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.

 

About Giffy, Pt. 1: How I started working with dogs

To be honest, I really was a cat person all my life. It wasn’t until I found myself adopting a 5-month-old Pomeranian puppy that I started to explore the world of dogs. That was nearly 20 years ago. And, sadly, Mandy lived a short life for a Pomeranian. She fell down the stairs when she was 8, suffering some “major neurological episode,” and died. I was devastated.

Distraught by the emptiness of my home, I couldn’t stop feeling Mandy’s absence, and then it occurred to me that I needed to do something. Because I decided I wasn’t ready to love another dog just yet, I decided to try fostering, to give another dog a chance in Mandy’s honor; I checked into local rescue groups, and after several people recommended Second Chance Animal Rescue, I contacted them. I think the year was 2000.

At first, my foster dogs were highly-adoptable puppies and small dogs, wriggling bundles of energy and fur. Some of them literally lasted hours before they were adopted, but over time, I developed a reputation as a person who could work with more challenging dogs, and more challenging dogs I got.

It began, innocently enough, with a call from the dog coordinator asking me if I could try working with a dog that had some challenging behaviors. She probably prefaced her comments, “I’m not sure this dog can be saved,” a line that has led many a rescue dog to front door. To be honest, I’m not even sure which dog it was—perhaps the Lhasa Apso whose person had committed suicide or the stray 14-year-old Pekinese with a spinal condition and dry eye or the Pekinese cross that had proptosed its eye squabbling with another, larger dog in its previous foster home. Maybe it was Wally, who lived with his siblings in the walls of a house, completely unsocialized. Or Maude, the Neapolitan mastiff that had been fed carcasses and had to have 18 inch tumor removed from her kidney. I no longer remember which dog started my journey, but I am so grateful for it.

So, I became the difficult dog foster, the person who could handle aggression, shy-fearful behaviors, submissive wetting, separation anxiety. The list became longer over time, and then when I began working with a holistic vet, Dr. Pomeroy, I began to work with allergies, too.

Since 2000, I’ve fostered approximately 170 dogs!

What's normal?

A friend of mine recently took in her first foster, a miniature poodle relinquished to Whipstaff Ranch after a local breeding facility decided to "liquidate its stock."

The good news is: The majority of the 1,200 dogs and puppies reportedly at the facility have been safely placed into rescue groups that will medically treat, socialize, and place them in loving homes. And happily, these dogs are less fearful than most of the puppy mill dogs I've worked with.

Still, like all mill dogs (and shy-fearfuls), they create training challenges. Gracie, my friend's foster, didn't know how to walk up stairs, had not been potty trained, didn't vocalize, didn't play, and my friend bemoaned, "Will she ever be normal?" Well, that presumes a "normal" set of dog behaviors exists, but although Gracie may never be as confident as some dogs that have been loved and cared for all their lives, her prognosis is promising.

The first step is to start training her and to push her outside of her comfort zone a bit. That doesn't mean it is wise--or even responsible--to throw her on a leash and take her out for a walk. Many a well-meaning rescuer has done just that and ended up with a loose, undersocialized dog, a very dangerous situation for the dog with low odds of a good outcome. In fact, these dogs can be so fearful that they can even get loose from fenced yards or lost in them when they panic.

Start slowly. Rather than throwing a potentially traumatized dog on a leash outside (which it may have never experienced), attach a leash on her collar when you are home and can superverise to make sure she doesn't get tangled up and hurt herself. Let her drag the leash for a half an hour or so. After the dog becomes comfortable with the leash attached to her collar, pick up the other end of the leash from time-to-time to desensitize her a bit. Generally increase the amount of time you walk her on leash inside before venture outside into unsecured areas.

To take this approach a step further, try "umbilical training," during which you attach the dog's leash to yourself for an extended period of time, usually a couple of days. Umbilical training is highly regarded by many rescue people I've met, and we use it to help build confidence in undersocialized dogs, to help unfocused dogs connect, and to aide with potty training. I've used it myself with terrific results.

Remember, though, that mill and shy-fearful dogs are easily intimidated. Add time and activities gradually, as they become more confident, but don't coddle them so much that they don't have any motivation to come out of their shells.

So, why not try it? Let your mill or shy-fearful dog drag the leash while you supervise, and work up to umbilical training.

And good luck, Gracie!