an official “breed.”) Branding dog breeds as outlaws is a quick, easy Band-Aid, but it’s not the cure for dog bites or attacks in America.

The truth is, any breed of dog can become a red-zone case—it’s the power of the dog and the physical size of the victim that determines the extent of the damage. Other breeds, too, have killed people. For instance, in 2000, a little Pomeranian mix killed a six-week-old girl in Southern California. In 2005, a Siberian husky—usually considered a “mild-mannered breed”—fatally attacked a seven-day-old Rhode Island girl. The owner most often is responsible—not the breed, and not the dog. By the same token, almost any individual dog may become a good, obedient companion, even though he comes from a breed that is considered naturally “aggressive.” Remember, aggression is not a natural state—it is the outcome of instability. It’s all about the bond and relationship between the dog and his calm-assertive pack leader.

Emily in the Red Zone

One of the most powerful episodes of Dog Whisperer covered the red-zone case of a six-year-old pit bull named Emily. This case illustrated, among many other things, that when we stereotype a breed of dog by our worst expectations of its behavior, we often create what we fear most.

You couldn’t imagine a more appealing puppy than Emily. Even from birth, she was petite for her breed, sporting a milky white coat with cocoa-brown spots. When teenaged Jessica saw that one of Emily’s spots was shaped like a perfect heart, she knew that Emily was special. It’s a charming feature like this that endears us to a dog and prompts us to bring it to live with us, often without really understanding the extent of our responsibility to that animal.

Jessica fell in love with Emily at first sight, and impulsively brought her home. Jessica lived with her father, Dave, who had let his daughter get away with everything while she was growing up. He didn’t want her to have a dog—and when he learned that the dog she’d chosen was a pit bull, he was even more averse. He had always heard that pit bulls were dangerous, uncontrollable dogs. But Emily as a puppy was the cutest thing he’d ever seen, so as usual, he caved in to his daughter’s wishes.

It turned out that just as Dave never gave Jessica any rules, boundaries, or limitations, so Jessica didn’t give Emily any, either. At the same time, Dave watched with dread as Emily grew up, unfortunately, regarding her with an undercurrent of fear. “One day she’s going to be dangerous,” he believed, consciously or unconsciously. As much as he loved the dog, he couldn’t keep these thoughts out of his mind. As I’ve tried to illustrate in this book, the thoughts we have about animals become energy—energy they pick up. Our impressions of them become who they are. It’s not magic mumbo-jumbo; energy comes out in myriad physical ways. The way we pet a dog. The way we handle a dog. The scents and emotions we transmit to the dog. During her whole puppyhood, Emily was living with an owner who was preparing to be afraid of her. He tiptoed around her, worrying that she’d grow up to be a big, bad pit bull, and all the while letting her run roughshod over the house, bark wildly at other dogs on walks, and totally dominate him and his daughter in every activity, in every way.

Emily was also raised in a household where she wasn’t exposed to others of her kind. This happens to many dogs. Some dogs—mellow, medium or low-energy, happy-go-lucky dogs—are not affected by this. They can be five years old when they go to their first dog park, and act as if they’ve known the other dogs all their lives. But many dogs are not happy-go-lucky dogs. Many—especially shelter dogs—are like Emily. They are sensitive, reactive…and extremely receptive to their owner’s energy. The first time Emily was taken for a walk, she reacted aggressively to dogs that approached her. And Jessica and Dave always pampered and comforted her after such displays of aggression. Emily therefore inferred that it was her job to protect her family.

By the time I met Emily, she was six years old and a sweet dog with her human companions—provided they never asked her to do anything. With other dogs, however, she was as far into the red zone as she could get. If she so much as scented another dog nearby on a walk, she’d go crazy. She’d bark, struggle against the leash, and try to attack. She’d pull so hard on her leash, she’d come close to choking herself, but was oblivious to the pain—a classic sign of a dog in the red zone. Red-zone dogs will indeed hurt themselves in their frenzy to kill. Dave was afraid that Emily would hurt not only another dog but also any person who got between her and that dog. So, worried about Emily’s temperament, Dave and Jessica stopped walking her altogether. For years, they left her to run around their medium-size backyard, where her aggression and frustration continued to build. Dave and Jessica had created the very monster they had feared—a very dangerous pit bull.

Emily’s dog aggression was so severe that I brought her to the Dog Psychology Center for six weeks of intensive therapy I call Boot Camp. She was definitely in touch with that part of her mind that was pit bull. I needed her to be with the pack so she could reconnect with the deeper parts of her mind that were animal and dog.

Being with others of their own kind is powerfully therapeutic for dogs. Although they readily accept us as members of a pack, we’ll forever be speaking to them in a foreign language. Dogs confirmed what I had been concerned about from the start. Dave’s tentative energy, the way he tiptoed around Emily, and Jessica’s extreme anxiety over Emily’s aggressive tendencies sent Emily right back into the dominant state she had always experienced when she was around them. Emily would need more work and patience from me, and her owners would need some serious work, too. I had to communicate to them how much they were contributing to Emily’s instability. It was hard for them to hear because they truly loved her, and their initial instinct was to feel guilty for the past. For Emily’s sake, I asked them to let go of the past and try to live in the present—the only place where Emily was living! Their homework was to prepare for the calm-assertive leadership positions they’d have to take on once Emily came home to them.

Before I brought Emily to the Center, there had been a very real danger that she could attack and kill another dog. She was in a constant state of hyped-up tension. When I brought her home to Dave and Jessica six weeks later, they barely recognized the calm, relaxed pit bull walking alongside of me. The hardest part for them was not being able to greet her with an effusive “Welcome back!” and shower her with affection from the start. I tried to get them to see that by holding back their emotions, they were giving her the gift of a new, calmer way of being. Emily wasn’t thinking, “Hey, I wonder why they’re not all excited I’m home?” Remember, dogs sense when we are happy, and especially when we are happy with them. The kind of emotional, excited energy Jessica and Dave had been used to sharing with Emily needed to be tempered because it had only created more excitement for her—and excitement in a high-energy dog creates excess energy that needs to be released. Once Emily was used to being home and was calm-submissive, then Dave and Jessica were welcome to share affection to their heart’s content. I gave them as daily homework to walk Emily by the home of her old enemy, the Doberman next door. It would take patience and a strict routine. They needed to get used to correcting Emily properly if she ever started going into aggression mode again.

The good news about Emily is that not only is she doing well, but she has also come back to the Center to stay while her owners are out of town. It has done my heart good to see her here again. She was welcomed back by everybody as an old familiar member of the pack.

Too Far Gone

Though some trainers and behaviorists disagree with me, I believe there are very few dogs that can’t be rehabilitated, even if they’ve reached the red zone. To me, the dogs in my pack are walking proof that if a dog’s needs are being fulfilled every day, its natural instincts incline it toward balance. Still, of the thousands of dogs I’ve worked with, there were two cases that came to me where I couldn’t in good conscience allow the dogs to go back into society. I’ll never forget those dogs, or stop wishing I could have done more for them. Working with those dogs was a lesson to me that it is possible for an animal to be too far gone for me to help it. It also showed me the terrible, unforgivable damage human beings can inflict upon the animals that trust us to care for them.

The first dog was Cedar, a two-year-old female purebred pit bull. Cedar was not a fighting pit bull, but she had been terribly abused by whoever had raised her. There was a lot of whipping and physical cruelty, and her aggression had obviously been nurtured and encouraged. She had also been trained or conditioned by humans to attack humans. She didn’t just go for the legs or arms; she went for the neck. She went in for the kill. This isn’t natural—the pit bull breed was not bred to attack humans, period. Cats, goats, other dogs, yes—but it’s in a pit bull’s nature to run away from a human or to attack only when crowded or cornered. Clearly, a human had redirected Cedar’s aggression toward attacking people, and had done this to a point where Cedar wanted nothing to do with any other human being, ever. Her previous owners obviously saw her as a weapon, not a living creature. Then, for whatever reason, they abandoned her.

A kind man from a rescue organization found Cedar roaming around the street. Cedar became very fond of this man. Even dogs that are human-aggressive have the need to form a pack, and will often bond closely with one person. However, if anyone else gets near the dog, watch out. It soon became clear that Cedar saw all other humans as enemies. She attacked anyone else who came around her. The man who’d rescued her meant well, but he did what everybody always does—he nurtured the aggression with affection and sympathy. He would say, “But she loves me. She doesn’t do that to me.” Unfortunately, she did attack everybody else. The shelter approached me and asked if I could rehabilitate Cedar.

From the moment I reached into Cedar’s crate, I could see the look in her eye as she growled and started staring at my neck. I managed to get a leash on her and worked with her for hours, every single day—over and over, to the point where both of us were exhausted. After a little over two weeks, I was able to get her to accomplish calm submission with me, but with no one else but me. If one of my assistants approached her, Cedar would start the attack behavior over again, aiming right for the neck. At that point, the shelter asked me for a progress report. I had to tell them that I didn’t believe Cedar was safe to return to society. She was just too damaged, and posed a real life-threatening danger. Cedar is still alive today, but she’s kept confined with the one man she trusts. No other human can even be in the same room with her. She was my first “failure.” In a lifetime of living and working with dogs, I’d never seen a case like this. Cedar truly opened my eyes to how deeply a dog can be damaged.

The second dog I couldn’t rehabilitate was a five-year-old male chow/golden retriever mix I’ll call Brutus. He had been rescued by a woman and had become unnaturally possessive toward her. After he attacked and tried to kill her husband, the woman came to me. I had Brutus for a long time, and for a while it seemed that he was doing well. But every once in a while, if I corrected him, he would wait until my back was turned and try to attack me. Unlike Cedar, who went for the jugular, Brutus would attack low, but he went at it full force. He wouldn’t let go, he wouldn’t surrender, and he was never predictable. When his rescuer returned, I told her that although he was calmer than when he arrived, I didn’t feel that he was fully rehabilitated. I couldn’t predict this dog’s reactions, and after all the time I had had with him, I still wasn’t comfortable with his progress. Despite my warnings, the woman still wanted to take him back. A week later, I called her to check up on him, and the woman raved about how much better he was doing. About a month after that, he attacked another man.

Brutus will have to live out his life under close supervision at a no-kill shelter. And like Cedar, he was condemned to this life by humans who mistreated him.

I would like to see sanctuaries created for any dogs who can’t achieve rehabilitation and who can’t safely be around humans. In my wildest dreams, I imagine golf courses being turned into dog sanctuaries, with professionally trained people to care for the dogs—and to study them as well. These damaged dogs can definitely teach us a lot. They can teach us about the abuses that create killer dogs. They can show us how detrimental it is for them to live unstable lives, and they can help us differentiate between unstable dogs that can’t let go and dogs that have the ability to become balanced. We can begin to learn what signs to look for in a dog that can’t be turned around. In my opinion, we shouldn’t be putting them down. These dogs are dying from what we humans have done to them. I think we should be creative enough to find a way in which they can live out the rest of their lives as comfortably as possible.

A Dog Is Not a Weapon

In this modern world, everybody’s concerned about crime and how it can affect their families. For thousands of years, humans have been using dogs as guards and as weapons, both against animals and against other humans. Today, it seems we’re mostly afraid of one another. Dogs, especially the powerful breeds, can indeed make good guards for your family. They certainly serve as a powerful deterrent. Statistics show that 75 percent of dog owners want their dogs to play a protective role in their households. But when we insist that a dog be both our loyal, loving companion and a weapon for our protection, we may be asking too much.

Some of the red-zone dogs I’ve described were chained and confined to small areas as “guard dogs,” and even if they underwent no other form of abuse, the frustration that built up in them was potentially lethal for any intruder—including a mailman, a relative, or an innocent child who just happened to wander by. If your dog attacks someone, you can be sued for everything you own, and as in the Diane Whipple case, you can even be charged with a crime and go to prison. And think of your dog’s welfare. Most dogs that attack people are put down by law enforcement or animal control. These agencies don’t want to take a risk as far as the general public’s safety—or public opinion—is concerned. If you are using your dog as a defensive weapon, this could very well happen to you.

Although most of my work is now in dog rehabilitation, I have been and still am involved in the training of guard dogs, police dogs, and attack dogs. There is an art to training these animals, and doing it responsibly takes a professional. If you decide you want a powerful breed dog to serve as protection for your house, you need to go about doing it the right way. You need experienced guidance and must learn to share the strongest form of calm-assertive leadership with your dog. However, you should first weigh carefully all the pros and cons of having your dog lead a double life—of being both guardian and friend.

Our Responsibility

As dog owners, we have a responsibility both to our dogs and to our fellow humans to manage our dog’s behavior. If we have a dog who hasn’t been properly socialized or rehabilitated, and is in any way dangerous to our neighbors or their dogs, then we are behaving recklessly by letting that dog out in society. There are some dog behaviorists and veterinarians who believe that positive reinforcement and approval techniques alone are appropriate for any dog, any time, in any situation. In my opinion, if a dog’s behavior can be conditioned using treats and positive reinforcement, that’s an ideal situation. It’s always best for humans to approach dog behavior and training with a positive and compassionate outlook, and it’s never, ever right to punish a dog out of anger. Dogs—and all animals—must always be treated humanely. But we must also remember that red-zone dogs will often escalate in their aggression until they kill or maim either another dog or, in a worst-case scenario, a human being. A red-zone dog is dangerously out of balance, and no amount of loving or praise or cookies will stop him from doing serious harm.

If you are the owner of a powerful breed of dog, you can do nothing to control the energy of the people around you. You can’t expect someone not to be fearful of your dog—even if your dog has never hurt a flea. The only thing you can control is your dog. And you owe it to the other people and animals around you to do so.

Red-zone dogs need to know we’re in control. That doesn’t mean we should be aggressive with them. Punishing a dog does not cure aggression—usually, if a dog is in the red zone, it exacerbates it. But as that dog’s caretaker, we must be strong and assertive, and we must consistently correct unwanted and dangerous behavior. Dogs have to know our power and that we are the pack leaders. As much of this is accomplished through our mind-set as it is our physical discipline. That said, many aggressive dogs can only be helped by qualified experts, who are advanced and experienced in handling dangerous red-zone cases. If you have the slightest doubt about your ability to handle your dog—or if you think the dog could pose a threat to you or your family’s safety—you owe it to yourself and your dog to find an accomplished expert whose techniques and philosophy you can live with.

Finally, it’s my personal opinion that no red-zone dog should lose its life unless every possible avenue of rehabilitation or placement for that dog has been exhausted. There are far too few no-kill shelters in the world—and those that exist are always filled to the brim and hurting for money. The dedicated people running these centers, however, share my conviction that it is wrong to commit an animal to a death sentence when it had no moral awareness or intellectual control over what it was doing. We should not be condemning dogs to death for having become the monsters their humans owners created—and that the dogs were never born to be

Cesar Millan with Melissa Jo Peltier.