Barn Hunt

In our new effort to make training fresh again, Lowell and I are doing something we haven't done in a while - taking in-person lessons with our own dogs again!  Having decided the dogs could use a new activity, we decided to sign up for some barn hunt lessons with Tempo, Cadence, and Fate.  We thought it seemed like a fun option for all of them.  It is a terrier's dream for Tempo.  Cadence has done a bit of nose work in the past and enjoys it, and the physical demands of the sport are within his capabilities.  Fate just likes to do stuff.  Anything.  But, honestly, she tends to be so handler-focused, that an exercise like this where she needs to problem-solve independently is a good thing for her.

For anyone not familiar with barn hunt, it is basically tracking for live rats hidden (in safe, secure tubes) among bales of hay.  Lest anyone worry about the welfare of the rats, rest assured that all the barn hunt rats I have known are also loved family pets who are specifically desensitized to dogs and the tubes, are trained to go in on their own, and most I know are also given the choice on any given day whether or not they want to get in the tube to be the decoy.  I can tell you that the rat our dogs first learned on was so bold that he was trying to reach through the bars of his cage to get to the treats I was giving to my dog inches away.  I like rats.  I've had them as pets.  I wouldn't do any exercise that I felt was traumatic to them.  If you are worried, you can read more about barn hunt rat care here.

The way the terrier and the BCs took to the sport was quite different.  For Tempo, it is pure predation and terrier drive.  Once he saw the rat on the first day, he was hooked, but if anything his arousal and excitement becomes a barrier to him being able to think straight and figure out what is relevant.  His first couple runs tend to have a frantic, unfocused pace.  Rats! Hay! Barn! Smells!  Once he has bounced off every bale of hay a few times, he settles into it better and starts to think.  I think he finds the tube a bit disappointing though.  I think it is a little bit of a let down when he can't see the actual rat, so every now and then the instructor lets him have a little glimpse of the rat, which seems to make him happy.

When Cadence and Fate saw the rat in the cage at the first lesson, they were actually a little disturbed by him.  Once he was in his tube and they didn't have to look at him, they got into it as a nose work exercise though.  There is much less predatory drive at play for these two - instead it is a problem-solving task.  Cadence has done the most nose work, so he is picking the sport up the fastest of any of them.  His barrier right now is building confidence to climb up on the hay bales due to his coordination problems.  I can usually tell now if he thinks the rat is up high, so then I show him a safe way to get on the bales (which I'm told is legal as long as I don't touch him).

I think Fate honestly thought this was all a little bit stupid until halfway through the second lesson, when she finally started to put it all together.  Once the light bulb went on, she started straining to go between hides, so I think she's beginning to like it.

Here is a video of Cadence at his second lesson:


And one of Tempo:


(Lowell is asking if it is legal for him to use his body to block Tempo from attempting to jump straight off the top of the bales of hay - which he had already done once - and to guide him back to a safer climb down.  It was.)

Fresh Start

Wow, coming to my blog site today I realize it is approaching two years since I last made a post!  The reasons behind that I'm sure are varied.  When I started this, I was actively competing in dog sports with multiple dogs, and most of my posts were about those experiences and what I was learning along the way.

While my dogs, and dog training, are still huge parts of my life, competition hasn't been lately.  Dogs aged.  Dogs retired.  Cadence retired prematurely due to a random neurological event, and that more than anything took the wind right out of my sails for quite a while.  I had a lovely new agility prospect in Fate (and still do), but my heart wasn't into the competition anymore.  On weekends, we felt more inclined to stay at home with all the dogs and go for hikes, play in the yard, and do training games, rather than take only two of them off to a trial while the others sat home with only a mid-day bathroom break.

In addition, our training lives changed as well.  After a few years volunteering at the local humane society, we began teaching dog training classes to the public there.  Soon after we both became Certified Professional Dog Trainers, and we started our own training business.  Helping owners and dogs work through often difficult behavioral challenges has become a passion, and I feel grateful and surprised every day about the fascinating road this is leading me on.

Our own dog training never stopped.  We set up agility courses in the backyard.  We teach new tricks.  We continue to reinforce good manners in public.  We try new training challenges.  We meet with other trainer friends for training outings and pick different things to work on.  And we brought new family members of the feathered variety into our home and became fascinated by how they learn as well.  But without the motivation of competition or the ritual of logging and tracking my progress, I felt like things were getting . . . kind of stale.

So, coming back from ClickerExpo 2016 last week, I felt like I needed a new program to clarify my training goals, really start tracking progress again, and pushing myself to work towards a higher performance - whether that means competition (I hope so) or just my own pleasure at watching my dogs' (and birds') successes.  I got some great ideas about how to make sure my daily training stays fresh from my friend Chris's blog, and found a cool new on-line training log being started by the family of some trainer friends that while only in beta version is quite useful already!  I figured with these new ideas and tools, the last piece for keeping me accountable should be also resurrecting this blog, which, even if it is only for my own amusement and interest, is a nice way to see where we've been and where we are going.

So, if you are interested in watching along with my training adventures with some border collies, a terrier, and a couple of parrots, stay tuned, and I'll do my best to get back in this blogging habit.

When It Isn't a Training Problem

Early last week, our newest addition, Tempo, turned into a 12-pound walking behavior problem.  Now, even on his best days, Tempo is still a Jack Russell terrier who didn't receive one lick of training for the first six years of his life, but usually his cuteness still greatly outweighs his terrier moments, and we all like and enjoy each other.

Around last Monday, he became disagreeable about just about everything.  If he was inside, he didn't want to go outside.  If he was outside, he didn't want to come in.  If he was in the living room, he didn't want to go to the bedroom; if in the bedroom, he wouldn't want to go into the living room.  Don't even think about moving him.  If he was in your lap, you better stay put.  If he was laying down, don't dream of picking him up.  He didn't want to go to his crate.  If he was in his crate, he didn't want to even lay eyes on you, and he barked incessantly.  House-training became a thing of the past.  Mostly he glared at us, all "sideways-eared" as we call it.  Lowell was reminded of a Twilight Zone episode, pretty sure Tempo was trying to turn us into a cornfield.  Sometimes he made much uglier faces, and it was pretty clear what he was thinking.

By Thursday night, we were beside ourselves.  We felt like failures as dog owners and dog trainers.  We knew he was a "diamond in the rough" but nothing we couldn't handle, so how was it possible that he was actually getting worse?

Was he too stressed in a house full of bigger dogs?  No, it really didn't seem like it.  He likes the dogs, and even in his crabbiest moments, has never had any qualms with them.  Did he not like where his crate was, on top of the Border Collie's crates?  We moved it to the other side of the room on the floor, to no avail.  He was getting exercise, training, mental stimulation, attention, and quiet rest time as well.  We feed a good diet.  We think his life is pretty low-stress.  We use force-free training methods - never any corrections or punishments.  We knew what issues he did have (some impulse control and minor resource guarding stuff), and had been implementing positive training protocols to address those things.  What on earth were we doing wrong?!?

Friday morning he woke up, and refused breakfast.  He spent that morning mostly slinking around under the bed or the couch.  When he did emerge and let me hold him, I could hear from his (loud and constant) stomach sounds that things weren't settled right in there.  He was fussy and stretched a lot and couldn't get comfortable anywhere for very long.

He ate a small amount that evening, pepped up a bit, but continued to be a jerk and not himself.  Saturday he refused breakfast again.  Still behaving like a ray of sunshine.  He had one bout of diarrhea, still had a bit of a rumbly tummy, but no other symptoms.  We continued to monitor him, treat what symptoms he had, and were vigilant for any other changes or signs for more immediate concern.

Feeling crappy

Saturday afternoon, he came out of his crate from a nap, and was a whole new dog.  He ate, played, wagged his tail (well, his "nubbin"), jumped on us with kisses, played with his toys - "killing" them violently, and tore around the yard like a maniac.  His ears are pointed skyward again - not sideways and sad looking.  He is biddable (for a JRT), agreeable (for a JRT), and seems to genuinely like us again.  He only grumbled to himself once when we moved him over on the couch last night (like I said, he's not perfect).

I always remind the dog owners I work with to rule out physical/medical reasons for behavior changes, but this was a good reminder of just how subtle things can be.  I suspect now he hadn't been feeling 100% all week, but there were no other noticeable changes besides his personality.  I had started to wonder if he had a seizure disorder or some other weird brain stuff going on, and would have started doing diagnostics as my next step if his behavior hadn't improved, but still I really was puzzled and thought I would probably be grasping at straws there.  We are thinking he was having some stomach discomfort maybe related to some new training treats we tried, or perhaps some type of virus he picked up.  It didn't seem major, but enough to make him uncomfortable, and consequently unpleasant, turning his "training issues" into something resembling a much more concerning behavior problem.  We are glad that it seems to have passed without too much incident.

Sometimes things are obvious - the dog who is having accidents in the house turns out to have a UTI, or the dog who snapped at you when you scratched his head has a raging ear infection.  But sometimes it isn't that easily diagnosed.  If your dog suddenly undergoes a drastic behavior change, or if you are using sound, proven behavior modification principles and seeing no improvement at all, please remember to rule out medical issues as well.  Your dog will thank you!

What about you?  Have you ever had a training issue actually turn out to be a veterinary one?

Happy again after a day of play!

Hard Learned Lessons: On Goals, Fairness, and What It Means to "Quit"

"Being realistic about what a dog can and cannot do is an act of love." - Suzanne Clothier

Five years ago, I had big dreams and big goals.  I had been bitten hard by the agility bug, and I wanted to start a dog as a puppy and do everything right and one day have a world-level competitor.  I immersed myself in DVDs, seminars, on-line courses, books, you name it.  And I researched and researched and felt ecstatic when I put a deposit down on the puppy of my dreams.  When he was born, I knew the second I saw his photo that he was the one I'd have.  I picked him up in May five years ago, and haven't been apart from him for a single night since.  We fell madly in love with each other.  He and I are the same. Soul mates. We get each other, and we are a lot alike.  We set out with big expectations and big dreams.

That puppy was Cadence, of course.

Cadence is brilliant, clever, resourceful, passionate, energetic, determined, affectionate, funny, and charming.  He is also cautious, sensitive, particular, emotional, opinionated, and prone to worry.

Cadence loves long hikes on remote forest trails, swimming, running, camping, campfires, frisbee, soccer balls, chest rubs, playing with Maebe, and car rides.  He loves to learn, loves to do tricks, loves to problem-solve, loves to use his nose, loves to get as close to me as physically possible, and loves to play agility.  

He does not love chaos.  He does not love out of control motion.  And he does not love being at your average agility class or trial.

For all the genius, drive, and physical ability that Cadence showed from an early age, I struggled for four years to get him to feel comfortable in a group class or trial setting.  When I walked him into a building or a ring, what I saw was a dog who was stressed.  How could he possibly do agility (something he did love) when there was so much noise, so much motion, so many other dogs he didn't know, so much out of control?

Many times I questioned whether my goals were fair.  Whether they were realistic.  Whether they were worth it.  I saw a dog trying as hard as he could to ignore his discomfort all for my sake, and questioned how important something like agility was.

I was told not to give up. That I was doing such a great job.  That he showed such promise on the agility course.  

And I know what others who only saw him in that context must have thought.  That he was "reactive."  That I should medicate him.  Neuter him.  Get tougher on him.  Start punishing him.  These things all were said to me.  People all had their interpretations of his behavior, and what I should do, yet nobody acknowledged his (to me) obvious stress.  Maybe they also thought I should stop, but nobody ever said that.

To his amazing credit, he tried hard.  Harder than most of us would have.  If a dearly beloved friend or family member asked me to get up and sing at a public event, I couldn't, no matter how happy it would make them.  In fact, I'd probably actually resent being asked to do something so outside my comfort level.  But I was asking the same thing of Cadence.  And he did it, without resentment.  We entered some trials, got some beginning-level titles, earned a few ribbons.  I entered him for a full day at an outdoor trial in June last year, his first time at a venue other than where we normally train and trial, and he did a good job.  A few seconds here and there of distraction, but he ran each and every course with me and picked up a few more Q's.  I felt he was actually going to do this.

Two days later, life told me again what I had refused to hear for four years, but now in a way I couldn't ignore.  Agility was not going to be our thing together.  I have written here before that Cadence experienced a fibro-cartilaginous embolism which left him with some coordination problems in his rear legs.  In many ways we are lucky.  FCE is not painful, and he is not paralyzed.  He can hike, run, play, fetch, swim, and mess around on agility equipment in the yard.  What he can't do is safely perform competition-height equipment, especially in a state of arousal or stress.  At least that isn't a risk I'm willing to take.

I've spent the last year feeling sorry for him, feeling sorry for myself, and mostly feeling mad at myself that it took this to get me to accept things as they were.  He is so much more, so who cares about the agility? I've felt guilty, like this was the last desperate measure the universe had to take to get me to do the right thing.  And quit.  Quit those aspirations, those dreams, those expectations.  Quit trying to mold the dog I adored, who I never would trade or change for anything, who has given and taught me more than any other dog or teacher, and who has shaped my current life and future in amazing ways . . . quit trying to mold that dog into something else.  He can't be everything, but he sure as hell tried for me.

My regret is not having accepted this lesson before.  Rationally I know I did not cause his FCE.  But now that his physical condition has forced us to shift course, I regret not doing that for him sooner.

And this has me wondering about goals - the ones we create for our dogs and ourselves.  How do we decide what is reasonable? Realistic? Fair? Humane?  Just because enough training might get you to a certain point, is it right to keep on trying?  Should performance goals be the only ones we have?  Do we risk compromising more important ones in the process - goals for our relationships, our comfort, our happiness?  Yes, I believe that training would have continued to increase Cadence's comfort in the ring over time.  But who was I doing this for?

If I had changed course two years ago, and decided that all the many fun things Cadence and I do together are enough, would that have been quitting?  

Needless to say, it has been a year of changing goals and priorities.  Of changing my thinking about what is most important in my life with my dogs.  And in realizing that the path I ended up on, while not the one I expected to take, has landed me in an unexpected and exciting place. Agility continues to be a big part of my life, but now my primary dog training goals involve helping others understand and support their own sensitive, cautious canine friends.  And I like to think I'm better at that anyway.  

They say you don't get the dog you want, you get the dog you need, and while I always say our first dog Jade changed our lives, Cadence definitely changed it again.  Now he and I will write a different future for ourselves, and I'm learning to accept this.  I still grieve what might have been, but I am beginning to value the lessons learned.

What about you?  How have you made decisions about what is right for your dog?

"No"

"All that we are arises with our thoughts.
With our thoughts we make the world."
-The Buddha

Pretty much anyone who uses any amount of positive reinforcement in dog training regularly uses a reward marker to indicate when the dog has performed a desired behavior.  Often this marker is a click from a clicker, or a verbal "yes!"  Many of us were also taught in our early classes to also use a "no reward marker" (NRM) to indicate that the behavior that was offered was not correct and will not be earning a reward.  Most people use "no" or "wrong" or perhaps that familiar "ah AH!!" sound that seems to pierce through all sounds at a training facility.

It seems logical enough, right?  And certainly much better than jerking on a choke chain to convey disapproval with the dog's action.  But are they necessary?

I decided to stop intentionally using NRMs about three years ago, after attending my first ClickerExpo where I learned that there wasn't necessarily strong scientific evidence supporting that they promoted faster learning.  After all, the absence of reinforcement is indication in itself that the behavior is not correct.  By preventing reinforcement for behaviors we don't want, and only rewarding those that we do want, we can effectively communicate the important information to facilitate learning.  Why bother with all the extra words?  In fact, I find that when I cut out most talking and focus that energy on observing and getting timing and mechanics right, my dogs progress much faster than if I am yammering at them.

In addition, I think many people's use of NRMs is more accurately described as positive punishment.  The neutral, calm "no" that our puppy class instructor demonstrated is quickly replaced by an emphatic, shouted "NO!!!"  And frankly I find that ubiquitous "ah AH!!" sound to be so aurally offensive and aversive that I wish I could banish it right along with all shock collars.  These utterances are not trying to provide information; they are meant to stop behavior.

But the real reason I stopped using NRMs is related to the quote above - our thoughts create our world, as do our words.  I strongly believe that the words and language we use shapes our realities, our perceptions, our thoughts, and our emotions as well.  And I absolutely hate the word "No."  I want to live my life with "Yes!"

The thing about negative speech, is that it frames how you begin to perceive and feel about the situation.  If I start telling a dog "no," I can feel my perceptions shift.  I start noticing the "bad" behavior, and not recognizing the good.  I see the dog only as misbehaving.  I get annoyed and frustrated and find myself losing patience.  And I stop being able to effectively teach anything.

Sure, there are alternate NRMs to use that don't sound as bad.  I briefly used "oops" or "uh-oh," but too often my husband would hear that and think something was actually wrong.  Nowadays, if I do let an NRM slip, it is more along the lines of "try again" or "I think you can do that better."  But really, I don't believe that conveys any useful information to the dog - those are simply examples of me being true to my very verbal species and not being able to shut up completely.

So what is a better response?  Recently I watched video of a well-known positive dog trainer working on proofing her dog's performance of a difficult, but silly, trick.  Every time he made a mistake, she cracked up in pure joyous laughter.  And, really, the attempts were pretty funny, but I also thought, what a perfect reaction.  Failure in training is a good thing!  As good as it feels to do things perfect, I am learning to be glad when my dog makes a mistake as it provides an opportunity to better clarify what it is I do want.

Certainly I don't think NRMs are abusive or coercive or unethical - I am hardly going to get on my soapbox about that.  But I do encourage others to see what happens if you don't use them, because when you aren't looking for "no" I suspect you will start to see a lot more "yes."

Climbing

"Training is the difference between what you have and what you want." - Bob Bailey

"Everybody is a genius.  But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will spend its whole life believing it is stupid." - Albert Einstein

I've had these two quotes in my head for a few weeks now.  I agree with both of them.  And yet sometimes I wonder, how do we know if we are trying to teach a fish to climb a tree?  And is that fair to the student?  If you have an absolutely brilliant swimmer, the best little swimmer you could ever hope for, how important is it if they ever climb that tree?  Is it a just a matter of training?  If I was just a better trainer, or worked harder, or was more committed, would I have the world's most amazing arboreal fish?  I began to feel frustrated by the entreaties from more experienced or more accomplished trainers to just keep at it when I hit stumbling blocks, to not lose faith.  If I keep a log book, if I make a training plan, if I write down my goals, if I videotape and review my sessions - if I trained like the pros, well, surely I couldn't fail.  It would be quitting to do otherwise.

Or would it?  Would I be even more unfair if I continue on, urging that fish up that tree day after day?  Who is right?

I wrote these quotes down again yesterday, one above the other as they are here, and I finally noticed something.

"If you JUDGE a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will spend its whole life believing it is stupid."

It does not say, "if you try to TEACH a fish to climb a tree . . ."

Maybe you can train that fish to climb one day.  And maybe it won't be exactly what you envisioned.  Maybe it will be a long process, with a lot of flopping around on the ground, and maybe when your fish makes it to the first branch you decide, well, good for him, and that is pretty amazing and you celebrate that. You celebrate everything you learned, and the fun you had along the way

The problem is if the climbing matters more to you than the fish does.  When you don't see your fish for the beautiful swimmer he is, when you forget the joy you feel watching him circle and dive, when you don't appreciate how very perfect he truly is, that is where you fail him.

Is it quitting if you decide he doesn't need to reach the highest tree-top in his lifetime?  Only you define and decide that.  When you become disappointed, when you get frustrated, when you find yourself wondering why you don't have a regular spider monkey on your hands - that is when I believe we have lost as trainers.

It is up to us what our goals are as trainers.  I believe in having lofty ones sometimes, and I believe in dreams.  As long as we are fair.  And as long as we always remember that the subject and the process matters more than any final product.

Because your fish will climb back down that tree, and you go home together.  You don't go home with the spectators, the classmates, the instructors.  The people telling you to use a different method.  The people telling you to go try a different tree.  The people telling you to get a squirrel next time.  Those people have never seen the way your fish glistens in the waves and the way the light reflects off his scales like a rainbow, and the love you feel for him every time you see that.

You go home with your perfect beautiful fish, who you know is the best swimmer and climber in the entire world. 

If It’s Not Broken . . .

I follow a lot of dog training blogs and dog training discussion forums, and always enjoy reading about others’ training journeys, successes, lessons learned, and words of wisdom.  But recently, I have noticed the language that people seem to use when talking about their training challenges, and have been surprised to hear talk about “fixing” dogs.  In this context it isn’t slang terminology for spaying or neutering; people are referring to dogs as though something is fundamentally broken.  People refer to fixing their “bar dropper” or their “reactive dog” or their “shut down dog”, etc. 

I am wondering, how helpful is it to use this terminology? 

I am not saying that we should not try to modify behaviors that are problematic, or that we shouldn’t try to fine-tune our training so that the performance meets the criteria we would like it to, but I feel that viewing the dog as somehow broken does not help us do this.  I prefer not to label my dogs, and especially not to label them according to what some may see as faults.  When I approach training, I feel it is more helpful to identify behaviors that I would like to reinforce and make stronger, and behaviors that I would like to replace and minimize.  I want to give the dogs I work with the skills to make correct decisions, and the ability to manage a variety of environments, experiences, and social interactions without stress and anxiety.  I prefer to call this process “training” – not “fixing.”

I very much believe that our language shapes the way we approach and view the world.  When we start to reduce our dogs, our selves, or others to what we see as their shortcomings, we become blind to what is brilliant, unique, and extraordinary about that same individual.  I am a social worker by training, and the human services field picked up on the power of the strengths-based approach years ago.  So It surprises me now to see even very positive, forward-thinking dog trainers slip into the deficit-model of viewing the dogs they are working with. 

I share my life with five dogs, who all have very distinct personalities and temperaments.  Every one of them has behaviors that I would prefer to see less of (OK, I had to think hard about this for Django, but he does bark a lot a meal time).  And every one of them has fantastic qualities and strengths that amaze me every day.  It has been my job as their owner and trainer to build on those strengths, and increase the presence of all those attributes that I love.  To me, none of them have something that needs to be fixed – they are all simply perfect at being themselves, and I want to help them be the best, happiest version of themselves that they can be.

Changing the Approach

I have been struggling on and off for a few months in my attempts to teach Cadence a formal retrieve – the type where he waits to retrieve the object, then brings it back and sits in front position holding the object until I ask him to release to my hand.  He does play fetch with enthusiasm, and happily brings his frisbee right to my hand so we can tug a bit before I ask him to drop it, but it lacks finesse and is anything but “formal.” I taught Django a formal retrieve years ago when I had a broken arm and could do little else with the dogs.  Though I haven’t done obedience, it is one of the coolest things he knows, and lends itself very well to a lot of useful behaviors and fun tricks, so I think it is a great skill for them to have.

Cadence and I have been working with a dumbbell, which he will bring back to me, but then chucks it at me as he approaches.  I have been attempting to fix this by back-chaining the behavior, so I am first trying to teach him to hold the dumbbell for a second and release it on cue.  He quickly will grab hold of the dumbbell if presented to him, but spits it back at me immediately.  I have been unable to raise my criteria to much more than a nanosecond of tooth gripping.

When I start shaping behaviors, I often am sitting on the living room floor with Cadence as we work.  This was the case again the other night as we struggled with another session of “Please just hold this for half a second before chucking it at my lap.”  After a couple minutes, I stood up for some reason, maybe just to stretch, and presented the dumbbell from a standing position.  Now, seated to look up at me and with his head tilted upwards, Cadence gripped the dumbbell in the back of his mouth, and legitimately held it for a second before I gave him the release cue and took it.  All he needed to help him out was a little change of position that made the desired behavior feel either more natural or more comfortable, or just more obvious.  In a few more repetitions, I was able to have him get a good hold on it, still only for a second or two, but we now have a behavior to build on.

It reminded me that in training when we are hitting our heads against a wall, we need sometimes change our context a bit and start again from a new perspective or a new approach.  If something isn’t working, even if it is the “right” way to do something, we need to be willing to be creative and figure out what the dog needs from us to understand.

The next night, I experienced this myself.  I have been taking swim classes and lessons for the last year trying to fine tune my freestyle technique, and improve my form in the other strokes as well.  This week, we worked on breaststroke.  I have been told that the front half of my breaststroke is actually pretty good, but my kick is . . . well, it wouldn’t be considered legal in competition.  It resembles something more like an inverted scissor kick.  And unfortunately, breaststroke is mostly about the kick.  My former instructor even got in the water one day and tried to guide my legs through the correct motions, but it was as if I had some neurologic deficit that I simply could not reproduce the correct motion on my own.  I started to kind of hate breaststroke. 

Last night, a different instructor gave a new tip - “Start by focusing on bending your knees together straight toward the bottom of the pool.”  That mental image helped me suddenly start to put together something more closely resembling an actual breaststroke kick.  I mean, swimming being what it is, I still need to do it about 8,000 more times before it is going to look at all respectable, but I stopped feeling like I had no connection to what my knees, ankles and feet were doing.  I also finally had a behavior that I can build on.

All of my instructors are good, and all have helped me tremendously.  I don’t think that the new instructor was necessarily better than the previous one, but she happened to have the lesson for that particular skill that helped me have an “aha!'” moment in the pool.

So, this week, as I start to make a very small step towards progress in these two previous sources of frustration, I am reminded of the importance of creativity, and the need to respect the individual learner and figure out what is going to work best for them.  It is easy in both swimming and dog training to get so concerned with the ideal method for learning a flip turn, or learning weave poles, that we can become unwilling to step back if that isn’t working, and try a new approach.  But sometimes that slight flexibility is all that is needed to make something fall into place.

Transition

With my triathlon season having ended, I have been enjoying the “transition” phase of my annual training plan.  This is the time of year when I can take some time off from sport-specific training, and spend a few weeks recovering and enjoying other activities during the time I had been spending at the pool or on the road.

Lately, this has involved a lot more hiking, camping, backyard dog training sessions, and generally just enjoying the lovely weather we’ve been having after an especially hot July. 

Cadence and Maebe still get their early morning trail runs several times a week, and soon the fall running races, swim and agility classes, and agility trials will start up again.  We also will be trying some new activities – Jade and Tristan will make a return to competition in their first Rally Obedience trial, we are looking to begin Therapy Dog visits with Cadence and Maebe this fall, and Lowell and I are excited to join the “Pit Crew” at the local humane society – a group that runs with the high-energy shelter dogs in the mornings to help them get some exercise and burn off some of their excess energy before meeting with their potential adopters.

But, for the remaining days of summer, we’re enjoying the different (if not necessarily quieter) pace.

Learning About Border Collies

I’m very behind in blogging, but a lot has been going on in the last month so I am going to try to catch up.

The biggest adventure we have had lately was our trip to Brookfield, Missouri with Tristan, Django, and Cadence to attend a “Learning About Border Collies” 3-day workshop with the UK trainer, Kay Laurence.  We have seen Kay at ClickerExpo for the last two years, and couldn’t wait to spend a long weekend working with our dogs and learning from her.  The seminar was wonderful.  Perhaps the best I’ve ever attended.  We met wonderful people, and Kay was as always filled with amazing information. 

Basically, Border Collies are just not quite like other breeds of dog.  All of us BC owners have been told that and know that, but this helped us fully consider how it impacts their behavior and what we ask of them. 

BCs are bred to have a very specific behavior pattern, which enables them to masterfully perform the job they were originally born to do: herd.  They are extremely sensitive to motion and sound, they want things to be under control, and they want to chase.  They work on farms with their shepherd and few strangers.  They work in sprints, and must pause to think.  Too often, we don’t consider these traits when we are blushing at the crowded agility ringside as our overstimulated and overwhelmed BC has a tantrum because they can not control the moving dog and handler on the course. 

It’s not that BC's can’t handle these environments – clearly they excel repeatedly in a wide variety of non-herding tasks.  But we need to remember how their brains work, and help prepare them for the types of environments where we want to bring them.  I loved Kay’s response to those who talk about all the “reactive” border collies that you see: “Well I would hope a dog is reactive – it just means he isn’t dead.” 

I’ve come to have a hard time with that term - “reactive.”  What does it even mean?  All dogs will react to some things; it is just a matter of thresholds.  Someone who saw Cadence in one of his bursts of frustration on the sideline of an agility class a year ago might have decided I had another one of those “reactive” dogs.  Unless they saw him the other 99.9% of the time – he is friendly to other dogs and people and is remarkably calm and well-mannered in a wide variety of environments.  I can take him to training expos with hundreds of people and dogs, I can walk through downtown, a busy park, a hotel lobby, a campground, a noisy truck stop, and even a crowded Renaissance Festival without him batting an eye. 

What he is, is distracted by motion, and by things that appear out of control.  What he is, is a normal border collie.  I think all of us shared the sentiments of one workshop attendee at the end of the first day, who said to Kay:  “Thank you for validating my dog.”

Kay also shared a paradigm with us that really beautifully illustrated what we see with our dogs.  Originally presented by Stephen Lindsay (I believe), she displayed an axis where one line ranged from uncontrolled to controlled, and the other from unpredictable to predictable.  A dog’s emotional response to an experience depends on where on the continuum it lies:

-Controlled/predictable = Boredom.

-Uncontrolled/predictable = Frustration.  This is the dog barking at the agility sideline.  He knows there is going to be crazy motion and dogs running, but he can’t control it.

-Uncontrolled/unpredictable = Fear.

-Controlled/unpredictable = Excitement and anticipation.  This is clicker training and shaping.  There is a controlled pattern – dog’s behavior will earn a consequence (reward) - but the dog has to figure out what behavior will get him there.  It is why animals enjoy clicker training so much.

A year ago, when Cadence was having his impulse control issues in agility class, a trainer suggested I medicate him because he was so “anxious.”  I was stunned at this assessment of him.  “No,” I said, “he is frustrated.”  The answer I chose was to work on impulse control and manage his environment to help him better handle his frustration.  Thank you, Kay, for confirming that I know my dog.  As she said, never let some outsider’s judgment of your dog get in between your relationship with your dog.

We also learned a lot about how we can use our body language better – how projecting calmness ourselves can keep them calm.  This was an eye-opener for me.  I thought I was giving my best display of calmness, but Kay pointed out how I was still carrying tension in my body, and jokingly suggested I have a drink before training!   She also advised us to move much more slowly when working BCs.  They have a habit of working us up and getting us to move faster and faster.  What we need to do is slow them down so they can better think, rather than both getting worked up to a manic frenzy.

Finally, the coolest part of the weekend was having the opportunity to see our dogs’ reactions to sheep.  The farm arranged a few sheep in a smaller round pen, and we brought our dogs up to see how they responded and whether they could move them about the pen from outside the fence.  It was a great way to keep sheep safe from green dogs, yet to still observe herding instinct. 

It was fascinating watching Cadence.  He approached with interest but some caution at first, as he often does with new things, then rapidly decided this was the greatest thing ever.  The shepherd commented that he moved into pressure nicely, and held his eye on the sheep until they responded.  She was impressed with his natural instinct and said he had a lot of potential if I was able/wanted to pursue herding with him. 

Much to Cadence’s disappointment, we are not about to sell the house and move to a farm.  But we are on the lookout for some practice sheep and herding lessons . . .

Bird Dog

As I’ve written about before, Cadence’s biggest training challenge is overcoming his desire to chase motion.  Impulse control and focus have been major areas that we have been working on together.  Recently, I think we’ve had a bit of a breakthrough using a classic psychological principle – the Premack Principle.

Many dog owners learn about Premack in their first household obedience classes, though they may not always know the term.  The principle states that more probable behaviors can reinforce less probable behaviors.  So, you can train your dog to sit politely at the back door while it is being opened (a low-probability behavior) by reinforcing it with the reward of running and playing outside afterwards (a highly-probable behavior).  It is a wonderful tool in the trainer’s toolkit, yet one that I, at least, often forget to use as much as I could.

I have been working on heeling more with Cadence, and have been starting to add increased distraction by working in new locations.  A couple weeks ago, we went to the park at the end of our block to work some heeling patterns, but it started out as an exercise in frustration as he could heel for about three steps, then would charge forward to stare at some robins on the ground many, many yards away.

I tried upping my rate of reinforcement, clicking and treating every step, being more exciting – all the things they tell us to do.  Finally, I reconsidered my strategy:

“You really want those robins?” (Cadence stares into the distance blankly, as he has been doing.)

“Heel.” (Cadence looks up and heels four steps.)

“OK – LET’S GET THOSE ROBINS!!!!” (He and I charge off like maniacs across the park toward the totally oblivious and unbothered robins.)

(Pause.)

“Heel.” (Cadence heels several more steps).

“GET THE ROBINS!!”  (More crazed running.)

We repeat this maybe three times, and by the last repitition of running, he is turning his head back to me, getting that we are playing some sort of cool game now, and more interested in what I’m doing than he is in the robins.  We then resumed our heeling session, now able to do bigger heeling patterns and no longer gazing off in the distance at the birds every few steps.

I began using this along with Leslie McDevitt’s “Give Me a Break” Game to start our park training sessions.  Rather than immediately asking for attention, we play a bit, then I tell him to “Go Sniff” or “Get the robins” and stand about while he does his own thing.  He very quickly starts turning back to me to see what is up.  I reward him, then send him back to sniff.  It only take a couple reps now before he is standing at my feet, wanting to work.  We are both much less frustrated and having a lot more fun.

Plus, now on walks if he sees a bird, he turns to me as if to say “Do the thing, Mom!!”  I usually call him to me, ask for some behavior (hand touch, sit), then we take up the chase for a few feet.

We probably look a bit odd, but the robins don’t seem to mind.

Cadence Turns Two

It is hard to believe that two years ago today, I got the e-mail I had been excitedly awaiting, announcing the birth of the litter that would include my next little boy.  A few hours later, I received the first photos of the seven newborn pups.  There were three boys.  Male #1 was a cute split-face, Male #3 was a very traditional black and white, but I fell immediately for Male #2.  He had rather traditional markings with a lot of white – a full blaze and wide collar – which I liked.  But I fell for him because of his spots.  He had a little black spot on the top of his head, and a little white spot between his shoulder blades.  I thought he was adorable. 

The weeks passed, and I was thrilled to receive regular photos and videos of the litter as they grew.  I loved watching them all, but my eye always went to the little spotted guy.  I just knew he was mine.  When the breeder began to assign names to them, she somehow never came up with the right one for him, and so he became “No Name.”  I actually appreciated this fact because I knew his name.  He was Cadence. 

Seven weeks passed and it was finally the day to make the trip to pick up my boy.  I had second pick of the males, and knew that the first person had already selected the split-face, so I got to choose between little No Name and the traditional male.  I pretended that I was going to keep an open mind and choose after observing them both, but I knew that my mind had been made up.  No Name looked very promising to have good structure, with nice front and rear angulation and a crazy long neck.  And, more importantly, I knew where my heart was, after all.

I talked my dad into making the drive to Canada with me, and in a few hours I was sitting on the breeder’s kitchen floor, with seven tiny black-and-white balls of fur scrambling happily around me.  Eventually, I was asked what my decision was, although she knew already there wasn’t actually any question.  I would be taking home No Name, now Rival’s Drum Roll, Please, aka Cadence.

In two years, we have already had a blast together.  Cadence has accompanied us on many road trips, including to CPE Nationals in Massachusetts and Florida, where we were competing with our older dogs.  As a ten-week old puppy, he visited Niagara Falls, sat by the ocean in Maine, and enjoyed attention from park staff at Acadia National Park.  Last year, we hiked together at Mammoth Caves and Great Smoky Mountains National Parks, and Sleeping Bear Dunes.  This spring we enjoyed runs along the river north of Chicago.  He’s come to Dog Scout Camp for two years, and has earned his Dog Scout  title and a number of badges.  He has also represented Dog Scouts at various pet expos, where he politely greets the public while we discuss positive dog training and responsible pet ownership.  He is a great traveler, camper, hiker and backpacker.  And since he became old enough to start running last fall, he has run 200 miles with me and is a phenomenal, tireless running buddy who motivates me on many a dark morning when I’d rather stay in bed.  He is always up for anything, and I love to go anywhere with him.

I have made it my goal to raise Cadence without using punishment and by shaping, or clicker-training, behaviors.  In the process, I have learned a ton.  Cadence and I have gone to Susan Garrett’s Puppy Camp together, to a “Get Connected” workshop with Brenda Aloff, and two ClickerExpos, where we have learned from some of the best trainers out there.  We’ve been able to challenge each other and learn and grow together, which has been an exciting process.

Is he perfect?  Of course not – what dog is?  He has his quirky moments.  At his worst, I could describe him as a mischievous little monkey with ADHD.  His attraction to motion is beyond even my other Border Collies, and he can tend to be easily distractable and easily frustrated when something is moving that he can’t chase.  He can sulk and pout like a 15-year-old girl when things don’t go his way.  In contrast to Django, who will try over and over again to get something right, if Cade fails too many times in a training session he is quite ready to go find his own entertainment.  

But what has been the result of his quirks?  I’ve become a better trainer, with better observational skills and much quicker timing.  I have had to become creative in controlling reinforcement, and knowing what will motivate him and keep his focus.  And I’ve had to become much better at “splitting” behaviors when we train, not moving forward too fast, and keeping a high rate of reinforcement while still challenging him to progress.  Many times in an early training session for a new skill, I’ve felt like we weren’t getting anywhere, but then been delighted when the next day, he’s got it down pat – he’s mastered it. 

We’re working, and I think this year he’ll be ready for prime time, and in the process, I love every minute of it.  I can’t look at him without smiling.  He is the silliest goofball of a Border Collie ever, and incredibly sweet.  He is constantly by my side, and thinks that at least one hand should be petting him at all times.  He fancies himself to be a 33-lb lap dog.  He is incredibly in tune with my moods, and always ready to cuddle if I’ve had a tiring day.  It is impossible to get mad at him.  Life is fun with him, and he makes us laugh constantly. 

So, again, is he perfect? 

 

Yes, of course he is.

 

 

Happy birthday, Noodle!

Clicker Expo 2011

“What the hell is wrong with us anyway?”  Patricia McConnell joked in this, her opening line, as she gave the closing comments at Clicker Expo 2011 on Sunday, wrapping up an amazing three days of top-notch education on animal training, behavior, and cognition.  

Certainly, I’m sure that is what many people wonder about us.  Trying to explain that we are spending good money on travel and registration costs, and taking a vacation to attend an educational conference probably doesn’t make sense to a lot of people.  When I tried to explain to others what Clicker Expo was, I basically just summed it up as another dog training conference, but it is so much more than that.  The faculty at Clicker Expo are leaders in their understanding about training all animals (including humans), and are perhaps the best assembly of presenters and educators I’ve ever seen – and I say this having spend my graduate and undergraduate years at a top-rated university! 

So, what did I learn about this year at Clicker Expo?  In Learning Labs, Cadence and I and Lowell and Maebe heard from Kay Laurence about when and how it can be appropriate to use luring in training, and how to “microshape” behaviors by slicing them down into the finest details, allowing the animal to have higher rates of success throughout the learning process.  We were able to work on training reliable cues with Kathy Sdao, and Lowell and Maebe gave an amazing demonstration of the progress they made just during the course of the lab.  We practiced the mechanics of treat delivery and leash handling skills with Joan Orr and Alexandra Kurland, and learned the “Tai Chi” of leash handling skills.

In lectures, we learned about setting up efficient training sessions with Cecilie Koste, conditioning positive responses to noise and movement (especially good for the agility dog) from Emilie Veigh and Eva Bertlisson, and developing good observation skills from Kathy Sdao.  We heard Karen Pryor talk about changing the public’s view of punishment as a training method, and saw Patricia McConnell talk about animal cognition, and later in the closing comments, about animal emotions.  I took away from every session lots of great notes, and always at least one key “AHA!” point that I know I will carry with me as I continue training my dogs.  The sessions are fascinating, intellectually stimulating, and we left motivated and excited to try out all our new ideas.

In addition to being a great learning experience, the whole weekend was a blast.  Our hotel was located north of Chicago, and bordered a 30+ mile multi-use trail network along a river.  We were able to start every morning with a 4 to 5 mile run with the dogs, and close every evening with a more leisurely walk together along the water.  The dogs were on their best behavior.  It gave Cadence good opportunities to have to think and work with high levels of distraction, and while his brain was usually starting to melt by the end of the learning labs (so were ours, after all!), he always was a perfect gentleman.

What I love about Clicker Expo, and clicker training in general, is how beautifully you see that what inherently FEELS right – training with positive reinforcement instead of punishment – is repeatedly backed up by sound scientific evidence.  As a social worker and a researcher, I love to see this harmony: when doing good is backed up with data-driven proof.

Lowell and I are fortunate to say that we are not “cross over” trainers (trainers who previously had been taught to use punishment), as we became dog owners just as the clicker training movement was gaining wider popularity.  When we brought our first dog, Jade, home, we had been reading a Brian Kilcommons book advocating choke chains and collar corrections.  We bought a choke chain, brought Jade home from the rescue organization, set out for a walk together, and realized quickly that we were NOT going to pop our happy, wonderful new companion on the neck with that damn chain.  That isn’t how I treat my friends and family members - there had to be a better way.  We turned around, immediately drove to Borders and sifted through the Monks of New Skete and Barbara Woodhouse books until we found a thin little book on clicker training.  Finally, someone was talking in terms that made sense to us.  We were fortunate to have a good veterinarian who referred us to positive trainers in the area for companion obedience classes, and the rest was history.

At the opening session on Friday, Karen Pryor asked the audience how many people were cross-over trainers.  Many hands went up, as usual, but many did not.  How exciting that we are now seeing a new wave of trainers, a wave who never had our heads filled with nonsense about dominance theory and collar corrections, but have learned how much more fun it is to use scientific principles and positive methods to train our companions!  While they still have a few remaining figureheads, I think the compulsion trainers are losing the debate.

So why do we do this?  Why do some of us spend so much time, energy, and money on these furry family members that can’t talk to us?  How is it that they make us so profoundly happy, and that we mourn their loss so deeply?  These were the questions Dr. McConnell posed in her final comments.  She theorized that there are two types of people in the world: those who are warmed and comforted as we learn how similar and connected humans really are to the rest of the animal world, and those who find that concept terrifying.  And, ironically, many tend to label the first group as being somehow emotionally damaged and unable to connect with other humans and form real relationships.  But what I find is that animals help us learn on a deeper level about empathy and emotion and connections with all living things.  I tend to be introverted by nature, but through my dogs I have met wonderful people and formed great relationships while challenging myself to learn and try new experiences.  My world has expanded exponentially, and I am a very happy person and am never bored.  Jade changed our lives, as I always say.

So, proudly count me in the first category – with those who cherish and celebrate our connection with dogs and all animals, both those who are four-footed and two-footed.  As Dr. McConnell ended her closing remarks on Sunday, she reminded us:

“Don’t ever apologize for how much you love your dogs.” 

Practice

In the summers, many of our weekends are filled with dog agility trials, triathlons, trail races, and camping trips.  In winter, the competitive season eases up a bit – we still have trials once or twice a month, and the occasional winter race, but the schedule itself isn’t quite as packed.

In theory.  In actuality, we’ve been going non-stop since the new year, planning for the season ahead of us, setting goals for ourselves and the dogs, and starting to do the work we need to do to get there.

Admittedly, we have a lot of interests.  And we joke that life in our house is like a military operation, with a packed schedule of what we have to do, and where we have to be, when.  We are all Border Collies at heart in our household after all.

This winter, I decided to finally make the commitment to improve my swimming technique.  It was clear that after my initial improvement in my first couple years of triathlon, I was no longer getting faster doing what I was doing, and remained a confident, but middle-of-the-pack, swimmer.  Fast swimming relies so much on good form, and while I understood the theory of proper technique, I couldn’t identify what I was doing right or wrong.  I needed coaching if I wanted to improve.

The swimming leg of a triathlon is almost ridiculously short in comparison to the other two legs.  The majority of your time is typically spent on the bike, then the run.  But to become a good swimmer can be a considerable investment of time and effort.  Consequently, a certain percentage of triathletes seem to take the opinion that as long as they know they are strong enough to not drown out there, that is good enough.  And, for some, maybe there’s a slight argument to that.  Those of us who are strong on the bike do like to joke about “fishing,” or chasing the fast swimmers down on the bike leg, which often gives us ample time to do so.

But the thing was, if I’m going to do something, I like to do it well.  I don’t expect to be perfect and master every new activity I try.  I’m not really aiming for agility World Team, or winning the local triathlon. But if I’m interested enough to spend my time doing something, I want to do the best job I can, given the time and resources I have available to invest in it, and whatever genetics has given me to work with.

So this winter, our schedule has consisted of two nights a week of swim conditioning class, two nights a week of dog training classes, bi-weekly swim coaching sessions, and now monthly tri-focused swim clinics.

Although I like to do things well, historically I have been quite resistant to taking instruction or feedback.  In the past couple years, I have tried to really work on this – to fight the voice that wants to argue with or defend myself to an instructor who is giving me constructive feedback.  Instead, I listen, consider the information, give what they are suggesting a try, and decide how it is working for me. 

A recent example:  I was at a “stitch and bitch” knitting circle earlier this winter and was doing Fair Isle color work on a hat, which is not something I do a whole lot of.  A much more experienced knitter noticed that I was doing something wrong, and pointed it out to me.  In the past, I might have been annoyed and ignored the advice, coming up with some reason in my head to justify the way I was doing it, but I had to admit I knew she was right and I was being lazy in not bothering to learn a particular technique.  Instead, I asked her if she could show me what I should do, and she taught me the correct technique in seconds.  The hat might have been a stretched-out disaster otherwise, but instead it turned out pretty cool, if I don’t say so myself. 

Since making this change, I’ve been noticing how many other people also struggle with feedback.  I’m amazed to watch people spend considerable amounts of money on classes only to argue with and ignore the instruction of people who are well-qualified to help.  These people never improve and then wonder why.  They refuse to try new approaches, and state their conviction that “That won’t work for me/my dog” with no real justification of why not.

Certainly, it is important to pick your teachers wisely, and one always needs to be the judge of what is best for yourself, for your dog, for your ultimate goals, etc.  But considering that you have done your research well in selecting your instructors, and that there are no physical, safety, or ethical concerns in following their advice, I’ve discovered that letting go of ego can really open up your experiences and bring about new successes.

So far, this has been a very productive winter.  I’ve taken 10 seconds off of my 50 yard swim time already.  And I am getting closer to being able to execute a flip turn without somersaulting around like a drowning drunk person.  I’m delighted with how Cadence’s classes have been coming along – he is more focused on me and on the task at hand, is getting more able to deal with distraction, and he has been showing me some really nice things that make me pleased with all the time I’ve been spending just on foundation work.  Django is continuing to please me with his renewed drive and enthusiasm for agility.  It is obvious that taking the time this past year to train and work within a consistent handling system has given him new confidence, as he no longer needs to make guesses about what I want him to do. 

Do I follow every bit of instruction given to me?  Heck, no.  Sometimes I’m just too lazy, too reluctant to give up bad habits, or I have found that something else really does work better for me or my dog’s particular situation.  And I still feel resistance rising in me when I’m hearing something I don’t want to hear, or learning that something I thought I did well actually needs improvement.  But I’m learning to bite my tongue, shut up, give something a try, and see where it gets me, because often it is right where I wanted to be.

This winter, I have been grateful for the good instruction that has been available to me, and to the continual opportunities I have to learn new things.