The Most Beautiful Thing I've Ever Seen

The two great loves of my life.

Maisy has never been a dog who likes to be touched, although she will tolerate it. She especially hates having her head touched; any time I've reached over to give her a pat, only for her to duck away - or at least flinch. I've gotten used to this, and try to limit my primate-hands-on instincts.

But these rules don't seem to apply to my fiance. She loves him. Indeed, her affection for him was a major driver in our getting together in the first place, but even so, I didn't really understand how much she loves him until Monday night.

Maisy is curled up on a pillow sleeping as Cesar is getting ready to leave for work. He leans over to say goodbye and kisses her on the top of her head; she lifts her head up, looks him in the eye, and then gives one deliberate lick to his face.

I swear to god, she kissed him back, and it was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

ZOMG Denise Fenzi and Deb Jones Wrote a Book!

I recently had the supreme honor of editing the new Denise Fenzi/Deb Jones book. Dog Sport Skills: Developing Relationship and Engagement is the first in a series, and it’s a damn cool book. You should totally run out and buy several copies.

But I beg of you, don’t tell me if there are any grammatical errors. Please. Look, editing is not easy. Not only did I “copy edit” for grammar, but I also helped take two very distinct writing voices and help them blend together so that it will (hopefully!) provide you with a more cohesive reading experience. This is, all in all, way more work than I could have ever imagined.

Not that I’m complaining! Not at all; after all, I got to read the book way before most people. It’s just that I poured a ton of work into this book (not as much as Denise and Deb of course), and I still found errors when I did the last read-through. Dear G-d, I hope I found them all. I probably didn’t. I’m sorry. But please don’t tell me.

So! About the book.

I think the thing I like best about this book is that there is something for everyone. I know that Denise and Deb wanted it to be accessible for people new to training in general or crossing over from traditional training techniques while still providing value to experienced positive trainers. I think they did a nice job achieving this goal. As someone with a fair bit of training experience, parts of the book were review for me. Even so, I really enjoyed it.

I appreciated their honesty throughout the book. Sometimes positive trainers don’t like to admit that traditional training works, but… it does. Denise and Deb acknowledge this, but they also clearly explain why they choose not to use it. They believe that it is the trainer’s responsibility to “clearly communicate expectations to the dog, rather than the dog’s responsibility to figure out what the trainer wants.”

They also take on some of the myths around positive training. I love this excerpt in particular:

One criticism of positively trained dogs is that they are not as precise or reliable as those trained with pain compliance. This is simply not a valid argument. Strong performances have more to do with the effectiveness and experience of the trainer than the training method used. Because motivational techniques are relatively new, particularly in competitive dog sports, trainers using pain compliance techniques are generally far more experienced. There are very few experienced trainers that exclusively use motivational techniques. One of our goals in writing this book is to change that!

They display similar candor when they acknowledge that all dogs and all trainers are different; they point out that it’s impossible that a “training recipe” will work for everyone. There are two chapters to help someone newer to positive training get started; one on the theoretical knowledge, and one on practical applications. The theory chapter points out that there are numerous dog-friendly ways to train the same behavior, a fact that I think is often overlooked by critics.

Regular blog readers know that I’m big on the human-animal bond, so it’s probably not a surprise that I really enjoyed the chapter on relationships. But I’d never considered that there is a difference between what Denise and Deb call the “personal relationship” and the “working relationship.” They describe how these are different, make a good case for why each one is important, and then discuss how to develop them both.

Another thing I really appreciated was a frank conversation about the fact that a wise trainer will consider the dog’s “genetic package” when creating a training plan. They urge readers to accept the dog they have, but also note that, “dogs with all sorts of baggage can become successful performance dogs with the right environment and training.”

There is an entire chapter on stress, and I wish I could have read it several years ago. Denise and Deb discuss how to recognize stress as well as how to “inoculate” your dog against it. I also love that in their discussion on drive, they talk about the difference between enthusiasm and frantic behavior, something that many people mix up.

Another fabulous section is on the difference between attention and focus. They rightly point out that when dogs have to work away from their handler (agility, upper levels of obedience), unwavering handler attention is not helpful. The dog needs to learn how to focus on the right task at the right time.

But maybe the best part of all is that this book is the first in a series. I’m not sure how long the series will be, but I do know the second book will offer instructions on developing motivators- including personal play. I’m definitely looking forward to that!

Dog Sport Skills Book 1: Developing Relationship and Engagement doesn’t have a release date yet (this whole book publishing thing takes longer than one would think), but I know it's been sent to the printer, so... soon! Go like The Dog Athletepage on Facebook to get the official updates.  

Shedd Animal Training Seminar: Putting It All Together!

On our last day at Shedd, Ken summarized the week with three main points:

1. Get to know your animal.

Ken believes that animal training can be enhanced by having a good relationship with your animal. Certainly, knowing what does and does not motivate the individual in front of you will make your job easier, but Ken also wants to ensure that each animal he cares for has a good life. Relationships promote this.

Of course, relationships are not required for good training. In these cases, you will need to know about the individual’s species. Like most other folks in the zoological world, Ken works at Shedd because he values conservation. Training allows the public to learn more about species they would otherwise not have contact with; good experiences may spur these people to consider animals as a whole when they make decisions, whether that’s about funding research, habitat destruction, or hunting laws.

As an unrelated side note, training can also help wild animals. Ken told us about how behaviorists were able to manipulate the environment to facilitate Condor breeding at a time when there were only 19 left in the world. He shared a fascinating video on remote training the Stellar Sea Lion to help facilitate research on why the population was declining. And my favorite story- how he was part of a group that trained dogs to find sea turtle eggs after the Gulf oil spill. In three days, ten dogs were able to find 29,000 eggs, which were relocated so the babies would have a better chance of survival.

2. Continue to expand your knowledge.

It follows that getting to know your animal, whether individually or as a species, depends on you as the trainer continuing to learn. One way to do this is through research. Whether you conduct it or simply read the final report, we all benefit from it. But there are many ways to learn, and you should find a way that makes sense to you, whether that’s through books, seminars, or videos. Networking is another great way to continue to learn; share ideas or visit their facilities, classes, or simply observe them in a training session.

The knowledge needed to be a good trainer is not limited to learning about animals, though. Learn about people, too. Many people become animal trainers because they don’t like interacting with other humans. This is unfortunate, because in my opinion, the best trainers are the ones who can share their knowledge with others. Ken recommended reading books such as 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, Bringing out the Best in People, The Power of Nice, or Whale Done!.

3. Practice and gain experience.

Finally, training is a skill that you must practice. Simply knowing a lot does not mean that you are a good trainer. You have to do. Train your pets to do silly tricks, simply to improve your skills. Work with other animals, whether you are helping a friend or volunteering at a shelter.

Sara is an animal.

You can also play training games where one person acts as the animal and the other as the trainer. We spent several hours doing this on our last day at Shedd, and it was eye-opening. We experimented with adding cues, creating behavior chains, and using No Reward Markers. When it was my turn to be the animal, even though I knew that I was being trained, I was so confused. This quickly turned to frustration, and I never did complete the task in the time allotted. I left the exercise absolutely impressed that my dog has learned anything at all from me!

And thus concludes the Shedd Animal Training Seminar Series! I had the most wonderful time at this seminar, and would highly recommend it to anyone. Getting to go behind the scenes, watching training sessions, and interacting with exotic animals was amazing. Best vacation ever.

Who's the Expert?

In our classes, we often tell our human students that they are the experts on their dogs. The theory is that while we, the teachers, know the science of dog training, the students live with and love their dogs. They know them best, which means they are uniquely suited to the art of dog training- applying the science to a specific individual.

As a student, I appreciate this perspective; there are positive methods that I have no problem with in theory, but that I don’t think are appropriate for Maisy. As a teacher, my goal is to empower my human students to make similar judgment calls. I want them to stand up for their dogs, to not be bullied into doing things they are uncomfortable with just because an “expert” tells them to.

But in telling our students that they are the experts, are we doing a disservice to the dog?

I’m guessing that you’ve probably had a well-meaning friend or family member start off a sentence with “Well, if I were you…” I know have. But the thing is, they aren’t me. I have a lot of great people in my life, people who love me and care for me deeply. People who have lived with me, who have heard my darkest fears, held my deepest pain, celebrated my greatest successes. People who’ve seen me at my worst and my best. People who, in short, know me very, very well.

But they still aren’t the experts on my life. No matter how close we are, no matter how empathetic they are, at the end of the day, they aren’t me. The way that I experience the world is unique, in turn making me uniquely qualified to be the expert of who I am, what’s important to me, what I want and like and fear. I am the expert on me.

Although we humans like to think that we are somehow superior to all other living beings, I am not so arrogant as to think I know what it means to be a dog. I will never know what my dog is thinking or feeling. I will never understand what she can hear and smell- she has abilities well beyond mine. I may know a lot about dogs, but I am not the expert on who Maisy is. She is.

Look, I get that dogs are not humans. I know that we have to make decisions for them. But then, there are times we make decisions for other humans. Parents make decisions for their children. Adults with cognitive deficits sometimes have guardians appointed to help them make medical, legal, and financial decisions. Hopefully, the people entrusted to make those decisions are doing so after considering their charge as a unique individual, not simply an age or diagnosis.

So perhaps I ought to be encouraging my students to consider their dogs as the experts. Heck, I need reminders to do this too. It would mean my students (and me, too!) would need to let go of ego and human desire, but I can’t help but think that we would make different choices for our dogs if we took the time to not only ask them for their opinions, but to really, truly listen.  

Your Dog

Most people who are active in the dog training world will probably receive conflicting advice at some point. This seems to be especially true for my students, who often see me for reactivity and focus issues while also working with another trainer for competition obedience or agility classes.

I recently got an email from one such student. Her dog- a reactive adolescent German Shepherd- has come so far since I first met them. Although the dog does still have some difficult moments, especially when there are sudden environmental changes, the dog’s ability to bounce back and work despite those moments has grown in leaps and bounds. I’m so proud of how far the dog has come.

In her email, my student recounted a recent obedience class with an instructor who uses very different methods than I do. The instructor did not like that my student was using the Look at That game to help her dog deal with triggers, nor the fact that she used the dog’s name when she wanted the dog’s attention. It culminated when the dog reacted towards the end of class; even though my student was able to quickly get her dog back under control, the instructor told her that she should have grabbed the dog, shaken her, and yelled. When my student pointed out that this would make things worse (so proud of her for speaking up!), the instructor disagreed, stating that my student needed to start "getting tough" with her dog. Dogs, the instructor said, need to work and focus when we want, for as long as we want.

But is this true? Should we expect this from our dogs? I replied to my student, telling her that I think that we can train our dogs to high standards without “getting tough.” I also told her that I think it’s reasonable to expect them to perform when requested. But I’m personally really uncomfortable with the line of thinking that says our dogs must comply.

Here’s the thing: my dog is a living, breathing person. (Well, dog, but you know what I mean, right?) She’s not a robot to be commanded. She has thoughts and feelings, though I’ll admit I don’t know what they’re like. She has likes and dislikes; she even has interests that don’t include me. And that’s okay! I know we have a strong relationship, and that we genuinely enjoy being and working together. But that doesn’t mean that I am- or should be- the center of her universe.

My dog.

It’s not that she’s “just a pet.” Although I will freely admit that I’m not as serious of a competitor as others, I do enjoy showing my dog, and I like high scores, placements, titles, and pretty ribbons. (Oh, do I like ribbons.) I also like having a dog that I can hike with off leash, that I can take places without worrying about her behavior, and that is generally easy for me to live with.

Because of that, I have to make it worth her while to do obedience routines instead of hanging out with Auntie Sara ringside, or to come when I call instead of blowing me off to play with her doggy pals. I do this by offering her great rewards. Food, play, and interaction with me, of course... but I also allow her to be her own dog sometimes. I respect who she is as an individual.

Other people choose to motivate their dogs differently. They take more of a “have to” attitude, with an unspoken “or else” at the end. Their dogs are expected to do what they are told, or suffer the consequences. The dog’s motivation, it would appear, is not the promise of good things, but the avoidance of bad things. There is a continuum with this, of course; some trainers are heavy-handed, while others are sparing with their corrections. This is true with positive trainers like me, too. I know that I have fewer rules and expectations for my dog than others do. I don’t demand that she earn everything. I laugh hysterically when she makes a mistake in the competition ring. My dog is admittedly spoiled beyond belief.

This doesn’t make me right, nor others wrong. All of us will misunderstand or misinterpret the science behind training sometimes. But all of us will learn over time. All of us will make poor decisions for our dogs sometimes. But all of us will have moments of brilliance. Instead, it makes us different. Because when it comes down to it, Maisy is my dog. I get to decide what I expect from her, and I get to decide how to motivate her to give that to me.

If you’re getting conflicting advice, remember that you have choices. While I believe strongly in my methods, I don’t get to make decisions for anyone but me. I know who I am, how I want to train, and what kind of relationships I want to have. So when my student asked for my thoughts, I told her this: This is your dog. You get to decide how you train her and what you expect out of her. Not that other trainer. Not me. You. 

She’s your dog.

Choose well.

Be.

When you have a reactive dog, life is full of difficult emotions.

There is sorrow over mistakes that we think we made. There is embarrassment stemming from yet another barking outburst. There is jealousy that our dogs cannot do the things our friends’ dogs can. There is anger that this is happening to us. There is fear that we are not doing enough.

In this way, we are wasting what little precious time we have with our dogs.

Life is not about doing. It’s about being.

Whether that is hanging out at home, hiking in the woods, or competing in a trial is immaterial. The place does not matter. The activity does not matter.

Being together is what counts.

It’s not worrying about the past. It’s not about figuring out what went wrong. It’s not about assigning blame. It’s not about “should have” or “could have” or “if only I had.”

We cannot change what has come before.

It’s not about planning for a different future. It’s not about wishing for something we do not have. It’s not about “someday” or “when this is over.”

Tomorrow may not come.

Life is about now. When we decide that the present is unacceptable, that it should be avoided, we lose the only thing we ever truly have- this one moment.

Be present.

Take in the sight of your dog’s sweet face. Feel his fur beneath your hand. Experience the joy that comes from chasing a ball. Listen to the symphony of your footsteps mingling with the jingling of your dog’s tags. Lose yourself in the smell of rain… or dirt… or fresh-mown grass.

Bask in the small moments.

Life is not perfect. Dissatisfaction is always possible. You will never have everything you want… but you have so much. See that. Feel that. Live that.

Be.

Thank You For Not Shaming Me

One of my private training students was recently recounting an incident in which her anxious, reactive dog left her side during agility class, ran over to another student who was holding her dog, and jumped up towards the dog, growling and snapping.

“I've never thought of him as aggressive before,” she told me, “but that scared me.” Then she said something that made my heart fall: “I'm thinking about using a shock collar the next time something like that happens.”

Long-time readers know that I am not a fan of hurting or scaring dogs in the name of training, especially in the name of a sport. There are good reasons for this, like the possibility of serious unintended consequences, but mostly I don't want to hurt my dog. I love her. Of course, my student loves her dog too, and so I kept my thoughts to myself and simply said, “Yeah? Tell me what you're thinking.”

We talked through the situation; what was happening before and after, what the class instructor said, that kind of thing. My student told me that she was scared that her dog might hurt someone else. She was angry, because she thought her dog was beyond that kind of behavior. And she was losing hope that she would ever be able to take her dog to agility trials. I empathized with her. I've felt all those things, too.

“Well,” I said, “I would be lying if I said that using corrections doesn't work. But your dog is already pretty anxious, and I'm concerned that if you were to use a shock collar on him, it would only increase his anxiety.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Our agility instructor was worried it might create a negative association with the obstacles, too.”

We talked a little longer about the idea, and I concluded by saying that while every person and dog is different, I don't think she needs to use a shock collar on her dog. He's trying so hard to be good, and there is a lot she could do increase the odds that they will be able to compete in agility together some day. Still, I told her, that decision is ultimately hers.

“Thank you for not shaming me.”

“Well,” I said, “It wouldn't have helped, would it?”

She laughed and said no. Then, more seriously, she shared that when she's suggested the idea to other positive trainers, they've reacted so negatively that it shut her down completely. Not only did that make her feel bad, but it also meant that she didn't get a chance to learn about why they felt it was a bad idea, or to learn other options.

That makes me sad, because I really believe that my job as a dog trainer (and for that matter, as a social worker, too) is to educate my clients about their options, share my recommendations, and then empower them to make their own decisions. Of course, I hope that they will follow my advice, but if they opt not to, I want to be able to refer them to a trainer who has the skills needed to minimize the risks inherent in the use of punishment.

Besides, I like people. I don't want to shame them- that's just mean. And if I wouldn't be mean to a dog, why would I do it to his owner?

Shedd Animal Training Seminar: Who Are You Training?

There are many ways to know an animal. From understanding the basics about what kind of animal it is to the intimate bonds that can come only with time... well, there’s a difference between knowing about an animal to really knowing a particular one. Ken Ramirez argues that the best training happens with the latter, when you understand who that animal is as an individual.

To explain why he believes this, I'm putting Ken's words into my own framework (so if this completely and utterly doesn't work, blame me, not him): Ken's Hierarchy of Knowing the Animal. Similar to Maslow's hierarchy, you need to understand things about the animal at the bottom of the pyramid before you can move on to the next level.

Understand the Species
At the base of the pyramid, the very first thing you need to have is a basic understanding of the species of animal you have sitting in front of you. This might seem obvious, but while you can train both a horse and a dog, they are very, very different animals. One is a predator, the other is prey, and this very basic fact greatly changes the way the animal acts and reacts to the environment, and by extension, training.

According to Ken, there are three things to consider when you are learning about a species in general. The first is its natural history. What factors led this species to be evolutionarily successful? How does it live, survive, and thrive in the wild? Next, you need to learn about the species' biology and physiology. Can the animal physically do what you're asking of it? A horse will never be able to climb a vine the way primates do, no matter how clever of a trainer you are. Also think about the animal's diet: that same horse is unlikely to accept the hunk of beef you offer a dog or cat. Finally, you need to understand the uniqueness and specialization of the particular species in front of you. Although dogs and wolves are very similar in many ways, they are also very different. (Consider, for example, the studies on pointing, or the detour task.)

Current Circumstances
The next level of the pyramid is examining where the animal currently is. In a zoo setting, the answers at this level will likely be the same for all of its tigers or dolphins, but in pet homes, there may be only one animal to consider, blurring it with the next level. There are two categories in this level, and can be considered in either order.

One thing to do is to take a look at the current health of this animal. Is it well? If not, what's wrong, and how will that affect training? (Should you be training it all?) Ken pointed out that a huge part of health is diet and nutrition. He is adamant that all animals should receive a “base diet” every day. This is the food that the animal needs to live, and is given regardless of whether or not it performs in training or not. He strongly believes that if an animal does not learn the give task- or even if it refuses to participate at all- it should still be fed adequately.

You should also consider the animal's current environment. There are a lot of things that make up an animal's environment. For example, what space does the animal have available to it? Does it use the entire space? Is it adequate to allow the animal to use its body the way it should? What is the temperature and weather like? What kind of items are in its space- is it all one level, or is there foliage or furniture for the animal to explore? Can the animal run, hide, climb, jump?

Another huge part of the environment is the social structure, both in terms of conspecifics, but also other animals in the area. Dominance has become something of a dirty word in the dog world, but no matter what you call it, it's undeniable that animals have social relationships with one another, with some being more dominant/confident/assertive/bossy/whatever than others. How does this influence your animal’s behavior?

Finally, you need to consider the public. In zoo settings, this is obvious: the public expects to see the animals, and makes up apart of the environment by necessity. For dogs, the public is also a concern (can that child pet your dog?), although perhaps not as pervasive as for an animal that lives on display.

All of these factors will impact the animal's ability to focus on training, so it is important when you’re trying to understanding the animal. Just keep in mind that these things can also change if the animal moves to a new zoo or home.

The Individual Animal's History
This level of the pyramid starts to look at who the particular animal you have in front of you is. Each animal in a group, even if housed together and fed the same things, will have different life experiences which will impact your training.

Ken encouraged us to consider where the animal came from. A wild-caught animal will likely behave differently than one born in captivity, just as a puppy from a good breeder as opposed to a puppy mill will likely have very different socialization experiences. Also consider how the animal was raised: by its mother or a bottle? Interestingly, in zoological settings, a human-raised animal is typically more aggressive in adulthood. Was the animal rescued and rehabilitated in some way? Many of Shedd's animals have been rescued- from sea otters affected by oil spills to birds of prey who had been injured- and their first contact with humans may affect how they react to training. Indeed, the type and amount of previous human interaction will shape who the animal is and how it acts.

Another option to learn about an individual animal is to do systematic observations, something the Shedd does often. I spent the week sitting next to one of the staff, and she had a shift each week where all she did was observe and record what the baby dolphin was doing every sixty seconds. Of course, this would be incredibly tedious with our dogs, but even just making it a point to check in and see what they're doing every so often can tell us a lot about their preferences. Observing an animal with an open mind allows us to get to know them based on who they really are, and not just what we assume to be true.

The animal's previous training history is also important to consider. This is perhaps less of a concern for pets who only have one or two people working with it, but in a zoological setting, dozens of staff may work with each animal, and in any given day, the animal may have four or five different people training it. For this reason, Shedd keeps meticulous training records, both on the training goals and plans in general, as well as the progress made in each individual session. Most dog owners aren't quite this meticulous, but it is helpful to know which cues the animal responds to, the types of behaviors it prefers (and struggles with), and a general idea of what you want to accomplish next.

Relationship with the Trainer
Finally, at the very top of the pyramid, you should consider the relationship between the individual animal and the individual trainer. Training is so much easier when you both trust one another. Animals comfortable with their trainers will take more risks and be more creative, while trainers who truly know their animal will find it easier to know when to raise criteria or when to slow down. Although I feel like I'm pretty good at reading dog body language, I'll admit that it's much easier for me to read my own dog than to read client dogs. For Maisy, shifting her tail even half an inch can tell me so much about her emotional state, something I might not notice with a dog I'm not familiar with.

Undoubtedly, you can train an animal without having a relationship with it. You can stay at the first or second level of the pyramid and still train an animal quite well; Skinner's experiments with operant conditioning chambers proved that long ago. Ken showed us some fascinating videos of sea lions which had been caught for a scientific study and were going to be released back to the wild. Because they didn't want the animals to habituate to humans, they did all the training remotely. All the trainers needed to know was what motivates sea lions in general and how to manipulate the current environment to meet their goals.

But the more you know about an animal, the more tools you have in your training toolbox. You will have a better idea of what reinforcers to use, how distractable the animal is, and how quickly it learns. And when you have a relationship with that animal, you are both free to try new things and to achieve amazing things together as a result.

So, what do you think: does this hierarchy make sense or have I made a mess of whatever brilliance Ken was trying to convey? Would you agree with the order in which I presented this? Do you think that knowing an animal better is advantageous to training? How have you experienced these different rungs on the training hierarchy? I'd really love to hear your opinion!

Be True

Have you ever heard the expression, “The only thing two trainers can agree on is that the third trainer is wrong?” While a bit hyperbolic, the underlying message is true. I spend a lot of time lurking on email lists and blogs. I’ve read dozens of books. I go to seminars every chance I get. And if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that there are some strong disagreements about the best way to train a dog.

So what’s the deal? How can all of these wildly contradictory methods be right? Are some of the examples just a fluke? Are people lying? I don’t think so. Even when I’m sitting there, shaking my head, I still believe that their method works. Just not for my dog. Or, perhaps more accurately, for me.

I began thinking about this recently after I attended the Jane Killion seminar. As I said then, Jane is an incredibly talented trainer, and I have no doubt that she gets amazing results from the dogs she works with. But I just couldn’t imagine emulating her. No matter how wonderful her results, I just couldn’t see myself doing those same things with my dog. Not because she’s wrong. Because I am not her.

When I was in college, I was taught that the social worker’s greatest tool is not the theories we were learning. Nor is it the interpersonal techniques we learned. Instead, the social worker’s greatest tool is her self. We spent an almost painful amount of time exploring our past. We needed to examine how our personalities, beliefs, values, cultures, and experiences would impact our work. To become a good social worker, we were told, you must master both the clinical skills learned in school and authentically integrate your self into that process.

Although I hated those classes, I have come to appreciate the message. I cannot be anyone except who I am, and trying to put on what I perceive to be the “correct” social worker persona has been fruitless. People can spot a fake a mile away, and since my work is dependent on my ability to form relationships with my clients, I need to be genuine. My professional knowledge and skills are best implemented when done in a way that is consistent with my personality. Or to put it more simply: my best work happens when I am honestly and truly myself.

The same thing is true when it comes to dog training. It seems to me that perhaps the hardest part of teaching our dogs is not learning the theories and the skills needed, but rather, finding a way to use that knowledge and those abilities in an authentic way.

Of course, this is not to say that we shouldn’t adapt our approaches. One of the most basic principles of social work is to meet your client where they are. Regardless of the species, everyone I work with is an individual. You have to train the dog in front of you. Therefore, the challenge in dog training is finding a way to meet the dog’s needs while still remaining true to your self.

Personally, I have found that I do best- with both people and dogs- when I can praise often and laugh with abandon. It is impossible for me to separate out my sometimes quirky sense of humor from my professional self. Sometimes I need to temper it, but I would be as fake as a five dollar bill (bonus points to anyone who gets that joke!) if I couldn’t express that part of my self at all. As a result, I have found that Denise Fenzi’s highly energetic and enthusiastic style resonates deeply with me, and I am forever grateful that she showed me it’s possible to train that way.

What about you? How do you use your self in training? Have you found some styles work better with your personality than others? Let me know!


Further Reading on the Concept of Self in Social Work
The Conscious Use of Self, by Heydt and Sherman
An Introduction to Use of Self in Field Placement, by Walters
Use of Self and Ethics Risk Management, by Reamer

The Family that Clicks Together, Stays Together

I can’t remember who started it, exactly, but some time in the past year or so, my husband and I began to use the word “click” with one another. I’m pretty sure it was a joke at first- a humorous extension of what we were reading in books and hearing at seminars. We laughed at our own silliness.

Slowly, the word became our preferred way of thanking the other for a favor or for doing a particularly distasteful chore. “I went grocery shopping on the way home from work.” “Oh, click!” It was still amusing, but the silliness gave way to genuine gratitude.

But this little relationship quirk has gone even further lately. Apparently, I have a tendency to leave the light on in the front room, a habit which causes glare on the television screen, and thus greatly annoys my husband.

For awhile, he simply grumbled about it. “Ugh, I hate when you leave that light on,” he’d say, stomping over to turn it off. Or: “Can’t you ever remember to turn that off?” I’d apologize and promise to do it tomorrow. But after several weeks of grumbling and nagging, my behavior hadn’t changed at all, so my husband decided to try a different approach.

“Honey, would you like to earn a click?” I looked at him, confused. Apparently, his annoyed grumbling hadn’t been strong enough to make a lasting impression on me. He nodded towards the front room.

“Oh,” I said, realizing that he wanted to me to turn off the light. And then, “Oh!” as it dawned on me that this had really been bugging him. And finally, “OH!” as I realized I had an opportunity to make him happy. I quickly jumped up and scrambled over to the light switch.

I cannot tell you how exciting that moment was for me. I love my husband, so while I might have some annoying habits, I don’t mean to upset him on purpose. On the contrary, if I can do something to make his life better, I want to do it. Here he presented me with a very small, easy thing I could do for him to show that I cared.

As I did, he simply said, “click.” It may sound silly, but I beamed in response. I loved knowing that he appreciated my action, no matter how small and inconsequential it might be. I found his simple response incredibly rewarding.

This scenario repeated itself for a few days, and within a week I was actively turning off the light without being prompted. At first, I did it ostentatiously so he’d notice, but soon, it became a habit.

To be honest, I’m not sure why his nagging failed to motivate me, but a single, simple word did. I mean, it’s not like I wanted him to grumble at me, nor did I want him upset with me. But it didn’t change my behavior the way that “click” did- no, the way even the mere possibility of a click did.

I have no idea what our dogs think about training. I can’t tell you exactly how they feel when we grumble or nag them, nor when we offer them a chance to earn a click. It would probably be anthropomorphic to say they must have the same reaction I did... but I’m going to risk it.

Maisy, sensitive soul that she is, hates being told she was wrong, no matter how gently I do it, and it rarely causes lasting behavior change. Perhaps if my punishments were harsher, the lesson would stick, but just as my husband doesn’t really want to pick a fight with me, I don’t really want to yell at her.

What’s more, Maisy loves to get things right. I know people often say dogs have no innate desire to please us, and that may be true. Maisy wants tangible rewards, no doubt about it, but she’ll also work for my praise and affection. We’ve developed a relationship that has made my opinion valuable to her, which is why I can’t help but think that a smile and a kind word is just as exciting to her as it is to me. Just as I was glad I could make my husband happy, Maisy seems overjoyed to do the same for me.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it’s simply a function of a strong reinforcement history. Maybe my praise has been conditioned to be rewarding because it's been followed by food in the past. I don’t know, and really, I don't think it matters. Because when I see her eyes light up and her tail wag wildly in circles, I can’t help but think being clicked makes her feel as good as I did when turned off that light.

Our Competition Future

You may have noticed that there was a distinct lack of performance-related items in my 2012 goals, especially in terms of titles and trials. This was no accident. Despite the fact that Maisy was a total rockstar at her first obedience trial last month, I'm still not sure what her competition future holds. Most notably, I'm not convinced that trialling is in her best interests.

The truth is, Maisy was stressed at the trial last month. She was less stressed than I've seen her in the past, which is great, but she was still stressed. She scratched herself in the ring. She mildly snarked at another dog in the crating area. She could not relax in her car crate, despite the many, many hours of practice we've put in over the past year. Once we got home, she jumped at every little sound, which broke my heart. I haven't seen her like that in a long time.

I love looking at this face in the ring.

Her score and performance were admirable in and of themselves, but once you know the back story? They become amazing! In fact, one of Maisy's greatest skills is her ability to work through stress. She might be freaking out, but she will still do her best for me. Although it would be easy to ignore her distress and put her through her paces, I just don't feel that's fair. I know there are people who disagree with me, or who think I'm worrying needlessly, or accuse me of being overprotective, but I am not willing to put my dog's comfort and happiness on the line simply for the glory of a ribbon or a title.

With all that said, I'm also not willing to give up on a promising performance career just yet. In retrospect, the trial was poorly timed. It came the day after Christmas, a holiday which is tense and stressful around my house, and Maisy is exquisitely sensitive to the moods of her people. Since my husband and I had a hard time keeping our own stress from boiling over, I am quite sure that at least some of her behavior at the trial was a result of what had happened in the days leading up to it.

More than that, even though she was stressed, she truly seemed to enjoy some aspects of the trial. The video is proof that she was pretty happy to be playing the obedience game, and she liked visiting with all the people that were there. Most importantly, we were together. Maisy is my dog, through and through, and she wants to be where I am.

So we will try again. We will enter another trial, and I will keep a close eye on her stress levels, both during and after the trial. We will do one day only, and only one run. If she's feeling okay, we'll do another trial, and another. But if she's not? Well, I will have to think long and hard about whether or not we should keep competing.

Because here's the thing: I believe that Maisy can work through her stress because of the relationship we have. Maybe it's purely reinforcement history, or maybe it's because she trusts me. I don't know. Whatever the reason, it's clear that Maisy is willing to face her fears and keep working simply because I ask her to.

And if she's willing to do that- if she's willing to look a panic attack in the face and say, “Excuse me, but my mom wants me to heel right now,”- well, I had better live up to my end of the bargain. Hopefully I can find a way to do that while still competing with her. But if I can't? I'll give it all up in a heartbeat, because I want to be someone worthy of her trust.

What it Means to be a Positive Trainer

On a cool, autumn evening, my dog and I were walking out of a local obedience training club. This particular club is based on positive reinforcement principles, and the sound of clickers echo throughout the building. We met a teenager in the foyer area and exchanged pleasantries. She then looked at me  and said, “You know, I don’t understand that clicker training thing they do here.”

“I clicker train my dog,” I told her. “Basically, the clicker tells the dog when he’s done something right so he’ll do it again.”

“Hmm. Well, my mom didn’t use one with our dog, and he’s very obedient!”

“Oh,” I replied, shrugging, “that’s because there are lots of ways to train a dog. Clicker training is just one of them.”

We parted ways at that point, but I’ve thought about that brief encounter a lot since then, mostly because it was so different from many of the conversations I've been part of in the past. Like so many other dog-lovers, I have strong feelings about training methods, and I have engaged in my own fair share of online debates. I've publicly asserted that pain and fear are not needed in training, and I stand by that. Still... I have to think that my conversation with that teenager was more productive than most of my online preaching.

Preaching. Now there's a fitting word. I've noticed that humans, as a whole, tend to gravitate towards those who think like they do. The end result is that we dog trainers typically interact only with those who use similar methods. We even act a little cultish at times; we have our own language and customs. We're all convinced that ours is the one true way, and we try to convert others to our cause.

Like I told that girl, there are lots of different ways to train a dog, and those different ways work. It seems silly to have to point that out- no one would do something if it didn't work- but the internet has taught me that there are people out there who believe the other side's methods are ineffective. That isn't true, of course; there are many methods that will work on any given problem, and each has their pros and cons. We have to choose methods that we have the knowledge and skill to carry out, and ultimately, we must be comfortable with our choices.

You may have made a different decision than I have, and that's okay. While I will admit to having an obvious bias, as time has passed, my goal has become less about “winning” and convincing others to do things the way I do, and more about calmly explaining dog-friendly methods. I've come to realize that holier-than-thou attitudes, arguments, and name-calling almost always fail to change others. Worse, they usually cause people to quit listening and close their minds to different ideas entirely.

Of all my beliefs about dog training, this is the strongest: A positive trainer is as kind to other people as she is to her dog. I believe in clicker training, yes, but more than that, I believe in education. I enjoy scientific studies. I like reading books and going to seminars. I love learning, and that is why I blog: because I want others to come away with a new idea to think about. Ultimately, I don't expect you to do things exactly the same way I do. I hope that you'll find a kinder way to train your dog, of course, but mostly I want you to keep learning, to keep growing, and to become a better trainer... whatever that might look like.

That is why this- above all else- is my goal for the new year. I work hard to avoid hurting my dog, and I think that I should work just as hard to avoid shaming and ridiculing people just because they do things differently than I do. I will be positive with canine and human alike.

And I ask: will you join me?

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.

I am not a perfect trainer.

I am not a perfect trainer.

I make a lot of mistakes. My criteria is often inconsistent. Sometimes I push her too hard, and sometimes I don't ask enough. My body language can be confusing; I lean over her, I keep treats in my hands. I really suck at getting things on cue, and I often reward bad responses. Sometimes I even laugh when she's naughty.

And oh, how I laugh.

My skills may be nothing to write home about, but my enthusiasm more than makes up for it. I laugh and smile and cheer my dog on when she gets it right, and I encourage her when she gets it wrong. I enjoy learning. Training brings me joy, and serves to deepen our relationship. I love spending time with my dog.

No, I am not a perfect trainer. But I'm pretty good at the stuff that matters.

Relationship Matters for the Dog, Too

 
In my last post, I explored the concept that having a relationship with a dog makes it easier for the human part of the equation to cope with his issues. But as several commenters pointed out, relationship matters at the other end of the leash, too. While that wasn’t the focus of my post, I have to agree. In fact, I agree so much that I decided to write about it today.

The little shelter dog I was working with came to the rescue as a stray. We don’t know his breed, his age, or anything about his history. We have some guesses, sure, but they're just that. Where was he born? To whom? What were his early experiences with humans like? Why is he so suspicious of us? How did he learn to use his mouth?

I have so many questions, but I will never know the answers. And just as I don’t know anything about him, he doesn’t know anything about me. Am I trustworthy? Will I listen to his warnings? Can I even see them? How far does he need to go to make sure I understand he’s uncomfortable? Are all my clicks and treats an indication of my character, or are they simply empty promises?

He has no way to answer his questions about me, either; he has no history upon which to draw. Complicating matters, in the last month or so, he has had contact with so many strangers- from his caretakers at the pound, to the two separate foster homes he’s been in, to me, the unknown trainer- well, it’s been a jumbled mix of interactions that probably contributes to his overall confusion and distrust.

Contrast this to Maisy, who, despite her rocky beginnings, has learned that humans are generally okay. Certainly she knows that I, as her person, will do my best to protect her. Sure, I make mistakes. I get frustrated sometimes, and occasionally I miscalculate how stressful a given situation may be for her. Despite my failings, she seems to understand that I have the best of intentions. Just as I have developed a relationship with her, she’s developed one with me.

This relationship- that is, the dog’s relationship to the human- is clearly important. It allows him to know what to expect from the person holding his leash. Not having any history with me means my little shelter dog needs to constantly evaluate my role in his safety (or lack thereof). While Maisy has learned that I do not pose a threat, my little shelter dog has not. As a result, it is clear that, just as it matters to me, relationship matters for the dog, too.

Relationship Matters

The last few Sundays, I've been volunteering with a really cool shelter-training program. Dogs who are in a shelter or foster home can come to a free training class, where they learn basic skills like walking nicely on a leash, settling on a mat, and being comfortable with handling. Most of the dogs come with their foster-person, but since some have more than one foster dog, I've been acting as an extra handler.

The dog I've been working with is very cute. He loves to play, and he's pretty smart. However, he is not without his issues. He is fearful of new people, and while he has great bite inhibition, he's not afraid to use his mouth to get his point across. He also has an incredibly short attention span, and he's very environmentally aware, tipping quickly into reactivity.

He reminds me a lot of Maisy, to be honest. From the way he whips his head around, checking for threats, to his eagerness to earn a click, he shares many traits with her (though, thankfully, she's never been a biter). You'd think that this would endear him to me. You'd think that I'd be brimming with understanding and compassion. Instead, I find him frustrating. Despite his small size, he's a lot of dog. Like the old days with Maisy, it takes a ton of energy to manage him in order to prevent reactive outbursts, and even so, he goes over threshold quickly and frequently.

So what's the difference? My only explanation can be summed up in one word: relationship.

Photo by Sara Reusche

Maisy has always been my dog. From that first inexplicable moment when I laid eyes on her, I've known that. I didn't even really like dogs, yet I was ready to sacrifice my home in order to have her in my life, and I've never looked back. Oh, sure, we struggled during those early months. After the third time she peed on my carpet in as many hours on the day she came home, I'll admit to wondering if I'd made a mistake. But as the months went on, I learned how to potty-train a puppy, and she learned how to go outside.

Time only seems to strengthen our bond. By the time I realized that Maisy's temperament left something to be desired, I was so completely in love with her that I knew the only option was to get through it together. Our relationship meant that I wouldn't give up on her. It gave me the ability to empathize with her anxiety. It allowed me to see her as more than just her bad behavior. It somehow gave me the strength to continue on despite the embarrassment and the exhaustion.

And let's be honest: working with a reactive dog is exhausting. The constant management, vigilance, and training takes a toll on the human trainer. Although I can handle it for the hour that I'm working with my Sunday shelter dog, I'm left feeling much more tired than I ever remember feeling with Maisy. I can't even imagine fostering- let alone living with this dog.

Perhaps things would change as I got to know him better. Perhaps the benefit of proximity and time would help abate some of that fatigue. But the one thing I've learned is that- for me anyway- relationship matters.

Denise Fenzi Seminar: The Only Thing You Can Take in the Ring

Denise Fenzi told us that while you can trick a dog into thinking that you have food or toys in the ring, you can't do it indefinitely. If you're lucky, you'll fool the dog through his UD, but if you plan to try for the UDX or the OTCh, things will probably fall apart. At some point, you need to create inherent value for both the work and for yourself.

Take a moment to think about your closest friends. What do they have in common? For me, there are three main things. First, my friends and I often do fun things together- whether it's a silly board game or tubing on the lake. Next, I find them endlessly interesting. We come from all sorts of backgrounds, so I'm always learning something new from them. Finally, and most importantly,  my best friends are the ones who support me when I make mistakes, who encourage me to try harder, and who celebrate with me when I succeed.

My good friend Sara and I talking to Denise Fenzi.

Photo by another good friend, Robin Sallie.

While my answers are honest, they're also convenient, because many of the things I saw Denise do (or that she encouraged us to do) fit into these three categories. The way she trains lends itself well to developing great relationships with dogs, and I really think this is the part of the seminar that will change my training life.

Let's start by talking about play. Part of the reason Denise spent so much time talking about tugging is because it's a great way to play with your dog. But you can't take toys in the ring, so you need to find ways to play without them. On day two of the seminar, Denise had each of the working teams play without toys. This was easy for some, and harder for others, but Denise coached each pair on how to have fun together.

For example, she played a tag and chase game that many of the dogs loved- when the dog got into heel position, she would lightly touch his shoulder or chest, and then turn quickly and run away so the dog would chase her. She also encouraged the dogs to be physical; running and jumping is rewarding to most dogs. She did this by using things like the opposition reflex (where she pulled the dog back and then let him shoot away towards a jump or dumbbell) or hand touches in order to get the dog to jump in the air.

Play is a great way to reward the dog, but you need to make the work itself interesting, too. Simply drilling the exercises is boring, even if it is interspersed with play, and most dogs will droop under the weight of endless repetitions. Denise encouraged us to think outside the box- you don't need to train the exercises in a set order, nor do you need to do the full exercise every time you train. Instead, she recommended mixing things up each time so that the dog never knows what to expect. Sometimes you might recall the dog to sit in front of you, and other times you might have him run between your legs. Do signals backwards, or start from a down instead of a stand. Have the dog sit on recall instead of drop. The opportunities are endless.

While most people don't think about it this way, heeling really is just one long drill. Walking in straight lines? Not that exciting. Your job as the trainer is to mix it up, and Denise does this by walking erratically. She drifts left and right, makes frequent turns, and spins in circles. She does serpentines. She keeps it interesting by being unpredictable. And when she goes in the ring and walks in a straight line? Well, since that's so unusual compared to what she does in training, her dogs find it interesting too.

Finally, a good relationship will be supportive. One of the things that was so absolutely revolutionary to me was the way Denise used her voice in training. She is always talking to the dogs she's training. I am often rather quiet while training- that's what many of the leading clicker trainers recommend you do, after all. But one of Denise's cricitisms of clicker purists is that it uses silence as a “No Reward Marker.” In other words, clicker trainers tend to allow silence to let the dog know he hasn't got it quite right yet, and uses a marker- either a click or a verbal word like “Yes!”- to let him know when he's got it right.

This can backfire in the ring, where the handler must remain silent, even when the dog has it right. Denise's solution is both brilliant and obvious, and it makes me feel a bit stupid that I never thought of it myself. Simply put, she talks to the dog when he hasn't quite met her criteria yet, and then falls silent when he's got it right. After a few seconds (or longer, depending on the dog's level of training), she'll break the silence to reward him with praise and play. Thus, the silence begins to act as a secondary reinforcer by predicting exciting things. Genius.

But remember what I said about being supportive? It's important to note that she isn't scolding her dog or using a stern tone- she said that suppresses behavior instead of increasing it. Rather, she's encouraging the dog to try harder by being his own personal cheerleader. As I've begun to incorporate this into my heeling training with Maisy, I find myself saying things like, “Where's my puppy? I know she's around here somewhere! She should be right by my side!” in a very happy, upbeat tone. When she gets there, I'm quiet for a moment, and then BAM! I throw a verbal party.

In order to help the dog understand the difference between "you're almost there" and "you've got it," Denise said that you need to have two different levels of tone and energy when you're praising your dog. The “encouragement praise” is cheerful talk meant to keep the dog in the game, while the “party praise” should be over the top excitement. Both will be happy and positive, but it should be obvious to the casual bystander when the dog has gotten it right. In other words, Denise praises the dog for his efforts, and rewards the dog for success.

When the whole package is put together, what happens is that working becomes interesting and engaging because the handler is keeping things fresh and unpredictable. The dog remains motivated to keep trying because he's encouraged to do so. And when he gets it right, his reward is to celebrate with his trainer. Sometimes that means he is told how amazing he is, sometimes he gets a bit of food, and sometimes he gets to run and play. The common thread is that he always gets 100% of his person's attention, and the reward becomes more than just the tangible item he's given. It's about the interaction and relationship with his person.

Look, I know it sounds a little crazy. I don't entirely understand how it works myself- and I certainly can't explain it all in scientific terms- I just know that it does. Not only do Denise's accomplishments speak for themselves, but in a few short training sessions, I'm already seeing improvement in Maisy's enthusiasm and performance in both heeling and her dumbbell retrieve. Better yet- Maisy and I are having fun together.

What do you guys think? Do you talk during training, and how or when do you use silent? What troubles have you encountered? Do you think some of these ideas would help, or are you a bit skeptical? I'd love to hear your thoughts!

You Can Take the Geek Away from the Dogs...

She's down there... somewhere...

On Tuesday night, I went to the Lady Gaga concert. Wait, wait! I promise this will relate to dog training. After all, you can take the geek away from dogs, but you can’t… stop her… from thinking about dogs? I don’t know- I can’t make the metaphor work, but you know what I mean.

Anyway, I know that The Lady is not for everyone, and that’s fine. I’m not here to convince you that she’s the best thing to hit the airwaves in the last 10 years (although, in my opinion, she is. Before that, the best thing was Bree Sharp). But no matter if you love her or hate her, I think we can learn from her. As a result, I present to you…

The Top Four Things I Learned About Dog Training from Lady Gaga

1. Success takes hard work.
When Lady Gaga puts on a show, she goes all out. I was amazed by the fact that she could dance that well for that long. I mean, over 2 hours of all-out cardio would probably cause me to die of a heart attack. Not her, though. It’s clear that she’s put a lot of effort into her stage show, plus, she writes all of her own lyrics and plays the piano. She’s worked hard to get where she is.

Don’t get me wrong- success also takes talent, and a little bit of luck. But far and away, the most important ingredient for success is working hard. This means taking the time to build strong foundations for our dogs, proofing the exercises through increasing distractions, and educating ourselves on the best ways to train.

2. It’s not all about you.
Lady Gaga’s stage show was one-part charity fundraiser (for Re*Generation, a charity tackling youth homelessness), one-part social cause (gay rights, to which she devoted several songs), and one-part fan appreciation. The Lady really loves her fans, and she even delivered a lovely message that at the end of the night, we shouldn’t love her more, but rather, love ourselves more.

I suspect that the people who read my blog will agree with me: Dog sports are not all about us, the handlers. Part of why I enjoy training and trialing is the bond that I form with my dog in the process. I love the way it deepens our relationship. And I constantly remind myself that I will never sacrifice my dog’s well-being for the sake of a title. My dog doesn’t “owe” me anything, and her purpose is not to make me look good or to stroke my ego about what a good trainer I am. We’re a team. If she’s not having fun, if she doesn’t want to do it, that’s it. We’re done.

3. You have to follow your dreams.
Lady Gaga is really all about embracing your “inner freak.” She acknowledged that sometimes the media sends awful messages about how we ought look and think and act, but that we shouldn’t let society’s judgments stop us from being who we are, or who we want to become.

I think it’s easy to become discouraged sometimes, especially when you have a non-traditional breed, or a Dog with Issues. And yes, it will be more difficult for my friend and her greyhound to do obedience, or for Maisy to become a champion. We might never get there- see point 2 above- but that doesn’t mean we should give up before we even start.

4. Live in the moment.
I know this might sound odd, given Lady Gaga’s over-the-top costumes, crazy antics, and general theatrics, but the overall vibe I got from her was that of humility and thankfulness. She seems to know that popularity can be fleeting, and she doesn’t take that for granted. I think she’s loving every minute of what she’s got, knowing that it might be gone next year.

And isn’t that an important message for us all? It’s easy to dream big, or to get so focused on what we want that we forget to appreciate what we have right now. No matter where we are, whether it’s winning first place in the ring, or napping in the back yard with our dogs, we should appreciate that moment for everything that it is.

In Praise of the Abnormal Dog

During the first year after I learned that Maisy was reactive, I wished for a miracle. I wished she could be normal. Having a reactive dog can be exhausting, and I cannot tell you how many times I’ve enviously looked at the calm dog sitting at his owner’s feet, both of them completely relaxed in the face of the scary, scary world.

When no miracle occurred, I spent the second year badgering every trainer I could find, wanting to know if it’s possible for a reactive dog to become normal, and if so, asking them to look at Maisy and then tell me when, exactly, I could expect it to happen, and if not, how close to normal she might get.

Now, two years into dietary supplements and chiropractic care and counter-conditioning and specialized training classes, I’ve accepted that no, this is not a dog who will ever be normal. Don’t get me wrong- she’s come a very long way, and I have no reason to doubt that she won’t continue to improve, but normal? Not likely.

And you know what? I’m okay with that. No, wait, I’m glad for that. That might sound odd, but it seems like what people consider “normal” for dogs falls in two groups: the kind of dog that pretty much everyone has, and the kind that pretty much everyone wants.

The first group of dogs are the average dogs who belong to the average owner. You know, the good but under-trained dogs that pull on the leash, fail to come when called, and that regularly “blow off” their owner’s commands. They might have a bad habit or two- nothing serious or dangerous, but something simply annoying instead, like chewing on shoes or stealing food off the counter. These dogs could be great with a bit of training, but are just fine without.

I could never have one of these dogs. Plain and simple, I’m a training junkie, and I’ll always have a well-trained dog simply because I enjoy the process so much. My dog might make an error or two, but she’s good enough that most people are impressed by her.

Then there’s the other category- the kind of dog everyone wants, the “perfect” dog. These are the dogs that are described as loving everyone- children, dogs, men, cats, whatever- but they aren’t over-the-top about it. They are perfectly content to lie around the house with you, and while they’re willing to go for a walk or fetch a ball, they won’t pester you when you’re not in the mood. They do everything you tell them, and do nothing they shouldn’t.

In theory, I should want that dog, but honestly, it sounds kind of boring. Look, I get that my dog isn’t perfect. I get that she’s kind of quirky, and even sort of a pain in the butt sometimes. But I love her anyway, and not in spite of her faults… because of them.

They might seem awesome, but those “perfect” dogs seem kind of robotic to me. I love that Maisy has a mind of her own, even though she might be smarter than me. She’s definitely the better trainer between the two of us, anyway- she’s a master at getting me to do her bidding. But I love that she knows what she wants, and that she can find ways to communicate that to me. Thinking dogs might get into mischief from time to time, and they might embarrass you at the worst possible moment, but they’re also super-fun to train. I never know what kind of crazy behavior Maisy’s going to offer me next, and I swear, I probably have the only dog in the world that can pivot on a perch while simultaneously play-bowing.

Having a reactive dog isn’t always easy, it’s true. Sometimes her brain falls out of her head and she acts poorly. Sometimes we lose points in competition, sometimes we NQ, and sometimes she’s so stressed at trials that I have to scratch a run entirely. But she tries so hard for me! She gives me everything she’s got, even if it’s not much. When it comes right down to it, if she never wins another ribbon, it won’t matter.

You see, her reactivity has challenged me to become a better dog trainer. It has forced me to learn more, both theoretically and practically. It’s forced me to seek out better trainers to work with, which has, in turn, provided me with opportunities I wouldn’t have had otherwise. I’ve joined clubs and met people and made awesome new friends. It has also challenged me to think more critically about my training methods, and has brought me to a truly dog-friendly way of living. The end result has been a better relationship with my dog, one built upon mutual respect and love.

Her flaws might make me cry, but her strengths make me laugh. She’s a funny little dog, and has brought so much joy into my life. She celebrates with me when I’m happy and she licks my tears away when I’m sad. She’s taught me to slow down and smell… well, we’ve agreed to smell different things, but she’s taught me to enjoy every moment we have together. Simply put, she’s made my life so much better just by being who she is. I’m glad she’s not normal.

Whose responsibility is it, anyway?

Over on her blog, Kim asked “How much responsibility do you take for your dog’s reactions to things, and how he acts?” It’s a really fantastic post, full of questions but no answers- which makes it even better, in my opinion, since it lets you think through the answers for yourself.

And really, the answers are yours, and yours alone. After all, no two dogs are going to be alike, nor are any two handlers alike. I really think that the amount of responsibility we take for our dogs’ actions depends on the personalities involved.

Because of each of our personalities, when things go wrong with Maisy, I tend to assume that it was my fault. Maisy is a wonderful dog. She is smart and creative, tributes which have taught me the necessity of being clear in my requests. A failure for her to do something, and especially when she’s learning something new, is usually my fault, not hers.

I’ll never forget the exact moment I realized this, just over a year ago. I’d been trying to teach Maisy left pivots for what felt like forever. We’d done rear-end awareness exercises, like brick work, I’d tried luring and shaping her, and she just wasn’t getting it. But I knew she was smart, and since I’d tried several different training approaches, I decided to look at what I was doing. I realized that my body language was confusing her: my left shoulder was hunched forward, which was one of my nonverbal cues to move forward. I tried a huge, exaggerated backward movement with my shoulder, and she practically raced backwards!

This is true with known behaviors, too. Fronts get crooked if I hold my hands differently. Stays are broken if I don’t maintain eye contact with her. Seemingly small differences have huge impacts on her behavior.

There are also times where her failure is the result of my pushing her too far, too fast. I’m terribly impatient sometimes, which is definitely detrimental in the training process. For example, there have been times when I’ve called her and she hasn’t come. While she may be blowing me off for something more interesting, a close examination of the circumstances reveals the fact that I haven’t adequately proofed the exercise. Every time she’s “blown off” a recall, it’s been in a situation with higher distractions or longer distances than I’ve trained for.

But what about the times where she thoroughly understands the exercise, and where I’ve proofed it for the current level of distraction, distance and duration? Aren’t those failures her responsibility? Maybe… but maybe not. And here’s where another element of Maisy’s personality really informs my decision: She is a dog who wants to please me… at least enough to earn the reinforcement that might be waiting! As a result, I don’t assume that she is being willfully disobedient, at least not for the sake of being disobedient.

Last summer, she began to refuse jumps, even in the back yard. We’d been working on jumping in the backyard all summer, so I knew that she understood what I wanted. I was pretty sure I wasn’t doing anything different, so I was perplexed as to why she was failing to do what I asked. It was only later that I discovered that she’d pulled her iliopsis muscle. She wasn’t refusing to jump- she couldn’t jump, at least, not without pain! I’m glad I didn’t punish her failure to respond- I would have felt awful!



And then there’s stress… Maisy is insanely sensitive to my moods (can you say “ring nerves”??), and she finds certain places, sounds and sights kind of scary. When Maisy fails to respond during these times, I don’t blame her for it. I can’t. I’ve been in situations in which I was so shocked or scared that I felt like I couldn’t move. It’s a horrible feeling, so I have empathy for Maisy when it happens to her. It may not be my fault that she isn’t responding, but it isn’t really hers, either.

There’s also my personality to consider in all of this. I am a person who naturally takes on a lot of responsibility… some might call it guilt. Add to that the fact that I’m a hopeless perfectionist who is harder on herself than on others, and it’s not hard to understand why I take responsibility for Maisy’s failures more often than I blame her.

I recently had someone say to me, “I didn’t fail, I just didn’t succeed.” That’s how I feel about Maisy: her failures are never final, and there’s always another chance to get it right. Does that mean we might NQ at a trial? Oh, definitely, but it doesn’t really matter who screwed it up. In the end, all that really matters is the fact that we got to play the game together.