The Joy of Making Mistakes

I think I’ve mentioned it before, but I’m something of a perfectionist. You would think this personality type would lend itself to competition obedience- after all, who else other than a perfectionist would be willing to address the millions of little details that it requires? Straight fronts, precise heeling, unwavering eye contact, so many things to pick at and obsess about.

But I found no joy in it. Instead, I got overwhelmed by the prospect of doing it wrong. I worried endlessly about breaking my dog. I was positive I would make a mistake so serious that I’d never be able to fix it, and I’d be doomed to unreliable and sloppy performances forever after.

Between all of the different dog training blogs, forums, and email lists I read, it’s no wonder I freaked out. Should I use pivot boards and platforms, or are these impossible to fade? Should I use a target on the ground or on the wall for go-outs? Tie down scent articles or not? How often should I reward my dog, and with what? Should I talk or remain silent? And how do I tell my dog she was wrong if I won’t use physical corrections?

In the end, I was paralyzed by fear. Faced with so many choices, I made the easiest, and did nothing. By not training, I couldn’t make mistakes… but my dog wasn’t learning anything, either.

So what’s a perfectionist to do?

Well, I started by acknowledging that there are many ways to train a dog, even within my particular training philosophy. Doing this allowed me to accept that even if I made a complete and utter fool of myself with one method, there would be another way of training the skill. I would not have to give up on my goals entirely.

A video still from a heeling session. We are having FUN.

Next, I simply chose the one that seemed the most fun. I figured that making a mistake was inevitable at some point, so I might as well be enjoying it, you know?

I also decided that Maisy should be having fun, too. Unlike me, Maisy does not care one whit about scores and placements and titles. She just wants to go and play with me. As it turns out, I don’t get much joy from watching her plod through an exercise, so this worked well for us both.

And then I started training. These days, I train for speed and enthusiasm. I train for eagerness and intensity. I train for joy. Yes, we make mistakes, and yes, it’s quite possible it will all fall apart some day. But so what? It seems like everyone has to re-train something anyway, so we’ll be in good company. Besides, if we have to start over again, it just gives us that much more to do together.

This has been working quite well for me. Maisy has learned a lot, and we’ve been making great progress. She picks up on things quickly, and she’s developed skills I’d almost written off. As for my desire for scores and placements, well, Maisy’s recent success seems to speak for itself. Oh, and did I mention that we’ve been having tons of fun together?

Perfectionist or not, this is why I train: because I love my dog and want to do things with her. And I’ve been able to enjoy our time together even more by discovering the joy of making mistakes.

You Can't Fix It All... And That's Okay

 Photo courtesy of my friend.

A few weeks ago, one of my friends- a fellow reactive dog owner- emailed me, distraught over an incident she'd had with her dog while hiking. As far as things go, her dog's reaction was pretty reasonable (she lunged at a group of 25 or so high school kids hiking with cross country ski poles), but my friend was still upset. To her, it felt like a huge setback after a period of steady progress, and she thought that her dog's behavior was a reflection of her shortcomings as a trainer.

So what caused her to feel so bad? Personally, I think it's at least partly due to the societal belief that with enough love and training, it is possible to “fix” every dog. The problem with this, of course, is that it simply isn't true.

Look, I'm not saying our dogs are lost causes, because they are all capable of making progress. With some time and effort, all dogs can behave better and feel more comfortable. But each dog is an individual, and as such, the outcome for each dog will be different. The ultimate training goal will not be the same for every dog, and we should not measure our dog's progress against others.

In her email, my friend wanted to know if she should keep trying. She wanted to know if she should keep training to overcome the issues her dog still has. She wanted to know if she had failed her dog in some way because, despite everything, her dog still doesn't enjoy things like hiking and going to pet stores. She wanted to know if she was a bad trainer because her dog still isn't “fixed.”

Of course not.

We need to accept that dogs are not all the same. It is not fair to force them into a one-size-fits-all box. Instead, we need to be realistic about their unique personalities. As I emailed in response, my friend's dog is happy and comfortable with the activities they are doing. My friend is happy and comfortable with the activities they are doing. Maybe these activities don't involve the things society expects of dogs, but that is okay.

What my friend really needed was permission to accept her dog as she is. She needed to feel like it's okay that her dog isn't “fixed.” The truth is, though, that her dog is just fine: what I haven't told you is that my friend's reactive dog has been certified through a well-known national organization as a therapy dog. This is a very impressive accomplishment, and it is a testament to my friend's dedication to her dog and, yes, her skills as a trainer. Maybe her dog can't do everything society expects our dogs to do, but my friend has found something her dog is both good at and loves doing.

So, friends, I'm here to tell you that you can't “fix” everything about your dog. It's an impossible goal, and it will make you crazy trying. Find things you both enjoy doing together, and give yourself permission to let go of what others think your dog should be and do. Because your dog may not be perfect, but he's yours. And you know what? That's okay.

Unreasonable Expectations

It's been about a year since Maisy and I embarked on the medication journey, and almost three since we began working on her reactivity. In that time, she has made tons of progress. I am very pleased with her current abilities to deal with and recover from stress. And yet, there are still times when I'm disappointed with her behavior.

For example, lately we have been heading over to a local obedience club once a week or so just to hang out. We do some mat work, and I reward calm behavior. Basically, I'm recreating our old reactive dog class in a new environment. She's doing quite well overall, especially when you consider that this club can get quite busy and chaotic, but she still has the occasional outburst.

The most recent one happened at the end of an otherwise excellent session. We were on our way out when she suddenly lunged and barked at two dogs. The handler had her back to us, checking in for her class, and her boxers were standing at the end of taut leashes, staring. Their appearance had already put Maisy on edge (she doesn't like dogs with cropped ears), and on top of that, their behavior was rude. No wonder she reacted.

Even though I understood why she behaved the way she did, I was still disappointed. I don't know about you, but for me, there is something particularly disheartening about a really great training session ending on such sour note. But I also think there might be something deeper at play. I think I might be suffering from unreasonable expectations.

It is unreasonable to expect that a dog will not notice things in her environment. She is a living, breathing individual whose senses not only work, but have been keenly honed to allow her to see a squirrel cautiously moving across an open field, to hear the grass rustling when a bunny moves, or to sniff out a rodent den. A dog can- and should- take in everything around her.

Likewise, it is unreasonable to expect that a dog will not respond to things in her environment. To do so is to expect her to disregard instincts that have evolved over the course of thousands of years. All animals, dogs included, naturally orient to signs of both potential food and potential danger.

It is also unreasonable to expect that a dog will never bark or growl. These are normal, natural forms of communication that allow dogs to mediate disputes and prevent them from becoming bloody fights. To believe that a dog will never vocalize her displeasure is to betray one's ignorance of what a dog is.

It is, in short, unreasonable to expect a dog to be perfect. So why has that been my goal?

While it's true that I personally have a perfectionistic streak about a mile wide, I think that societal beliefs about dogs may have contributed to my foolish quest. Movies and television programs tell us that all dogs should be friendly and outgoing. They should love everyone, all the time. They should be long-suffering and endlessly patient, putting up with ear-pulling and tail-tugging without protest. They should be willing to work for no more than a pat on the head and maybe a kind word. They should definitely be selfless and courageous and loyal- I grew up watching Lassie save Timmy's butt every week, after all.

Now, I'm not dumb. I know there's a huge difference between our real-life dogs and the ones on the silver screen. Still, cultural ideals run deep, and they are what I naively believed when I brought a puppy home almost five years ago. When Maisy failed to live up to my unrealistic expectations, I learned there was a word for that- reactive- and I set out to fix her.

I don't think that was wrong; several highly educated and extremely experienced professionals saw the same anxiety and overreactions that I did. Of course, their expectations were far more reasonable than my own. I clung to the hope that after a bit of training, Maisy would become a “normal” dog, which was really code for “perfect.”

I didn't realize that's what I was expecting, however, until I saw some of my friends' so-called perfect dogs act... well, normal. They barked. They growled. They sometimes even lunged at things when excited (but then, what do you expect a retired racing greyhound to do when he sees a bunny lure?).

In other words, those dogs that I thought were perfect? They're just like Maisy. Well, maybe not just like Maisy- she needs daily medication to achieve the same effect, after all- but the point stands: she is more or less a normal dog these days. The only thing holding her back at this point are my own unreasonable expectations.

While I have always loved Maisy, flaws and all, I have also struggled to accept her inherent dogginess. I need to relax, to stop worrying what others think about me and her both, and most of all, to stop trying to achieve the impossible. It's clear this is the next step in our journey. Well, if I'm honest, it's actually my journey- Maisy doesn't seem to have any unreasonable expectations for me. I guess I'm lucky that way. My dog may not be perfect, but she is pretty tolerant of my mistakes, and she definitely accepts my human nature.

I only hope I can give her the same gift.