About Giffy, pt. 2: Learning to value soft training methods

I really didn’t have formal training at the outset. I simply watched the dogs when they came into my house. In the early days, someone told me about the “alpha dog” mentality that was popular at the time along with rolling those that had acted up, showing the dogs who was boss. For a time, that was a factor in my work, but I have since discovered a much softer and more effective approach. (For a brilliant refutation of “rolling dogs,” a practice that was widely used when I began working in rescue around 2000, see Suzanne Clothier’s article, “He Just Wants to Say ‘Hi!” It’s one of the most important influences on my training.)

I never believed in physical punishment, but in the early days, I did a lot of yelling/”barking,” as I was trying to establish myself as the dominant member of my pack. That stopped that the day my 140-pound mastiff began to cower when I raised my voice. From that day forward I decided to train from a place of calm and started exploring different approaches.

That softer approach was reinforced as I welcomed increasingly shy-fearful dogs into my home. To be frank, most of them couldn’t handle yelling. They’d become catatonic, shut down. I had to try other approaches, so I tried to see the world from their vantage point. If they cowered when they went outside, I explored ways to make the space seem smaller, safer. And during this period of my evolution, I became a little too indulgent, allowing dogs to hide behind their fear. Case in point, Becca was in my home 2-3 years before I really pushed her to be on a leash.  (See the Fall 2006 Second Chance Newsletter piece entitled “The Shed Dogs” for more of Becca’s back story.)

I only learned of the shortcomings in the indulgent approach when Sarah entered my home. Like Becca, she was seriously undersocialized when she arrived at my house, the result of years in a breeding facility. But, unlike Becca, I pushed Sarah, not hard, but I brought her out into the world more quickly. I’ll never forget the first class I took with Janey Shaddrick, from Rogues & Rascals. Sarah was terrified. In fact, for the entire 8-week class, she stood there.

Doing. Nothing.

I was mortified, as if her failure to engage somehow reflected poorly on me (an attitude I have encountered many, many times since I’ve begun working with people and dogs). I forced myself to check my ego at the door in order to encourage Sarah to blossom a bit. It worked. Although Sarah didn’t really learn many commands in that class, she did learn how to be in a group of other people and dogs. She learned that going out into the world didn’t have to be overwhelming.

I learned at least as much. From Janey, I was reinforced that training softly and patiently was a great way to inspire a dog to work for me. I didn’t have to be heavy-handed. I didn’t even need to use treats, but I did need to observe Sarah, see what she liked. I needed to think creatively in order to help Sarah along, and I needed to appreciate our small, innumerable successes rather than focus on the many challenges that still lay ahead. In that class, Sarah grew to like my touch; she walked by my side calmly, and a couple of times, she even sat on command!

It was progress, and I needed to recognize that.

 

A heartfelt thank you to Andree Tracey. . .

When I was at the dinner party mentioned in the following post, I met Minnesota artist Andree Tracey, whose work, by the way, is incredible. Anyhow last week, she wrote this entry
in her blog about my rescue work with Second Chance.

Thank you Andree!

Behind the bars

A month ago, a friend and I went on an rather unsavory field trip to animal control in order to test the temperament of a Pomeranian after the dog coordinator for Second Chance Animal Rescue, the group for which I foster, called and told me that the dog may be too shy-fearful/aggressive to rescue.

Side note: I'm a sucker for Poms. In fact, I began fostering after my beloved Pomeranian, Mandy, fell down the stairs and died when she was 8 years old.

So my motivation to save this little dog was pretty high, and Kathy, who recently lost a dog unexpectedly herself, agreed to accompany me. The two of us entered the kennel quietly and sat on the rugs we brought while attempting the lure the currently nameless dog out of the corner. Aware that she would be euthanized if she bit either of us, we carefully approached her wearing gloves. Eventually, I was able to stroke her a bit and pick her up. Kathy even handled her paws, and at one point the little dog, whom we renamed "Ella," lifted a leg so Kathy could scratch her better. But in the facility, she was absolutely terrified.

As difficult a place as animal control is to see, it helps put things in perspective when a new dog enters my home. (To get a vague sense, check out this video, especially from 2:00 on. Note: There are few accurate depictions of animal control facilities on YouTube.) Since most of our dogs come through animal control, I find it helpul to see what their world is like once they become a stray. It goes something like this:

1. The dog's person relinquishes him/her, is hospitalized, or is arrested. . . OR a random person finds it in an unexpected place and calls animal control.

In the latter case, animal control officers come to the site and capture the loose dog, sometimes using a pole with a loop at the end. Anyhow, it's pretty traumatizing, from what I've seen--even
when animal control officers like those in this video are thoughtful in their approach.

2. The dog lives in a loud, cold kennel/run at an animal control facility for a set amount of time--unless it is reclaimed by it's person.

In my part of town, the dog stays in animal control for 5 days before it is euthanized. The facility itself is cold, loud, scary, containing rows of cement-floored runs. The has no bed or toys, and its run is cleaned using a high-powered hose. It is not walked or exercised during its stay.

3. While the dog is the facility, it can be assessed by a handful of rescue organizations, and if it is very, very lucky, it will be chosen to leave with one of those groups. That's what happened to Ella. She was sprung and fostered by Kathy, who helped her calm down after her terriying ordeal, and now Ella's in a permanent home.

4. But what about the majority that aren't claimed? Well, they wait. And wait. And when the facility is full or their time is determined to be up, someone walks up to their kennel wearing a lab coat and leather gloves, loops a leash around their necks, and takes them for a final walk, which ends behind a closed door.

I wish I could say their last moments were peaceful.