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?

Mostly-Wordless Wednesday

"Everything is not enough.  Nothing is too much too bear.
Where you've been is good and gone.  All you keep's the getting there."
-Townes Van Zandt

New Adventures

Cadence is now well past the 12-week point after his fibrocartilaginous embolism - past the point where the neurologist told us to expect the most improvement to happen.

So how is he?

He walks kind of funny.  We've finally put our finger on what he's doing - it seems like he would prefer not to trot (he CAN trot, and actually looks quite normal doing it, but it must be harder for him to get those neurons firing the right way to trot).  So, in order to compensate, he takes an exaggerated step with his rear legs, often swinging them out to avoid interfering with his front.  I think that is causing him to walk at a "pace" (both legs on one side moving forward at the same time), and creates the impression that his hip sort of "dips" with each step.  It looks weird, but so far he is able to maintain it no matter the distance or terrain, and doesn't worsen.

He is a bit clumsy at times.  It seems like he can do just about anything I've thrown at him - dog walk planks, standing on various-sized platforms, foot targeting, spinning, weaving, jumping.  But sometimes he falls walking across the linoleum floor in the kitchen.

The toughest, and most surprising, thing though has been the blow this has all had to his confidence.  He has always been a careful guy who sometimes needed to check things out before feeling comfortable, but he has always been one to recover quickly and to not give up.  But since his FCE, he has had occasional episodes of anxiety when out in the world.  Sometimes on a walk, he will put on the brakes, flatten, tuck his tail between his legs, and turn away.  Not all the time.  Not predictably.  And not paired with anything I can identify going on with him or the environment.  This kills me to watch.

This shouldn't be directly caused by the FCE, but clearly they are linked.  His rehab vet thinks that maybe it worries him that he isn't as comfortable in his own body right now.  Things work differently and take more effort, and some times maybe that just stresses him out.  We hope if he continues to get more comfortable learning how to move again, that this anxiety will pass as well.  We hope it is temporary.

So, I find places where he can run off leash with the other dogs (legally and safely) and let him practice negotiating the terrain on his own.  I schedule hiking dates with his favorite doggie-friends.  I let him pick a different route on the trail if one feels better to him.  I sit down on the trail with him until he feels OK again.  I hide treats among the grass and leaves and let him use his nose to track him down.  I ask him to do his favorite tricks.  We bring his best friend Maebe along for support.  I give him some natural supplements that are supposed to calm, and spray his walking harness with a "calming" spray.

He'll go weeks with no episodes and I will think he's gotten his courage back, then out of nowhere will have a little meltdown in the middle of the block.  I like to think we're making progress.  I hope we are.

At home, he is still my happy little lap dog who just can never get close enough to me or get enough chest rubs, and who makes me smile every time I look at him.  He swims, wrestles and plays chase with Maebe, and loves learning.  We do mini agility courses with low jumps, low contacts, and spread-apart weaves in the back yard.  He's working on some freestyle moves, even though I don't know that I will be putting dancing shoes on anytime soon.  He loves shaping exercises and figures the new tricks out as fast as always.  We're planning on taking a nose work class this winter.  And we're still going to physical therapy weekly, and hoping for some more progress.

We are no longer doing therapy dog visits, on account of the slippery wood floors and stairs at the facility we visited.  I also don't want to add stress on top of whatever is triggering his sudden bouts of anxiety.

Fate is coming with me to his agility class now.  I admit, that was bittersweet at first for me.  I adore her, love training her, and can't wait to compete with her, but at the same time it was hard to get used to not being there with him.

I want so much for him, but I am realizing that is about me - that he is actually happy with this quieter world.  He has all he has ever asked for.

And he is still the most handsome, charming man ever.  Maybe I am the only one who is wildly entertained by watching him stand in a glass box filled with water, but to see what a character he is, watch video of him waiting for the underwater treadmill to fill.  He loves water, and likes his treadmill sessions, but he does not enjoy the sensation of water slowly creeping up on him, and does his best to keep his tail and feet dry as long as possible.  It has become a regular source of entertainment for us and the staff.  I swear he is not doing what it looks like he is doing!

Mostly-Wordless Wednesday

"When there's a disappointment, I don't know if it's the end of the story. It may just be the beginning of a great adventure."

-Pema Chödron