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!
If I think about it for any length of time it boils down to this. There are two types of people in life: Ones who are fanatical about dogs, and ones who aren’t. I’m here to reveal myself as being among the former. Though I will also admit, I sometimes don’t understand either group very well.
Juno (1998-2009) playing dress-up
Dog fanatics (simply calling them “fans” doesn’t quite suffice) often don’t have human children, They consider the dogs their children. We fanatics also recognize, and will gladly tell you, that dogs possess and demonstrate virtues that human beings, including human children, simply do not. Dogs are deeply forgiving and kind. Their anger is usually explainable, if not justified. They are natural creatures who play by the rules without trying to bend or manipulate them. Yes, we sometimes dress them up, especially for Halloween. Yes, we talk to them even when no one else is around to hear. Of course, we tell them secrets. And I know you didn’t ask, but we kiss them too. A lot.
If you still don’t understand “dog fanatic,” here it is in one sentence. We put dogs on a pedestal where we firmly believe they rightly belong.
Then there are those who are unashamedly not dog fanatics. I met a woman recently who boldly admitted she didn’t like dogs. The shock that followed was not so much a result of what she’d just told me. It was that I had nothing to say in return. I was proverbially and literally speechless. What could I possibly say to a woman who would admit such a thing? “At least,” I thought, “you are honest about it.”
A few weeks later I saw my boss at work with a dog I didn’t recognize. When I asked her about him, she told me he’d been left in front of the building in a crate with a note attached. We can no longer afford this dog. His food and care are too expensive. We can’t afford to take him to a shelter to get rid of him. Please find him a new home for us. My boss is a leader among us dog fanatics. Her face was shell shocked. I, again, was speechless. I know what it was that cut us both to the emotional quick. Get rid of him. He was clearly a sweet and gentle boy. Who would simply get rid of him? Who would leave him like this? Who, in leaving him, would fail to leave the dog’s name on the note, one bit of dignity, a simple goodbye?
Find him a new home. The people who abandoned This Dog won’t read this column. On the off chance they do, I should tell them there are painfully few new homes for dogs. There are shelters staffed with kind-hearted people, some volunteers, who suffer the truth of the neglected dogs in their care. There are shelters, haunted by loneliness and disease. There are shelters, where some dogs are adopted but many more are not. Find him a new home? This Dog. My boss turned away from me. There were unspoken expletives in the air. “We are a horrible species.” I said, and that was all.
I thought for a moment of my own dog, Stewie, running in a storm not far from the place where I work. He had no tag, no microchip. No one responded to the signs or web postings that he’d been found. He’s a good boy too, like This Dog. I found my Stella at a shelter and saw her through distemper. She probably never had a home before mine. As I write this, their bellies are full and their hearts are at peace. Tonight they will cuddle in my bed before retiring to their own. Tomorrow they will go to work with me and romp in doggie daycare. If I were down to my last meal, I’d share it with them.
I don’t understand those who are not dog fanatics. Equally, I’m sometimes perplexed by those of us who are. When I joined the ranks of the insanely in love with dogs, things seemed clear enough. Dog is god spelled backwards. The righteous praise and love them. Those who neglect and abandon dogs are the villains.
The truth, controversial as it might be, is not so clear. I know many dog fanatics who distain fellow humans in equal measure. Some are deeply unforgiving. Others are quick to anger. Often, we fanatics dress each other down, sometimes in public. Occasionally we cut ties, and rid ourselves of others altogether. The truth is stark. We put ourselves on a pedestal and believe firmly it’s where we rightly belong.
So, perhaps this first column is a confession. I heard the story of This Dog and said, “We are a horrible species.” What did that say about me? Is that what I really believe? The people who care for suffering dogs suffer the most. They are the people who work at shelters, and the people who volunteer for rescue organizations. They are good people who see horrible things, who see humans at their worst. They love dogs, and sometimes lose the fight to save them. How easy is it then to lose hope in our own kind? Maybe that’s why we turn on each other, on ourselves, even on other dog fanatics. I’ve done it myself. I confess.
My boss is a leader among us dog fanatics and I admit sometimes I don’t understand her. There she stood that morning with This Dog, ready to take him to the vet for some shots and a fresh start. Her look turned from shock to stoic determination as she turned and walked away, clutching his leash in one hand and the painful note she’d found in the other. There was a lesson in the sight of them together. She’s a good woman. He’s a good dog. Their strength together was quiet humility in the face of injustice. It’s an old lesson I keep forgetting.
“We are a horrible species,” I said, and almost immediately I wished I could take it back.
Here is how one of my mentors used to put it. Some things trainers teach are simply their opinion. Others are the opinions shared among many trainers. Then there are the facts, verified, and peer-reviewed. The latter is what this article is about, the science of dog training.
Stewie
Here’s what we know for sure. If your dog does something, and that action is followed by a well-timed favorable outcome, the behavior will happen more frequently in the future. Edward Thorndike served up that gem back in 1905. It’s been tested so many times it’s known as Thorndike’s Law of Effect. Trainers know it for its good common sense. Sit followed by a bit of food yields more sits, and faster ones too. Thorndike’s law works for lots of things. Break it and you’re sunk.
We know this too. We can give or withhold good things to change our dog’s behavior. That’s the core thinking behind Skinner’s famous Learning Theory. Our dogs control their own behavior, but we can greatly influence their choices. How cool is that? Dog jumps up; he gets nothing. Dog sits nicely; he gets something nice. What do we get? We get less jumping and more sitting. This is probably the most scientifically tested bit of psychology on the planet. Good things happen – behavior increases. Good things don’t happen – behavior decreases.
It gets better. We influence something else too. We can create cues in the environment, like certain words, hand signals and situations to trigger behaviors. That’s what all these “commands” are about. It’s not trainer magic. It’s science. The cue “sit,” for instance, informs the dog that something good might be afoot. He plants his booty on the ground, because he’s learned that’s a safe bet. Bingo! Here comes the goody. Sit, then, becomes a very powerful word. We could have set up the same chain of events with any stimulus. The science is no different.
Okay, let’s geek out a little. All this boils down to A – B – C. That cue we were talking about is the “A.” It’s called an antecedent. I remember it because I’m asking the dog to do something. I’m polite like that. The “B” is for behavior (what the dog does). The “C” is the consequence, giving or taking something away to influence a change in behavior. That’s Learning Theory. “A” (antecedent): Doggie Come! “B” (behavior) he runs to us full force, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. “C” (consequence): We throw his favorite ball for him to fetch. Brilliant! Now, here’s the rub. We can greatly influence this whole process, but even if we don’t the process is still always in play. Our dogs are learning just about every waking hour. Check this out. “A” (antecedent): Leftovers on the counter “asking” to be eaten (begging maybe). “ B” (behavior): dog lifts himself to the countertop for a sniff. “C” (consequence): the whole thing ends in a tasty snack. Our dog just learned a new trick and we had nothing at all to do with it. How about that Dr. Skinner?
Good dog trainers and behavior consultants know this stuff backwards and forwards. They’ve studied it; they’ve watched it at work; they’ve applied it in the field. They won’t bore you with all the minutia of contingency statements and functional analysis (okay, I might a little bit). Instead, they will look at any behavior problem and ask: What is the dog actually doing? That’s the behavior itself, like jumping up on the counter. It’s not an interpretation of behavior like, “he’s dominant” or “he’s trying to get back at you.” (That’s non-science). They’ll also ask, what’s triggering the behavior? There’s your antecedent, in this case the sight of the countertop itself. Then they’ll ask, what’s keeping the behavior going? Ah, the consequence! Sometimes there’s food up there.
Move a few puzzle pieces and the picture changes. We can control antecedents and consequences. Adjust those and sure enough your dog changes his behavior. That’s what learning is all about. In this example, keeping the dog out of the kitchen is a good way to avoid the antecedent. Clearing the countertop removes the potential for a yummy consequence. Teaching the dog to put his nose to work elsewhere is even better. Where did my human mom hide that delicious stuffed Kong Toy for me?
Practice your ABC’s. This science left the laboratory more than 70 years ago. Skinner’s students took it on the road in the 1940s training animals for carnivals, movies, TV, and the military. Sea mammal trainers eat, breathe and sleep it. It’s at work right now in your own home, whether you know it or not.
Applied well and gently, science-based training is the stuff of good communication with your dog. Applied lovingly, it’s the path to a deep and abiding friendship. Of course, that last part is simply my opinion.
