“But I Don’t want to Go to the Carnival”

We spend a good chunk of our summers at our little place in western Ohio. The village where we live has a ton of activities and events, including a three-day carnival that features games, rides, food, blackjack, and a community dodgeball tournament. 

Carnivals and fairs are not really my scene. But, last year I walked over one day and watched my nieces and nephews go on some rides. At one point, I thought, “Gosh, I bet Tycho would love this. He loves people, and I could buy him a hot dog or ice cream.” 

I’ll be honest. I got pretty excited about buying Tycho a carnival treat and taking a photo of his face eating it! 

Later that afternoon, Tycho and I walked toward the park where the carnival was happening. As we got closer, I noticed he started to alternate holding his ears very high on his head and then pinning them back. I also noticed his hips and tail tucking just a bit lower. When we turned to walk into the park, he ran in front of me and then circled behind me before stopping. 

“Come on, it will be fun! There’s hot dogs, Tycho!” I cajoled. I changed direction, we walked past the park, and then tried again to enter. Tycho’s behavior was the same. 

He did not want to go to the carnival.

I started to spin out with worry. Why was he performing behaviors that indicated he was feeling fear and anxiety? 

“I’m sorry, Tycho. Let’s go home.” I started running towards home and Tycho’s demeanor changed almost immediately. His ears went back to their normal position, the muscles in his face relaxed, and he plastered his signature smile across his face as if to say, “Thanks, Mom!” We walked in the less busy side of town while I tried to navigate away from the worry and guilt spiral in my head. 

Was he in pain? He’s a senior fellow, were there changes to his sense of hearing or sight? I hadn’t noticed any changes, but maybe? To help myself feel better, I made a list in my head of what I saw, heard, and smelled in that environment at the entrance to the park. 

I saw probably a couple of hundred people gathered closely to watch the dodgeball tournament. I saw them jumping and waving their arms. I saw big tents and rides. I saw children running, and so many strollers and wagons. I heard yelling, screaming, and cheering. I heard the dodgeballs thumping loudly against players and the backdrop. I heard whistles, loud music, and children screaming on rides. I smelled the olfactory cacophony of food, beer, and motor grease that is unique to a carnival.

Tycho is comfortable and happy almost everywhere he goes. But, even though Tycho may have been comfortable with piecemeal features of that environment, I don’t think he’s ever experienced all of that, all at once. I hoped this was likely an anomaly for dear sociable Tycho, but my concern remained. 

When you’ve been in the animal behavior and training industry long enough, you learn that the objections and criticism are loud and harsh. For me, sometimes the external objections are loud and grating enough to play in my own head, unbidden. 

The objections playing in my head said that I wasn’t supporting Tycho—if I would’ve just pulled him through, he’d get used to the environment. They said that if I would just punish the behaviors of stopping and circling, he would learn these behaviors are not acceptable, and his quality of life would be better because he’d get to go more places. They said that it was my fault for not being more confident.

Could I have forced him to walk through the carnival? Sure. What if I forced him or punished his avoidant behavior and it “worked”? 

Okay, but at what cost to Tycho’s comfort? And, at what cost to our relationship? Not only is there a risk of behavioral fallout, but forcing him would risk communicating to him that I will put him in situations that are scary, and I cannot be trusted to help him feel safe. 

Getting to go more places you don’t want to go with someone you don’t fully trust is not a win. 

The following weekend, we headed over to the community ball fields to watch my niece play softball. I wasn’t sure how Tycho would feel about it all, but I wanted to try. Another experience with a similar—but less intense—environment would give me more information about Tycho’s comfort, needs, and preferences.

He was his regular happy self, even pulling me over to my parents when he recognized them. My dad bought him a hot dog at the concession stand. He had a great time!

Tycho with the hotdog that Grandpa bought for him. I couldn’t believe he ate the bun, too. (Please no treat shaming!)

For all of my cogitating, all that mattered was that Tycho didn’t want to go to the carnival. He wanted to go to the softball game. I love Tycho. His wants and needs matter to me. Thankfully, my inner voice reminding me of that fact is a siren song, and far louder and more powerful than any objections.