'Til My Puzzler Was Sore

There's a lot of talk in reactive dog circles right now about allowing the dog to think, make a choice, and then rewarding the heck out of the good choice. It makes sense; dogs, after all, repeat what you reward. I've used this technique with fantastic results with Maus. If I stop and give him time to really analyze a situation, 99% of the time he decides that he's safe and that there's nothing worth reacting that. Recently, I've watched many handlers use the same process and make great progress with their dogs. I've been working with B on making good choices, and I couldn't figure out why we seemed to have stalled out.

I seem to have forgotten that B makes bad choices.

A lot of them.

Very quickly.

I doubt that B even understands that there's a choice to be made: see other dog, throw tantrum until other dog comes over. She's had five years work herself into a habit, and I think that her vision may be so narrow that she doesn't see that there's another, more productive way to behave. Her behavior bypasses her brain altogether. No wonder waiting for B to make the "right choice" wasn't working so well.

Now I know what doesn't work. Important, but not as important as knowing what does work. Think, brain, think.

The cool part about traveling in canine-oriented circles is that inspiration seems to appear when you need it most. For me, a video posted on my friend Apryl's facebook page hit home. B and I went back to basics. We polished up our heel. Most importantly, I increased the rate of reinforcement instead of giving B a chance to "think' about what was going on. If a dog appeared, I shoved a piece of hot dog in her mouth right away, effectively interrupting her stare and refocusing her on me. Then we made progress step by step instead of choice by choice. Less shaping, more luring.

It works. B has made some stellar progress this week. Upping the rate of reinforcement was the big one, I think. B has always had trouble with dogs that weren't behind fences on our walks. But this week, we've been able to pass the house with the big angry dog on a tie out with nary a whine.

Then there was the off-leash beagle. Since stopping classes, the only way for B to be around other dogs is if I take her out on walks. I've pretty much mapped out where all the off-leash dogs are likely to be, and we avoid those areas. But, well, welcome to real life training.

I see the dog about half a block away, take a second to make sure what I'm seeing (because dog on a tie out would be a good training opportunity), and when I'm sure of what I'm seeing, I give B our strategic retreat cue ("runaway, runaway"), and head back the way we came. Rubi doesn't mind this at all. We've practiced retreating a lot when dogs aren't around, so she doesn't associate the cue with other dogs. She's also on squirrel patrol, so she isn't looking behind herself.

Jingle, jingle, jingle.

I look back, and sure enough, while B didn't notice the beagle, the beagle noticed us and is trotting merrily our way. B hasn't heard it yet - she's too engrossed in the possibility of squirrels. I make the strategic decision to turn B around. I do this because I can't outrun anything with four legs, and I'd rather B see the other dog while it's still far enough away for her to be under threshold, instead of having her turn around and, "ZOMG, DOG!"

B sees the other dog, and the instant her ears go up, I pop a piece of hot dog in her mouth. She stares. The beagle freezes. I give B another piece of hot dog. She wags her tail a little. I give her a third piece of hot dog, and she looks at me - then she gets five pieces of hot dog because, yay! We play the auto watch game a few more times, the beagle stays where it is, and I eventually turn B back around and head toward home.

Jingle, jingle, jingle.

Dammit.

I turn B around again and the beagle freezes as B stares. I give her a piece of hot dog. We play the auto watch game again. The beagle isn't coming any closer, but - you guessed it - as soon as we turn away, it starts coming closer again. We stop about three more times, the beagle getting slowly closer until I give up when it's about ten feet away.

By the way, this beagle is my new favorite dog in the neighborhood. Every time B stops and stares, the beagle freezes, turns its head away, and flicks its tongue. Every time B turns away to take a treat, the beagle takes a step closer. Eventually, the beagle gets close enough to sniff B, and I give her a whole fist full of hot dog.

Then I release her to sniff the beagle back. They circle each other, doing the new-doggie dance, while I follow and try to keep B's leash loose. After about eight seconds, I call B's name.

She ignores me.

I take a chance and gently call her again. She turns and wags her tail at me.

I give her half the hot dogs I have left.

We sniff our selves dizzy a while longer, me periodically calling B back, giving her treats, and releasing her. This helps to break her concentration and intensity, and it also reinforces her recall. I'm not going to call her away and ruin her fun. I'm calling her away, giving her tasty treats, and letting her go back. It's a win/win situation from B's perspective.

Once it becomes clear that there isn't going to be any fight, and the beagle is not going to go away and leave us alone, I turn us all around again, and we head back in the direction the beagle came from. We find its frantic owner a block away. She had "just left the gate open for a minute" to water her plants, and when she turned around, the beagle was gone. Uh-huh. But the beagle's owner seems genuinely apologetic, and I'm too pleased with Rubi's behavior to really dig into her.

Progress - we haz it!

I Want To Tell You About Jack

Handsome Jack came into our lives on a brilliant October morning. I remember it crisply: my dad and I were in the driveway working on my car. My dad grew up on a farm, and we were having a lively discussion about who would win in a fair fight, a pit bull or a farm-bred tom cat. This is the moment Jack chose to saunter into my life. 

We didn't feed him to the pit bulls to see who would win. 

I didn't even think of it . . . Honest.

I did do all the right things: contacted local vets, cruised craigslist and petfinder, called animal control, but no one was missing a sweet but skinny little boy kitty. One of the distinctions I make between mentally unstable self and one of those mentally unstable hoarders is that I know my limits. My limit is four cats. Jack was number five. Five cats is like . . . suicide. Every time turned around, I was tripping over one of the little basta - ahem, buggers. Sooner or later, one of them was going to trip me down the stairs and kill me. Still, I couldn't very well put Jack's butt back out on the street (damn ethics). So I called in a few favors and got Jack vetted and neutered and began the hunt for a new home. 

In December of 2009, one of our cats died in an unexpected, violent, and entirely preventable accident. My family was devastated. My own guilt and grief was compounded by the suffering of Keagan, my favorite cat (they're not children, I'm allowed to have favorites). Keagan and the deceased cat had been best friends; we adopted them on the same day as kittens, and they had been inseparable. After the accident, Keagan wandered the house, puzzled. Keagan has always been a quiet cat, and he didn't stop eating, but for a week, I never saw him sleep. He traveled from room to room, never stopping, looking out windows and under couches as if he could figured out where we'd hidden his best friend. 

Until one morning when I came home from work and Keagan was passed out cold in a chair, Handsome Jack curled next to him, licking his forehead. I emailed the Powers That Be the same day: "Take Jack off the webpage - we're keeping him."

I never once regretted the decision. If the Voice of Reason and I ever split up, Jack is the only animal we'd fight over. He's just that cool. Introducing a new animal to a house full of animals - let alone a critter as sensitive as an adult cat -  is always a dicey proposition, but Jack handled it with aplomb. Every time one of the other cats would cop an attitude with him, he'd stare at them for a moment as if wondering what bug got stuck up their butt, and then he'd turn casually and walk away. Jack handled new dogs in the house with the same laconic chill: a dismissive look and a talk-to-the-butt. If they got uppity, he wasn't above a good smack, either. You couldn't ask for a better cat with other animals. 

When Jack first came to the house, he was a bit untamed. He didn't like to be held, but he loved to perch on my shoulder as I did dishes or cooked or folded laundry. He was obsessive about food, probably because he clearly didn't get enough when he was where ever he was before he walked up my driveway. Jack would literally steal the food off your fork if you weren't paying attention - his balls were that big. Part of Jack's huge appetite no doubt came from his total lack of physical coordination. There is no way Jack was catching any food on the outside. It wasn't uncommon for him to try to jump on the kitchen counter and miss two or three times. When he'd finally get up there, he'd fall in the sink. Even when it was filled with water. He was stubborn about it, though. He never gave up once he decided he wanted something. 

He let me dress him up in funny costumes. He wouldn't even give me dirty looks for it. 

Jack has left us as unexpectedly as he came into our lives. Handsome Jack passed away from lymphoma today at the age of four. Only the good die young, right? Wisdom and faith tell me that Jack is happy now, having gone to where ever it is that good kitties go when they've lived a great life and always used the litter box. He's free in that land where no one tries to shove pills down his throat or dress him up as a reindeer for Christmas. In this place, kitchen counter tops are only two feet high, and they always have raw steak sitting out unattended. I know this; I believe it. 

But I still wish Jack were here with me, to ease my grief once again. 

That'll Do, Pig

If I'm not complaining, I'm probably dead. I know this about myself; it's not one of my better qualities, but it's there. Fortunately, I believe that in order to complain about something, you have to be willing to take the necessary steps to make things better. This philosophy is why I vote. It's why I volunteer to be on committees at work. And it's why for the last few years, I've been on the A Rotta Love Plus education team. Most pit bull owners, myself included, can tell stories about people who cross the street to avoid their dogs. Or people who will be petting their dog and then suddenly stop and back with a look of horror when told what breed of dog they're touching (because me saying, "(S)He's a pit bull" is actually code for, "Attack! Attack!"). I don't have the patience needed to educated these people. So instead, I tackle the next generation. I firmly believe that ignorance is a 100% curable disease (stupidity is, of course, a different matter).

The ARLP education program works mostly with children, and children are remarkably and wonderfully open-minded. I've been itching to get Rubi into the program for a while, but I wanted to wait for the right environment. I wanted a site that I'd done before so I would know what to expect. Not only the building and the room, but also what the kids were going to be like. Some groups can be really wild, and I didn't want to put the added stress on myself to control the kids and Rubi at the same time. I also wanted to do a program without any other dogs, for obvious reasons. I have no doubt that Rubi will be able to do programs with other dogs in the future, but again, I didn't want the added trouble.

I decided that our debut program would be at the Science Museum of Minnesota's "Get Set to Be a Vet"  class. ARLP has been working with the Science Museum for several years, and every year I've volunteered for it because dude - you get to take your dog into the Science Museum! How cool is that?

The day of the program with Rubi, I went the extra mile to make sure Rubi was well exercised - literally. We biked for about three miles and came home to play ball with the other dogs. After forty-five minutes of ball, I was a little worried that she hadn't fallen over from exhaustion yet. When I first got Rubi, we went out for a walk. A mile from home, she laid down and refused to go another step. I managed to coax her half a mile back, but I ended up carrying her the last half mile. How we have both changed!

I loaded Rubi up into the van and headed out. Rubi regards car rides as the greatest of adventures, and this trip was no different. She sat in the crate watching the world fly by, ears up, grinning like Peter Pan. I have a terrible habit of being late to the Science Museum, so I made sure that we left in good time. As a result, we were twenty minutes early. As I geared up and got us going, I quietly begged my dog, "Please, if you behave, you can have a whole can of green tripe for dinner. Please." She gave me this look, which I thought was rather cryptic:

Those twenty extra minutes flew by, and before I knew it, it was game time. We piled into a room with about ten eight-year old girls who immediately start ooh-ing and awe-ing over B (although thankfully remaining in their seats a respectful distance away - have I mentioned how much I love the Science Museum kids?). Upon seeing the them, Rubi lights up and starts doing the Pit Bull Wiggle'n'Wag Slut Dance. I gently tug B over to her mat and get her settled. Luckily, while she's clearly excited about everyone else, she's still focused on me.

Laura A, the facilitator, introduces herself and the rescue. I introduce myself and Rubi.

"Does she bite?" One little blonde asks warily.

"She sure doesn't," I reassure her.

"Does she, like, put her mouth on you and chew on you?"

"No, she doesn't do that either." I lean in, about to tell a special secret. "She really likes to give kisses though."

The girls giggle.

Laura A talks about stray dogs, what a stray dog is, and what an eight year-old girl should do if she sees one. I spend this time doing unobtrusive impulse control exercises with Rubi on her mat. We do treats-on-paws, Zen doggie, and a few others.

When a stray dog approaches a child, we teach them that they should stand still  like a tree, not look at the dog, and definitely not start screaming and running as small children are wont to do. We have the girls practice standing like a tree while Rubi and I walk between them, and I praise the genius that is Kellie Dillner, the lady who developed the Dog Safety Education curriculum. What an awesome idea to first show the dogs that kids aren't all that interesting and let them sniff everyone before doing anything more exciting. After "stand like a tree," we teach what you should do if a stray dog knocks you over, "curl up like a rock." The girls curl up on the floor with their hands over their heads.

"Just don't step on anyone," I whisper to B. She doesn't, but I have a near miss with a tiny shoe.

After talking about stray dogs, we talk about responsible pet ownership. And how to greet a dog you don't know. First, ask the owner. Then, let the dog sniff you. After that, pet the dog's neck and shoulders. The girls get to come up one by one and practice on B. They're thrilled at how she tries to shake their hands instead of sniffing them like she's suppose to. Hey, I'm not going to complain.

"What do dogs need?" Laura A asks once everyone's settled down again.

Food, water, training, a habitat, love.

"What does love look like?"

"Well," one of the girls explains, "you have to pet them and give them treats and attention. That's love." The little girl points at me. "Like she's doing with Rubi."

I look at Rubi. Rubi grins at me. It's amazing how children have a way of reminding you of the important things you've forgotten.

After responsible dog ownership, we talk about training. I explain to the girls about dog sports, and give them a glimpse into everything from tracking and disc to obedience and therapy work. Then, I show them Rubi's tricks. They're very impressed with "touch" when I have Rubi jump to shoulder height to nose bump my hand. I teach the girls how to teach their own dogs "touch," and then I show them how to teach roll-over and beg.

"What do you use for treats?" one girl asks.

I pull a fistful of goodies out of my bait pouch. I have hot dogs, pepperoni, and soft cat treats for my high value; kibble, Charlie Bears, and marshmallows for low values. This leads into a discussion about feeding dogs people food, and then into a discussion about raw diets. The girls are amazed that Rubi gets to eat raw chicken, ground hamburger, and fresh veggies instead of kibble.

"Does Rubi always listen to what you tell her?" someone pipes up.

"Do you always listen to what your parents tell you?" I counter.

"Yes!"

"Always!"

"All the time!"

I stare at the group for a second with the sound of snickering from the adults in the room behind me. "Well," I say, "I imagine Rubi listens about as well as you do."

Too quickly, the hour is over. The girls line up to leave, and I bring Rubi over to the door so they can say good-bye as they go. Rubi's in heaven, her whole body vibrating with joy.

"Good girl," I tell her. "That'll do, pig. That'll do."

Wordless Wednesday: The Progression

Rubi's Gotcha Day is coming up in a few months, so I've been waxing nostalgic over my computerized photo albums. I'm wondering - do you see what I see?

May 24, 2010

June 20, 2010

July 29, 2010

August 16, 2010

September 26, 2010

December 4, 2010

February 21, 2011

March 21, 2011

April 3, 2011

June 9, 2011

July 14, 2011

Keep Them Doggies Movin'

Rubi and I haven't been entirely slacking for the past few months. We found a new hobby: biking. Rubi is one of those dogs who go a little stir crazy if she doesn't get out and run on a regular basis, and since I can't really let her off leash, giving myself a way to keep up with her seemed like the next best thing. I've put off writing this blog for a while because we were still working the kinks out. It turns out that biking with your dog is a lot like the rest of dog training: it requires a lot of tailoring to the individual team.

As with any activity that's physically demanding for your dog, safety is super important. I'm not going to insult you by pointing out that you should get your dog checked out by your vet before starting any new exercise regimen. If you're reading this blog, you probably already know that. What you might not realize is that you really need to watch your dog's feet. A dog running on asphalt is like a human running on sandpaper. You need to start slow. Rubi and I went up by half mile increments when we first started out. She definitly want to go farther, but foot pad injuries are horrible, and I didn't want to risk having her out of the game for a week or two while she healed. Another important piece of safety equipment is a helmet. Because who's going to take care of B if my brains are splattered across the pavement?

There are several dog-bike attachments out there, and none of them are perfect. The three that seem to be the most popular are the Springer Bicycle Jogger, the Sunlite Bicycle Leash, and the Walky Dog. The Springer, at $80, was out of my price range. The Sunlite, if you look at the picture, allows the dog to move to either side of the bike. I decided this wasn't for us because there are certain times that I know I'm going to want B on one side of the bike or the other. For example, if we have to pass people or other dogs, I definitely want to be able to put myself between B and the oncoming civilians.

So we went with the Walky Dog. Thus far, I've been pretty pleased with it. The Walky Dog is pretty much a metal pipe with a bungee cord running through it. The center of balance is right under the seat, and thus far B hasn't been able to come even close to pulling us over - and trust me, she's tried a few times. The metal pipe also unlocks from the rest of the bike so I can take it off if I want to go out sans dog. Or in case I need to beat a zombie with it (you never know when a foot long piece of metal pipe is going to come in handy).

The big criticism of the Walky Dog is a tendancy for the bungee to wear against the pipe and break. Seems like a pretty big product flaw, huh? As with everything else, I check my equipment before we go out, and so far it's not showing any signs of wear and tear. The bungee, should it break, is pretty cheap to replace. Implementing a back-up attachment wasn't any big deal. I probably would've found a back-up even if I didn't know about this flaw because I'm a pit bull owner, and we're paranoid. The trick was figuring out which back-up worked best: waist leash, collar, harness, shoulder leash, gentle leader, leash attached to bike - we played around with all of them. Here's what we've settled on:

B is attached to the Walky Dog with an awesome zebra striped martingale collar (yes, I bought it just for the bike - and yes, I know you're not surprised). The martingale is two inches wide. A smaller collar would put more pressure on her neck, and since that's her primary attachment to the bike, I want to reduce stress to her neck as much as possible. Ideally, I'd run her on a harness, but B is fifty-two pounds of reactive pit bull, and I do have some self-preservational instinct. Another advantage of the martingale is that no matter what twisted positions she tries, she's not going to be able to slip out of it. That's what martingales were developed to prevent.

Our back-up is B's four foot leash around my waist and attached to an eight inch Liberty's Attachment attached to Rubi's gentle leader. How we came to this arrangement is a long story. Basically, the four foot leash is too short and causes the gentle leader to interfere with B's running. The six foot leash is too long and B trips over it. 4'8" is apparently just right for us. This set-up is nice because it allows me to get control over B's head quickly if I need. And the Liberty's attachment makes a nice back-up for a lot of other things, too, like B's gentle leader to her collar, or Allister's harness to the Walky Dog when I run him. It's one of those handy bits that I never knew I needed until I got it.

Now that we have all the equipment sorted out, next comes the hard part. Luckily, B is afraid of nothing and didn't need to be conditioned to the bike. Once she figured out that she gets to run when the bike come out, it became her new Favorite Thing Ever. If you can't bike in a straight line for at least a block, do yourself (and your dog) a favor and practice. Yes, this is the voice of experience speaking. On any of the bike attachments, the dog has a limited amount of ability to move. You'll both have more fun if you're not continually pulling each other around.

Our heel work commands have transitioned nicely to the bike. In accordance with our new "eye contact for everything" rule, B has to look at me before she can start moving. Then, I release her with an "okay." In our heeling, "let's go" means move faster; this is our new cue for right turns since turning to the right almost always means that the dog needs to move faster. All my dogs forge (move farther ahead of me than they should) during heeling. Our cue for move back into heel position is "get in." This is now our cue for left turns. The only new cue is "easy" which simply means that we're slowing down or stopping. After we stop, at a corner, for instance, I tell her to wait. We're not just stopping and doing nothing. We're stopping and waiting, and B needs to look at me in order to get released to move again.

So how does this all come together with Rubi's reactivity? As with everything else, we figured this one out by trial and error. The nice thing about biking with B is that by the time B has found a dog to react about, we've already passed it. On the other hand, this is exactly what B wants: see another dog, run around and spaz. So we work on the same principle with the bike that we do on walks: only dogs who are under control get to move forward. So if we see another dog and B starts getting worked up, we stop. Depending on the intensity of the situation, we might work a few autowatches, or counter conditioning to barking, or I might just wait until she gives me eye contact and reward her by moving forward. The nice thing about our set-up is that it's really easy to detach from the bike if we need more room to work. All I need to do is unhook her collar.

Many, many moons ago, before I had a mortgage or a husband or even a driver's license, I used to go out biking with our family dog, a GSD mix named Dingo. Every time we went out, it was always an adventure. Somedays would find us catching crayfish in the Kinnickinnic. Other afternoons we'd spend terrorizing the local rabbit population. Or we'd bike to the local coffee shop. Our only limits were the power of our legs and the moment before dark when the street lights came on. A lot has changed since then. Despite my best intentions, I seem to have grown up. It's a different bike, a different dog, a different town. But the sense of freedom - that remains the same.

Wordless Wednesday: Food, Water, Shelter, Collars

Summertime Fun

My big goal for Rubi this summer was to get her good dog behaviors more generalized, and boy, have I been sucking at that. None of the dogs are in classes right now, and I'm not teaching, so you'd think I'd using all this spare time to take Rubi out and work on her issues in the real world.

Yeah, not so much. 

I think part of my reluctance to train Rubi stems from frustration. May marked the end of Rubi's first year with us, and I think I was subconsciously telling myself, really? a year? aren't we over this crap yet? I have hereby ordered myself to put on my big girl panties and get over it. I need to train the dog I have, not the dog I wish I had. So far, the tough self-love seems to be working. The last week or two, I've found more time for working with B, and I have more patience when we are together. If only all our obstacles we so easily defeated. 

Not surprisingly, between all the not-training and the not-seeing other dogs, Rubi's behaviors have backslid a bit. One of her big issues right now hearing other dogs. I've been using my old friends counter conditioning and desensitization to help with this. I'm trying to get Rubi out for walks four times a week. I've noticed that the longer the walk, the more B tends to get hyper vigilant. She starts out okay, but by the end of the walk, she's trying to grow eyes in the back of her head so she can see everything all at once. I've drastically reduced the length of our walks to try and limit over-stimulation; we've been averaging about a quarter to half a mile each walk. Each time a dog barks, I mark and reward with her with extra tasty just-for-other-dogs treats (we're using hot dog right now). There's nothing fancy about this technique. Dog bark = food. This method worked really well for some of Maus's issues, so I'm hoping it will work as well with B. She's always been excessively auditorily reactive (she reacts when she hears other dogs - don't worry, I made that term up), but it's been hard to work with at class because there are so many dog things to be reactive at in class. With the relative quiet of the suburbs, we're getting a lot more practice in.

Rubi's other big issue this summer is other dogs on leash (dogs behind fences are okay, go figure). Last summer, Rubi could manage pretty well to a distance of about fifteen yards - that's across the street. Right now, her threshold is right around twenty-five to thirty yards. This is still a huge accomplishment. When I first got her, her threshold was at around 3/4 of a mile for other dogs on leash. So with this issue, I'm confident that we'll actually get somewhere now that I've gotten off my butt. No surprises here with how we've been working this one: see the other dog, click, get a treat. I relaxed my criteria with this one because it's been so long since we've worked on the issue. I'm not asking for autowatches, just for her to look at the other dog. So far, so good. 

Lastly, there is the issue of those damn squirrels. Rubi fervently believes that if she squeals loudly and lunges hard enough, the squirrels will surrender and jump into her mouth to be eaten. Actually, I've come to think that this is the honest belief of most dogs - some are just better at hiding it than others. Anyway, I've been using an old loose-leash walking trick against this particular brain demon. Squirrels are more predictable than other dogs. Seriously - is that dog going to bark at us? stare? lunge? walk by like nothing is happening? Squirrels pretty much always run from the crazy dog. As long as B is stalking them quietly, she might actually catch one. You know, when pigs fly. If Rubi screws up and lunges or otherwise has a freak attack, we turn around and go the other direction - away from what Rubi wants most. Once she gives me eye contact, I mark, and we turn around and walk toward the squirrel again. Rubi can manage about eight feet now, which is about as close as any non-suicidal squirrel is going let her get anyway.

And because I can't think of a better way to end this entry, a lesson in cute: the world makes more sense when you look at it sideways.