"Bettina"

“She used to be so wonderful – a sweet, playful little dog. Now look at her! She won’t even come out from under the bed!” Bettina’s owners, on all fours beside the bed, looked up at me. Joyce’s eyes were filled with tears, Henry chewed and pulled at his rather luxurient mustache. Bettina, a five year old Bichon Frise, was not in evidence. They claimed she was under the low slung king size bed, but I hadn’t been able to see her when I looked under it.

Upon my arrival, Joyce had grabbed my hand and rushed me to the bedroom with her husband Henry on our heels.

“I hope you can help us,” he said in a dismal voice, “Bettina’s such a big part of our lives.” He gave me the somewhat embarrased look I often see in men who are making an emotional declaration about their dogs.

“I mean, we both feel sort of lost without her. She hasn’t been out from under the bed in eight weeks – not even once.”

I looked up, startled. “Not at all?” I exclaimed. They both shook their heads, and Joyce began to cry.

“She doesn’t love us anymore, does she?” she sobbed. “We’ve done something to offend her, or hurt her feelings, and now she doesn’t want to be with us…..” she trailed off into quiet tears.

“Do you have a flashlight?” I asked.

“Yes,of course.” Said Henry, and handed me one from the bedside table. I got down on my belly and shone the light into the gloom beneath the bed. To my right were some carefully spread newspapers which Bettina had evidently been using. To my left a water bowl and a row of saucers containing chicken, Swiss cheese, steak and even one with smoked salmon. Scattered here and there were lots of toys, and several dog biscuits and chewies. In the farthest corner, up against the wall, was a large dog bed, and peeking out from behind it was a tiny, white dog. When the light hit her she ducked her head, licked her nose nervously, and then hid behind the dog bed.

I stood up. “How did you get the dog bed so far under there?”

Henry stroked his mustache proudly. “Ah!” he said, “That was a little tricky. I used a floor mop to push it, and that worked quite well.”

Joyce was still on the floor, shining the flashlight under the bed. “Bettina!”, she called in pleading tones, “Bettina-tina, Mummy’s little angel! Won’t you come out and see Mummy and Daddums and the nice lady?" She picked up a toy and threw it further under the bed. “Look Bettina!” she cried. "Look, I threw your little furry mouse baby! Won’t you fetch it back to me? Bring it to Mummy, Tina-Bina, and we’ll have a nice game.” When Bettina obviously wasn’t fetching, Joyce turned a stricken face to Henry. “Now she won’t even play fetch anymore!”

“Do you often play fetch with her like this, under the bed?” I asked them.

“Oh yes!” they both agreed enthusiastically. Henry continued, “We were so pleased that she would at least still play! Besides, it’s so important for her to get her exercise, don’t you think? So Joyce and I take turns every day. I thought maybe it would cheer her up, too, and then she’d come out…”

I suggested that we go sit at the kitchen table, where it would be easier for me to take case notes.

“We won’t be long, will we?” asked Joyce. “You see, she gets lonely if we leave her alone for too long, and then she cries.”

“Don’t worry,” I assured her, “Bettina will be fine.”

Once settled at the table, I began a file on them, and started asking questions. Bettina had been a happy, affectionate companion until eight weeks ago, when she suddenly disappeared under the bed and refused to come out. Her owners were unaware of any trauma which might have caused her to hide. As they talked, it became clear that Bettina was a dog who liked to get her own way. If annoyed or thwarted, she would run under the bed for a few minutes, and often stay there until bribed to come out for a treat. Her favorite treats, they said, were brie cheese and smoked salmon. Bettina’s doting owners encouraged her to do whatever she wanted, commenting frequently on how adorable, mischievous and intelligent she was. Joyce and Henry led a very calm, predictable life, much of which revolved around the care and amusement of Bettina. They had no children and few visitors.

Four months ago, Henry’s Uncle Claude had died. Henry’s brother Bob had come from California for the funeral and to help with cleaning out Claude’s apartment. He had brought his wife and twin eight year old boys with him, and the four of them had stayed with Henry and Joyce. It had been bedlam. Unlike Henry and Joyce, Bob and Pam were a loud and active couple. Their sons were loud, active boys. By the third day of their visit, Bettina was almost continuously under the bed, and her owners were forever luring her out with some tidbit. One day, to his horror, Henry caught the twins both pulling on the little dog in a dispute over who should hold her. Henry had yelled to stop them, they dropped the dog, and she instantly ran under the bed. Despite great efforts on the part of her owners, she was not seen again until the next morning. During the night she relieved herself under the bed, so after that they began putting newspapers under there for her to use – which she did.

“Well,” I said, “that certainly sounds like a traumatic experience for all of you. Wasn’t that when she began to refuse to come out at all?”

“Oh, no ! As soon as Bob and his family left she was her old self again! It wasn’t until two months later that she went under the bed for good. “

I asked if either of them kept a schedule or diary of any sort which might help us to figure out what had happened to upset Bettina, and Henry said he did. He got it out and looked up the week before her disappearance.

“It was just a normal week,” said Henry, “nothing traumatic happened at all.” He ran his finger down the page, and said “Oh yes, Joyce, do you remember? That was the week you were sick with that awful stomach flu. You stayed in bed for several days.”

Joyce groaned.”I felt terrible! And I was so afraid that Henry or Bettina would get it!”

“Where was Bettina while you were sick?” I asked.

“Well, she kept wanting me to pick her up so she could sleep on my pillow, the way she usually does, but I was afraid she’d get sick too so I closed her out of the bedroom. Mostly I guess she was alone in the living room.”

“ And your week, Henry?”

“According to my schedule, I worked late at the office three nights that week. That’s a little bit unusual for me – I was finishing up a big project. Then on Sunday Joyce was all better and we went to see an exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art in Boston, and didn’t get home until late afternoon. Remember, Joyce? We felt so bad leaving Bettina all alone so long, but dogs aren’t allowed in the Museum and it was too hot to leave her in the car.”

“And then?” I prompted.

“On Monday night when we got home from work, Bettina was under the bed. She hasn’t come out since.”

At this point Bettina began to whine loudly, and Joyce immediately jumped up saying “I’ll just go see what she wants – I won’t be a minute…” We soon heard her exclaim in a happy voice, and when she returned she looked relieved and told us that Bettina was feeling better and was wanting to play fetch.

By now I knew what was going on with Bettina, and how to help her owners. During Bob and Pam’s visit, it had become increasingly clear to Bettina that going under the bed was an excellent way to get attention and special treats from Joyce and Henry. During the week of Joyce’s illness she was alone much more than usual, ending with being completely alone all day Sunday. She was lonely and bored and wanted attention. Recent experience had taught her that going under the bed would get her lots of attention. So under the bed she went – and it worked like magic.Her owners spent all of Monday night down on their bellies peering under the bed trying to coax her out with delicious treats. By Wednesday they were so worried that they began taking it in turns to come home at lunch – something they had never done before.

Why on earth should Bettina come out? She was being fed delicious treats instead of boring dog chow, played with, talked to, and getting even more attention from her owners than ever before. The only thing she probably missed was being patted, but it seemed she was content with the exchange.

I wasn’t sure that Henry and Joyce were really following me. From their blank expressions I rather guessed that the idea of their beloved darling being a skilled manipulator was a little hard to swallow. They preferred to think she was depressed or frightened.

“So what do we do ?” moaned Joyce.

“Are there any movies playing now that you would like to see?” I inquired.

“What?!”

“Movies. Are there any movies you’ve been wanting to see. Because what I recommend is this – Tonight, after I leave, go out to dinner and a movie. When you come home, do not check on Bettina, and spend the night in the guest room. Move Bettina’s papers to your bedroom door and remove all her food bowls and chewies. Leave her nothing at all to eat. Put her water bowl back in the kitchen. Drag out her bed and her toys and put them in the living room. Tomorrow morning get up a little early and the two of you play a game of ball in the living room. Use the ball with the jingle bells in it that you said she likes so much. Laugh, act happy – and do not visit Bettina! Don’t come home at lunch time and when you get back at the end of the day, play another game of ball. Put a bowl of Bettina’s regular food down in the kitchen, and then go out again for the evening. Continue this way until Bettina finally comes out to join you. When she does, act happy but calm and normal. Please don’t fuss over her as if it was anything special to see her again. Instead, take her out for a nice, long walk. When you get back, before you let her off the leash, put a lot of big boxes under the bed so she can’t get back under there. Then pick up her newspapers, and you can put her bed back at the foot of your bed. In the future, if she hides under something, just let her sulk. Don’t try to bribe her out with treats – in fact don’t even look at her. Call me tomorrow and let me know how she’s doing.”

When I left they were still looking skeptical, with Joyce complaining that the program seemed “awfully mean”, but Henry had a determined look in his eye and had stopped chewing his mustache.

They called me the next day and reported in dismal tones that they had done as I requested but there was still no sign of Bettina. I reassured them that all was well, that it was going to take a little time to cure her, and asked them to call me again tomorrow. The next day the report was the same, except that she had at some point during the day come out to use her papers. The third day they sounded a little more hopeful – not only was she regularly using her papers, but she had eaten all of the food from her bowl in the kitchen.

“But I haven’t seen her at all ,” wailed Joyce, “Henry’s so strict about not letting me look under the bed!”

“That’s good !” I replied, “I know it’s hard, but you’re doing a great job, and in another day or two you’ll have your dog back!”

The report the fourth day was much the same, but the next evening when they called they were so excited I could hardly follow their story as it came tumbling out. It seemed that as they dutifully played ball in the living room that evening, Bettina had sidled in. Joyce made a joyful grab for her, but Henry caught her hands and cried “A walk, a walk! We must take her for a walk!” And so they did, and when they got home Bettina bounced in to the kitchen and looked expectantly at her food bowl.

“Oh, look ! She’s hungry ! Do you want some brie?” cried Joyce.

“Dog chow! “ yelled Henry. “Give her only dog chow!”

Joyce filled Bettina’s bowl while complaining to Henry that it wasn’t fair – Bettina preferred brie and chicken and smoked salmon. While Bettina ate, Joyce cried happy tears, and Henry dragged boxes out of the garage and shoved them under the bed.

After eating her dinner, Bettina ran for the bedroom. Joyce and Henry stood in the living room, clinging to each other.

“Do you think we should play ball again?” whispered Joyce. Henry nodded and bent to pick it up, but just at that moment, Bettina trotted in, jumped up on the sofa and went to sleep. That’s when they called me.

“You know,” said Henry, “ she’s quite a little actress, isn’t she?” I agreed. It was the closest he could come to admitting their little dog was a world class manipulator.