Category: Mindful Dog Training

Kindness: A Plea to My Fellow Trainers

Michael Baugh CDBC CPDT-KSA

When I was in high school we were assigned a book that has stuck with me all these years after. It was titled Why Am I Afraid to Tell You Who I Am? (John Powell 1975). One of the things I liked most was the universality of the title. It wasn’t, Are you afraid or I am afraid. It assumed a truth. We are afraid, all of us, sometimes terrified.

I haven’t re-read the book in years but I remember the answer to the title question. If I tell you who I am, if I’m really open and genuine, if I put myself out there, then I’m vulnerable. You see me, all of me. If you reject me, that’s all I’ve got. It’s dangerous. I could get hurt.

We learn early on, long before high school, how treacherous vulnerability can be. Rejection, scorn, ridicule, mockery. Those are all strong punishers. We are taught from the moment of our earliest memory:

  • Don’t be different (fit in).
  • Don’t be wrong
  • Don’t be weird or awkward

That’s the short list.

If you’ve ever lived or worked in a consistently punishing environment (and most of us have at some time), then you know where this leads. And for those of us who are animal trainers we know from our own education and training experience where it leads. Animals with a punishment history shut off. They do the safest thing they can think of to avoid being hurt. In many cases that is simply to hunker down and do nothing.

When we consistenly punish our fellow humans for being different, or wrong, or awkward, we get similar results. We get humans who step back – sit down – and shut up. Worse, when we witness each other getting beaten down there can be a chilling effect. That could happen to me. I’m not putting myself out there. No way. No how. So more and more of us hunker down, too. We keep our truth to ourselves. We hide who we are. Because if we stand up, step up, and speak out we’re fucked (loosely paraphrasing John Powell).

There is an old (tired) joke among dog trainers. It goes like this. The only thing two trainers can agree on is that the third one is wrong (see also different and awkward). We are plagued by clannishness. There are camps: this methodology against that. And then there are camps within the camps, fine lines of thinking and acting that if crossed violate the arbitrary rules of those opposed. We are, for the most part, deeply dedicated to teaching animals with compassion and minimally aversive techniques. And at the next turn we are apt to savage each other.

The dramatic irony plays out most often and with the greatest vitriol on social media platforms. I’ll spare you the details because I’m so very confident you’ve seen them  yourself. At best we adhere to our own righteousness. At worst we are sarcastic and cynical. We excuse our own behavior because of what he or she said first. Or, when we feel the sting of our actions we try to quell it with the idea it was all in good fun. Humor. Jokes for which others paid.

I have been that asshole. I have fired off barbs wrapped in velvet. I have posted crap that looked sane and even poetic with the raw intention of causing pain. At my worst I’ve participated in whisper campaigns and back stabbing. I regret it every day. I drag a wake of human wreckage and I remember the names. We suffer and we cause more suffering and in the end we hurt ourselves the most.

Here’s my simple plea. Be kind. I put this idea out for consideration in my talk at the IAABC Conference earlier this year. Sometimes it’s better to be kind than to be right. This is hard for us. We trainers are in the business of being right. Our information has to be right. Our skills need to be right. We need to demonstrate and teach rightly. We are also in the business of reducing suffering, the suffering of animals and of our fellow human beings. If kindness is missing from our work we are impeding our best efforts. Information wrapped in anger or sharp edged snark is wasted. It is lost on the learner. The recipient of even our most valued truths will likely only feel the blows and the cuts. We trainers know better than to do this with dogs. It breaks trust and builds nothing. And yet, we do it to each other.

I want my fellow trainers to know that I see them and hear them. I want this most especially if we sometimes disagree. Why? Because we aren’t done yet. At our best (and I firmly believe we are all striving for our best) we trainers are voracious learners. When I value my fellow trainer, my fellow learner, I maintain access. When I speak kindly even in discourse, I get to stay in the game, stay on the path with him or her. Choose your own metaphor. When we are connected we can teach. We can explore ideas together. And, wait for it, we can learn. Play the long game. Is one tweet or one facebook post worth losing the chance to work in concert to build our profession – to lead – to heal?

So, this is a plea for kindness. It’s a plea drawn from my own experience. It’s a feeble try, perhaps, to draw compassion from suffering. Because we are all afraid, terrified sometimes, of each other. And, because when all is said and done, no matter our differences, we want the same thing. We want to tell each other who we really are (fear be damned). We are hardwired for connection with each other, collaboration, friendship and love. It’s who we are at the core. We want to be seen and to be heard and to feel safe. It’s a yearning we all have and it’s also the greatest gift we can give to each other.

Michael Baugh teaches dog training in Houston, TX. He teaches client coaching through the International Association of Animal Behavior Consultants. Michael is a human being with many of the strengths and foibles associated with that species.

Begin with Wonder

Michael Baugh CDBC CPDT-KSA

Life with our dogs can be confusing sometimes. Life in general can be confusing. It’s true. The world is crazy. Our dog seems crazy. Maybe I’m going crazy. He’s growling. I’m yelling. We just want the bad stuff to stop. But, where do we begin?

Where to begin?

I suggest we begin – with wonder. We know there are times when our dog is at his best. There are places in which he is not troubled or troublesome. We know those times and places. Let’s find them. Be still. Be with our dog. Just be.

Let’s start right here, in wonder of all that our dog is. Author Richard Rohr refers wonder as “standing in awe before something.” Can we really do that with our dog? Be right there, for a moment, a short while, aware and in awe.

Our dog thinks. But, what exactly? Let the question roll over you. Rohr also writes about wondering as “standing in the question itself.” We will never know our dog’s thoughts. But we can wonder. That alone could keep me here, contemplating not what my dog is thinking but that she is. And, it’s private.

Our dog feels. Researcher Jaak Panksepp opened that door for us, uncovering the emotional lives of animals. We can watch our dog, whatever she’s doing right now, and we can settle in with the truth that she has feelings. We can imagine those feeling, because we are emotional creatures too. She seeks out things that feel good and avoids things that feel bad. We can relate. We can empathize.

Our dog moves. She is a living being in motion here with us, right now, at this time, in this place. She makes choices and puts those choices in motion (or in stillness). It happens in this space with us fully present. Aware. In Awe.

IMG_8850As I write, I’m looking at my own dog standing in the sunlight. She is looking out at I-don’t-know-what. She is living. Thinking. Feeling. Her ball is on the ground just behind her, a choice for playing a moment ago and perhaps in the moment ahead. But now, in this moment, she is present in the sun and the sound of the wind and the moving leaves and the dappling of light on her face. What is out there? What moves her to this stillness?

Begin with wonder, every day, every new start. We are able to engage with dogs in ways not open to us with most other animals. We can learn to communicate with them. Spend a moment with that idea. It is wonderful – this connection we have – this chance to learn how they interact with us – the chance to teach them our words and phrases. It’s cooperation. It’s learning together. Who cares that I am human and she is dog? How amazing.

Where else to begin now that we know, now that we notice? There is only wonder. They come to us, our dogs, and ask us: Play? Rest? Touch? Eat? They comfort us and turn to us for comfort when they are afraid, or anxious, or sad. They turn to us. Us.

And they are a wonder, these animals who live with us and think their private thoughts. Their feelings, like ours, must run amok at times. Their actions seem to run in kind – amok – but much differently than ours – fully dog. No wonder, really, we get confused. And no wonder they get confused, too, I guess. It’s hard.

But connected we stay, and committed. Life in this human world is crazy enough for us humans. What a mess it must seem to our dogs. It’s a good thing we’re here to see them through it. It’s a good they are here to see us through it.

She’s resting now, almost asleep, the ball and the window and the flicker of sunlight forgotten – so it seems. She’ll dream, eyes flitting under half-opened lids. She always does. There may be muted barks, a twitch, sometimes full kicks of her legs. I’m not allowed to see what she sees. I can’t go with her. I can only watch and wonder. That word again. And awe. That one too.

And on we go. And every day, every moment, we begin again. We are right here. It’s right now. And, yes, every time it takes my breath away.

 

Breathing for Dog Trainers

We are under pressure. Our dog’s behavior is dangerous. We need to change it. We’re in a hurry. We have no time. The only comfort we have, if there is any to be found, is that we are not alone. So many of us taking on complicated dog behavior problems get tripped up. We flail and sometimes feel like we are drowning in despair.

I’ve written elsewhere about the process of dog training and how we solve common dog behavior problems. We’ve also talked about the illusion of control in dog training and our human tug towards punishment in training. What I haven’t addressed head on, until now, is the basic human life skill at the root of excellent teaching and learning – at the root of life, in fact. Breathing.

You might have guessed by now that I’m not talking about that shallow in-and-out that keeps us upright. It’s not the gasping and sighing we do while we prattle off commands to our dogs either. No, I’m talking about mindful breathing. It’s the take-a-breather, focus on your body, draw it in, let it out slowly, stay in the moment kind of breathing. Breathe.  Notice your lungs pulling in the air. Relax your belly, then fill your chest. Pay attention while you let it out.

In.

Out.

This is the breathing you’ve done in yoga class, or at least tried. It’s the foundation of meditation. It’s part of prayer and contemplation in every religion (the root of the word “spirit” is breath). Breathing, real attentive breathing is at the heart of who we are as humans. It certainly plays a role in our relationship and our ability to communicate with our dogs. Here’s how.

Breathe to prepare your mind for teaching your dog. Take five minutes. Sit quietly and focus on the in and out of your breath. This is a simple and short meditation. That word scares some people, I know. Breathe. You know how to do it. In. Out. The idea is to focus on one thing for a short period of time. Your breathing. You’re breathing.

IMG_0737I sometimes cheat. My focus becomes watching my dog as I breathe. There is no talking, simply observing and breathing. I’ve caught Stella looking back at me and we’ve held that observant vigil for minutes on end – long enough for me to get lost in it, awakened only by the tear tracking down my cheek. (I’m a sap, it’s true). Watch. Breathe.

Breathe while you teach. So much of what you and I are doing with our dogs is about modeling calm behavior. Mindful breathing helps us do that. Focus on the process of training, yes. Observe your skills and how they affect your dog’s behavior in the learning session, definitely. But, don’t forget to breathe. That remembrance will keep you connected to your body and your mind space. Are you tense? Are you losing patience? Are you okay? Take care of yourself. The teaching and learning will come more easily if you breathe.

I sometimes take a mini-breather while training. It’s easy to do when switching between exercises. I especially like to do that if I’m going to transition from clicker training to a play break. Remembering what I’m doing and breathing through it helps me smile in learning sessions. That keeps me connected to my dog and the work we’re doing together. It fuels the fun and the joyful praise in the moment.

Houston-Dog-Stewie-AdorbsBreathe in the space in between. So often we are caught in the illusion that learning and teaching are only things that happen in “sessions.” Take just a second, or a minute, or two. Then take a breath. Look at your dog. Is she looking back? Raise your eyebrows and say “hello.” It’s such a powerful moment. If she comes to you, pet her. Let everything else that is happening fall away (It will be there when you get back). Breathe through this experience with your dog.

Not just sometimes, but every day I sit on the floor with my dogs and let them come to me. I don’t talk. I breathe with them, and touch, and nuzzle. I do this even after very long days with everyone else’s dogs. It connects me to Stella and Stewie. It also reminds me of how I’m connected to my clients – all dealing with the stressors and the drama life – none of us really alone – keeping our heads above water. All of us, when we can, remembering to breathe.

Michael Baugh teaches dog training in Houston TX. He specializes in dogs who behave aggressively and fearfully.