Category: How Dogs Learn

Safety First: The One Cue Every Dog Should Know

Stella! Photo courtesy Robyn Arouty Photography

Michael Baugh CDBC CPDT-KSA

The other dog’s eyes were hard.  I could see a flash of white around her dark pupils.  Her teeth flashed white too.  Under it all was a low rolling growl.  Stella, drunk with adolescent bravado was heading for trouble.  There was no time.

Stella Come!

We’d practiced it since the day she first came home, always the same words, an invitation more than a command.  I’d call her name, sometimes like Brando in Streetcar Named Desire but not always.  Then I’d call the word, “Come,” with a smile and a hint of melody to it.

When you’re first teaching coming when called it’s best to keep it easy.  Set your dog up to win.  That’s what I did with Stella all those months ago.  I’d say “Stella, come!” when I was right next to her.   Then I’d run away, luring her to chase me.  When she arrived I’d click and treat followed by some cheering and petting.  Then I’d do it again.  And again.  And again.

I taught it lots of different ways.  She learned to touch the palm of my hand for a click and a treat.  So sometimes I’d call her and then hold my hand out so she’d run towards it.  Other times I’d hide and call her.  Stella loves hide and seek.  Still other times my friends and I would call her back and forth between us.  Every time it starts the same: Stella come!  And every time it ends the same: click and treat with lots of hoopla and lovin’

The other dog sure looked menacing that day.  But I don’t think she would have hurt Stella.  She’s super sweet and belongs to another trainer.  But it’s up to me to keep Stella safe, especially at this age when she’s frequently a bit too big for her britches.  So I called her away from the other dog.  Stella, come!

And she came.  She trotted right over to me, just the way she’d learned.  Click, treat.  Good girl Stella!

Michael Baugh teaches dog training in Houston TX. He specializes in aggressive dog training.

Position Statement on Training

I remember trying to trim Juno’s nails.  She was struggling, and unsure about what was happening.  I was following the rules I’d learned in my introductory dog training class.  When she resisted I rolled her on her side and growled.  Juno, bless her sweet soul, looked at me like I was an idiot.  She wiggled her way away from me.  When I caught her, I gave her a scruff shake and growled once more.  We struggled again; she got away again.  After a couple more rounds of that I was both exhausted and defeated.  Juno sneezed and shook it off.  She came up to me, and gently placed her paw on my leg.  Slowly and gingerly I trimmed the four nails.

That was so many years ago, and Juno is now just a flurry of sweet memories and training parables.  Good training, she taught me, is about give and take, push and yield, you and me.  It’s less about where you are going or what you’re trying to achieve than about who you are with.  It’s about the relationship.  Juno and I found our way, together.  The path was not always clear, but she was by my side and I by hers.

My sidekick now is Stella and we are both better because of those who came before us.  We live by a few training rules, and share them with our clients.  The most important of these is the simplest.  Everything we share should lead us to a closer relationship with each other. I sometimes call it, the Juno rule.  Yelling and sulking on my part draws us apart (I never hit).  For her part, yelling (barking) and jumping are also nonstarters.  We avoid those things.  Sitting and gazing at each other draw us closer.  We both do that shamelessly.  Pulling on leash is not relationship building.  I’m as careful not to do it as she is.  Learning to communicate with my words and her actions is bonding.  We do that a lot.  As is the case with my human friends, the sharing of play and food factor mightily into our relationship.  We cuddle, and kiss, and nap together.  All these things draw us closer.

Stella and I are always building things.  We’re building a faster recall now.  We put together a little comedy routine that makes it look like she “speaks” several languages.  We’re building some agility skills (she’s much better than I am).  We’ve also built a work partnership, and she’s begun helping me with mildly reactive and under-socialized dogs (not bad for a 20 month old).  We’re using some of the same techniques we use in that work to help Stella build confidence when people visit our home.  She’s not too sure of visitors, especially if they’re wearing a hat.

I think these building projects help draw us closer too.  They fall under the Juno rule, but they also have two general rules of their own.  1) No matter what we’re working on, I have Stella’s back.  It’s my job to make sure she’s safe and that she feels safe.  Most of the time that means I’m cheering her on and keeping the mood light, without pushing her too far on any given project.  2) I’m responsible for clearly and gently showing Stella what I want, and then joyfully letting her knows when she got it right.  Timing is everything, so I don’t dawdle.  My deal with Stella is this: when you do something I want I will let you know immediately.  So it all boils down to this – we set up some fun times which aren’t at all scary or too difficult.  Then we figure out things we can do to make each other happy.  How’s that for a cool relationship?

Oh, on the subject of nail trimming, Stella and I have a deal too.  We do it just the way Juno used to like it.  Go figure.  Her spirit is always with us.

Modern Reward-Based Trainers

This occurred to me while I was sitting at a table with some amazing men and women.  I love modern reward-based dog trainers.  Of course, the people at the table were themselves trainers.  That’s what got me thinking about this.  We were chatting and agreeing and disagreeing.  The energy in the room made it feel like I was among good friends or family, even though some of us had just met.  Maybe I would have felt differently in a room of different trainers.  Perhaps, I just got lucky with this group.  Perhaps not.

The truth is I’ve met a lot of modern reward-based trainers who just “get it.”  For starters, they know what I mean by modern. We don’t just fill a stagnant position in the history of dogdome.  We are fluid, developing, writing history as it comes to pass.  We grow; we learn and teach and learn some more.  We challenge our knowledge-base, support the things we know as true, cast aside the gimmicks and mythology.  We test the fundamentals of the past.  All the while we build the future.

That’s another thing I love.  Reward-based trainers are by definition builders.  We build behavior, of course.   Behavior reinforced becomes stronger and more frequent.  We are the craftspeople who imagine what can be and then build it in the lives of others.  We are coaches and cheerleaders, teachers who draw the best from dogs and their people.  We break nothing, including bad habits.  We build good habits; we build good relationship; we build hope.

Hope.  That’s what I was thinking about when I sat down with these good men and women.  These folks, these modern trainers, these people with me now are a hopeful bunch.  On their worst days they can still look at a dog and find some goodness.  It’s the foundation on which they build.  Knowledge and experience fuel the work.  Hope fuels the trainer.   It got them here; it keeps them going.  Hope is the stuff of smiles and wags, clicks and treats, tough cases in the win column.  Hope finds the goodness in even the most troublesome dog, and the most difficult people.

There, of course, is the rub.  These men and women of goodness are multi-species practitioners.  It is our own kind who tests our metal the most.  Train my dog.  You’re his last hope.  He’s been this way for years but we need to fix this now.  Can’t you see me sooner?  Do you offer a discount?  How long will this take?  I don’t really believe in using treats. They keep us up at night, the dogs who love to learn, the people who don’t.  Sometimes they become the cases lost, the dogs surrendered or dead, the people we never hear from again.  We become hard-faced, angry.  So often, we cry.  Here I sit with men and woman who know but rarely speak the pain and frustration.  Hope.  They draw from a deep well, every one of them.  I know.

I’m humbled.  I look around the room and wonder do they believe in me as I believe in them? They are brilliant students and teachers, growing and changing.  Even now they are writing history, testing the past and building the future.  My mind wanders to our unusual life’s work: dogs and people.  Here I sit with such noble advocates for the former and amazing examples of the latter.  Then I smile.

How could I not love them?

This occurred to me while I was sitting at a table with some amazing men and women.  I love modern reward-based dog trainers.  Of course, the people at the table were themselves trainers.  That’s what got me thinking about this.  We were chatting and agreeing and disagreeing.  The energy in the room made it feel like I was among good friends or family, even though some of us had just met.  Maybe I would have felt differently in a room of different trainers.  Perhaps, I just got lucky with this group.  Perhaps not.

The truth is I’ve met a lot of modern reward-based trainers who just “get it.”  For starters, they know what I mean by modern. We don’t just fill a stagnant position in the history of dogdome.  We are fluid, developing, writing history as it comes to pass.  We grow; we learn and teach and learn some more.  We challenge our knowledge-base, support the things we know as true, cast aside the gimmicks and mythology.  We test the fundamentals of the past.  All the while we build the future.

That’s another thing I love.  Reward-based trainers are by definition builders.  We build behavior, of course.   Behavior reinforced becomes stronger and more frequent.  We are the craftspeople who imagine what can be and then build it in the lives of others.  We are coaches and cheerleaders, teachers who draw the best from dogs and their people.  We break nothing, including bad habits.  We build good habits; we build good relationship; we build hope.

Hope.  That’s what I was thinking about when I sat down with these good men and women.  These folks, these modern trainers, these people with me now are a hopeful bunch.  On their worst days they can still look at a dog and find some goodness.  It’s the foundation on which they build.  Knowledge and experience fuel the work.  Hope fuels the trainer.   It got them here; it keeps them going.  Hope is the stuff of smiles and wags, clicks and treats, tough cases in the win column.  Hope finds the goodness in even the most troublesome dog, and the most difficult people.

There, of course, is the rub.  These men and women of goodness are multi-species practitioners.  It is our own kind who tests our metal the most.  Train my dog.  You’re his last hope.  He’s been this way for years but we need to fix this now.  Can’t you see me sooner?  Do you offer a discount?  How long will this take?  I don’t really believe in using treats. They keep us up at night, the dogs who love to learn, the people who don’t.  Sometimes they become the cases lost, the dogs surrendered or dead, the people we never hear from again.  We become hard-faced, angry.  So often, we cry.  Here I sit with men and woman who know but rarely speak the pain and frustration.  Hope.  They draw from a deep well, every one of them.  I know.

I’m humbled.  I look around the room and wonder do they believe in me as I believe in them? They are brilliant students and teachers, growing and changing.  Even now they are writing history, testing the past and building the future.  My mind wanders to our unusual life’s work: dogs and people.  Here I sit with such noble advocates for the former and amazing examples of the latter.  Then I smile.

How could I not love them?