<p>In the past couple of months, I have written about what fear might look like in our pets. Fear is complex. Fear is understudied. Fear is often misunderstood. As humans, we find it uncomfortable to talk about fear, and it takes enormous effort to deal with it and overcome our fears. A cockroach can scare me to death even today — no matter how many I have seen in my life, and despite my understanding that they can do no harm. What hopes do we have in understanding fear in our pets, who don’t speak to us in a language we understand? Pippi’s expression of fear is by barking, lunging and growling at the ‘monster’, and for an untrained eye, this may seem ‘aggressive’. Today’s tale is about Pippi’s other face of fear that left us baffled.</p>.<p>On a lazy Saturday, my husband was cooking breakfast in the kitchen as Pippi and I lay cuddled up in bed after an early morning walk. A few minutes in, I felt some uneasiness next to me. Pippi sat there, visibly shaking and in deep discomfort, for no apparent reason. My heart skipped a beat and I frantically yelled. My husband stopped what he was doing and rushed to the bedroom. Our first suspicion was that something was off with Pippi’s health. As we debated rushing to the vet, we rubbed his paws and soothed him with a blanket. After about 10 minutes, he was back to his perky self! Work in the kitchen resumed, and Pippi’s tremors returned. What was going on?</p>.<p>Turns out, the kitchen’s exhaust fan was triggering Pippi’s panic. For a dog that braved Diwali crackers and a brutal past, what harm could a kitchen fan do? Pippi crouched in a corner, trembling from head to tail, salivating, and looking down at the floor with terrified eyes. If we had a door open, he’d no doubt have rushed out without looking back. Our eyes welled up. Loud noises aren’t unusual for him. So, what brought on this face of fear? Looking back, my husband was quick to connect the dots to his recent air travel.</p>.<p class="CrossHead"><strong>Signs of distress</strong></p>.<p>In February, life took us to an island and Pippi had to fly, again. In 2020, Pippi moved 6,000 miles away from the familiar streets of Bengaluru to a new city, enduring the 48-hour journey cooped up in his crate. As soon as he saw his dad at the airport, he seemed to forget all the distress, and except for the crate, nothing in the house reminded him of the flight. This time around, it was only three hours and he was on the same flight as us, but in the crate and away from our sight. If he could do it in 2020, he could do it now, we thought. Well, like everything about that year, we were wrong.</p>.<p>We booked a slot on the plane ahead of time and sorted out all the travel logistics. On that fateful day, Pippi won the ground staff’s praise for being calm in one of the busiest airports. (I was thinking he’d whine all along, but not that day). As the crew took him away, I stood with tears dripping down my eyes and he let out a few whines. We boarded the plane and hoped Pippi was with us, in the flight’s luggage compartment. When we landed safely in the middle of a snowstorm, I smiled. </p>.<p>As we entered the baggage area, Pippi’s whining greeted us (our ears are tuned to it, maybe!) and we ran towards the crate. Inside was a visibly shaking and severely dehydrated Pippi — but alive and well. After guzzling a bottle of water and relaxing his crate-crouched body, he was ready to go home. The next few days, his anxiety about us leaving him behind hit the roof, as expected, and we did not think much about the flight until we switched on the exhaust fan. This week, we got a sit-stand desk with an electric motor, and he showed similar signs of distress, albeit with a lesser intensity. </p>.<p>The exhaust fan is a little loud and perhaps sounds like a propeller for a sensitive ear. The electric motor’s noise can be mistaken for a forklift operation — typically used in airports to transport cargo. So, is Pippi’s brain associating these noises with his flying experience? Does it remind him of the aeroplane and the distress he went through in it? Does he think he’ll be put on another flight now that he hears these sounds? Well, perhaps yes. These questions linger in our minds as we try to find ways to help Pippi feel comfortable in his new home. Until then, our kitchen fan is not going to be turned on and I’ll have to close the door before operating my desk. But, it’s all still worth it, isn’t it?</p>.<p><strong><span class="bold">Tailspin</span></strong><em> <span class="italic">is your monthly column on everything that’s heartwarming and annoying about pet parenting.</span></em></p>.<p><em><span class="italic">The writer is a science communicator and mom to Pippi, a five-year-old rescued Indie, who is behind her drive to understand dogs better. She tweets @RamanSpoorthy</span></em></p>
<p>In the past couple of months, I have written about what fear might look like in our pets. Fear is complex. Fear is understudied. Fear is often misunderstood. As humans, we find it uncomfortable to talk about fear, and it takes enormous effort to deal with it and overcome our fears. A cockroach can scare me to death even today — no matter how many I have seen in my life, and despite my understanding that they can do no harm. What hopes do we have in understanding fear in our pets, who don’t speak to us in a language we understand? Pippi’s expression of fear is by barking, lunging and growling at the ‘monster’, and for an untrained eye, this may seem ‘aggressive’. Today’s tale is about Pippi’s other face of fear that left us baffled.</p>.<p>On a lazy Saturday, my husband was cooking breakfast in the kitchen as Pippi and I lay cuddled up in bed after an early morning walk. A few minutes in, I felt some uneasiness next to me. Pippi sat there, visibly shaking and in deep discomfort, for no apparent reason. My heart skipped a beat and I frantically yelled. My husband stopped what he was doing and rushed to the bedroom. Our first suspicion was that something was off with Pippi’s health. As we debated rushing to the vet, we rubbed his paws and soothed him with a blanket. After about 10 minutes, he was back to his perky self! Work in the kitchen resumed, and Pippi’s tremors returned. What was going on?</p>.<p>Turns out, the kitchen’s exhaust fan was triggering Pippi’s panic. For a dog that braved Diwali crackers and a brutal past, what harm could a kitchen fan do? Pippi crouched in a corner, trembling from head to tail, salivating, and looking down at the floor with terrified eyes. If we had a door open, he’d no doubt have rushed out without looking back. Our eyes welled up. Loud noises aren’t unusual for him. So, what brought on this face of fear? Looking back, my husband was quick to connect the dots to his recent air travel.</p>.<p class="CrossHead"><strong>Signs of distress</strong></p>.<p>In February, life took us to an island and Pippi had to fly, again. In 2020, Pippi moved 6,000 miles away from the familiar streets of Bengaluru to a new city, enduring the 48-hour journey cooped up in his crate. As soon as he saw his dad at the airport, he seemed to forget all the distress, and except for the crate, nothing in the house reminded him of the flight. This time around, it was only three hours and he was on the same flight as us, but in the crate and away from our sight. If he could do it in 2020, he could do it now, we thought. Well, like everything about that year, we were wrong.</p>.<p>We booked a slot on the plane ahead of time and sorted out all the travel logistics. On that fateful day, Pippi won the ground staff’s praise for being calm in one of the busiest airports. (I was thinking he’d whine all along, but not that day). As the crew took him away, I stood with tears dripping down my eyes and he let out a few whines. We boarded the plane and hoped Pippi was with us, in the flight’s luggage compartment. When we landed safely in the middle of a snowstorm, I smiled. </p>.<p>As we entered the baggage area, Pippi’s whining greeted us (our ears are tuned to it, maybe!) and we ran towards the crate. Inside was a visibly shaking and severely dehydrated Pippi — but alive and well. After guzzling a bottle of water and relaxing his crate-crouched body, he was ready to go home. The next few days, his anxiety about us leaving him behind hit the roof, as expected, and we did not think much about the flight until we switched on the exhaust fan. This week, we got a sit-stand desk with an electric motor, and he showed similar signs of distress, albeit with a lesser intensity. </p>.<p>The exhaust fan is a little loud and perhaps sounds like a propeller for a sensitive ear. The electric motor’s noise can be mistaken for a forklift operation — typically used in airports to transport cargo. So, is Pippi’s brain associating these noises with his flying experience? Does it remind him of the aeroplane and the distress he went through in it? Does he think he’ll be put on another flight now that he hears these sounds? Well, perhaps yes. These questions linger in our minds as we try to find ways to help Pippi feel comfortable in his new home. Until then, our kitchen fan is not going to be turned on and I’ll have to close the door before operating my desk. But, it’s all still worth it, isn’t it?</p>.<p><strong><span class="bold">Tailspin</span></strong><em> <span class="italic">is your monthly column on everything that’s heartwarming and annoying about pet parenting.</span></em></p>.<p><em><span class="italic">The writer is a science communicator and mom to Pippi, a five-year-old rescued Indie, who is behind her drive to understand dogs better. She tweets @RamanSpoorthy</span></em></p>