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It’s Shocking!

(Previously titled: “Spare the Shock Collar, Spoil the Dog?”)

Three events over as many days added up to what some refer to as a ‘woo-woo’ experience. Not unusual for Boulder, ‘Woo-woo World Central.’ So, when it happens to me, I take notice. Hmm. Maybe I need to write about shock collars.

First, two days ago, Gigi told me about two different articles on shock collars. One, just published on the internet on June 10, was entitled “Vets on Behavior Proclaim, Never Use Shock Collar“. The other, “Shock or Awe?” by Pat Miller, was in Whole Dog Journal, February, 2006. 

Yesterday, I walked up to the road to collect the morning newspapers to find two neighbors comparing the shock collars they were holding. “Are you going to use those with your dogs?” I asked, a little stunned. “We’re thinking about it,” one answered. “I’ve heard they’re easy to use and the dogs learn really fast.”

This morning at the dog park a young man was using a shock collar to train his dog. To be fair, the discomfort to the dog was below the “screaming pain” threshold. In fact, I didn’t hear the dog whimper. And, the man did praise his dog and maybe even offered a treat, I don’t know for sure. He and his dog were too far away from Sadie, Romeo, Sadie’s dreamy poodle friend, and me to see that. But, I could see that the dog’s ears were pinned back and it’s tail slung low. Obedient? Looked like it. Happy? No. But, that dog was elated when the training session was over. She ran all around the park chasing scents, her tail high and wagging, ears perked up, a skip in her step. Now, why should training not elicit that same sort of enthusiasm?

I’m sure you’ve guessed my feelings about shock collars, or e-collars, or remote collars, or whatever you want to call them, or however ‘new and improved’ the latest models are. I don’t like them. I would not use one on my own dog, no matter how so-called ‘hard’ she or he  was. And, frankly, I think they should be banned, as they are in some countries already. For example, Wales and most parts of Australia. (If you know of other countries or locales when bans are in effect, or where people are petitioning to ban shock collars, please reply and let readers know.)

Whether you support the use of shock collars or not, you probably know horror stories about dogs being gruesomely abused by them, sometimes beyond rehabilitation. I’m not going to tell more of those stories. The worst case scenario is not what I want to examine here.

And, I don’t want to impugn the motives of ordinary dog people who use them. The man in the park, I don’t believe, intended to cow his dog, even though that’s how the dog looked.  

Jane (not her real name), a friend of mine, at wits end with her rambunctious, adolescent male puppy, George (not his real name), turned to a local trainer who put a shock collar on him. George and I are buddies. I did not know we were on the same trail at the same time, but George did. I was startled when he ran to me screaming and whimpering and wrapping himself around my legs. The crying didn’t last long. A few seconds. His mom came running after him. She was mortified. “George ran off and the trainer told me to keep turning up the dial until I got his attention. But he kept running. Oh my God. I feel horrible.” Jane is head-over-heels in love with George. I know she would never hurt him intentionally. She was just following instructions.

And, that brings me to the question I want to consider. If we want our dogs to be happy, and I assume most people do (correct me if I’m unfortunately wrong about this)…If we want to maximize our dog’s learning capability, thinking, and responsiveness to our cues… If we want to minimize the risk to our dogs physical and emotional well-being during training, indeed at all times…if we want all these things, then why would we use a shock collar?

Why would we use a training device that primarily relies on punishment and negative reinforcement? Why would we want to shock our dog when she does something ‘wrong’? Okay, sometimes it’s not a shock, it’s a ‘tingle’, according to some trainers, but whatever you call it, it must be aversive enough to make the dog stop the behavior. And, why would we want to deliver a steady stream of current that finally stops when the dog does the ‘right’ thing’–sit’ or ‘down’ or ‘come’, for example? No matter how minimal the current is, it has to be noxious enough for the the dog to notice it and want it to stop. That’s stressful. No wonder the dog in the park lightened up after her training session was over. Wouldn’t you?

Why wouldn’t we rather, for example, lure our dogs to do the behavior we want–‘down’, let’s say, and then ‘mark’ the down behavior with a “yes!” or a ‘click’, if you prefer a clicker, as I do. Then immediately we offer a positive reinforcer, something the dog loves. Roast beef. Game of tug. Ear scritch. Praise. Whatever.

And, when our dogs do something we don’t want them to do, especially when they have been taught an alternative desirable behavior that they could do, but don’t? Spot persists in jumping up on Joe every time Joe visits even though Spot has learned to keep all four on the floor, and does so for most other visitors. But, Joe is different. Spot LOVES Joe and wants to get his muzzle close to Joe’s mouth and get in a few kisses, just as he greets some of his doggie friends. Well then, take something away that Spot values. Attach Spot’s leash. Joe, if he is inclined to help, could step back when Spot has fewer than all four on the floor. Joe moves toward Spot when he is not jumping.

Or, alternatively, you could remove Spot from Joe. Spot jumps. You mark the unwanted behavior with a word, “bummer,” for example, and, quietly and unemotionally lead Spot to the nearest room. Put him in the room for a few seconds (that’s right, a few seconds 5-10), and then let him out. If he doesn’t jump, mark that behavior and reward profusely. Joe’s attention and praise could be the reward. If Spot jumps again, back he goes into time-out. 

Geeze. That’s so much work! How much easier to just shock Spot for jumping on Joe.

Here’s the problem, two actually, beyond, what I’ve already said. One, your timing with that shock has to be absolutely perfect. As soon as you see Spot begin to raise himself to jump, ‘zap!’ How many of us are truly that observant and have great hand-eye coordination every single time, if ever? How many of us would miss that moment and zap poor Spot after he was in full blown jumping- greeting mode?

Why do you have to be very precise? Here’s what researchers at the University of Hannover in Germany recently concluded based on a study of beagles that received shocks under three different experimental conditions. They wanted to determine the dogs’ levels of stress in response to the shocks by measuring cortisol levels, a stress hormone. 

One group of beagles was shocked precisely when they touched the prey, a rabbit dummy. The second group was shocked when they did not obey a previously trained recall command. (Like Jane’s dog, George.) The third group was shocked arbitrarily.

The last two groups showed significantly high levels of stress hormone. And, their stress levels rose again when they were merely taken back to the research area where they were shocked in the first place, but not shocked on the return visit. The dogs associated pain with being in the research space where they were, in fact, previously shocked.

The researchers concluded that the first group of beagles were not as stressed as the other two groups because they were shocked at a precise moment. Not too soon, not to late, and always at the exact same instant of contact with the dummy prey. Therefore, the dogs could control whether or not they were shocked. But, notice, the precision timing required by the person holding the remote. (Are you that person? I’m not.)

The researchers concluded:

Electric shock collars are not consistent with animal welfare. It has to be assumed that pet owners do not have sufficient knowledge about training and skill to avoid the risk that dogs will show severe and persistent stress symptoms. For professional dog trainers the use should be restricted: proof of theoretical and practical qualification should be required… 

What is the risk to our dogs, do you suppose, if we click (or say ‘yes!’) seconds too soon or too late? We are training the dog to ‘sit’ at a distance. The dog sits then stands back up. We click just as the dog stands. Oops. Too late. How much damage have we done if our timing is not precise? Not much. Probably, the worst that happens is that the dog becomes a little confused, “So just what are you asking me to do?” 

To be honest, it does take a little practice to get the timing right so that we are clicking at the moment the dog’s butt hits the ground for ‘sit,’ in our example. But, we’d also need practice to perfect our timing in using the remote to zap our dogs. Frankly, I’m willing to risk screwing up with a clicker. I am not willing to risk blowing it with a shock collar.

I’m amazed and perplexed by people who are flustered and frustrated by learning to use a clicker, but who, without batting an eye, grab the remote and push that button to zing their dogs. Why not do what’s enjoyable for and kinder to our dogs, and easier on us. Remember Jane? She’s not alone.

The other problem I want to mention is that of association. There is no guarantee that our dogs will associate the shock they feel to their necks with their own behavior. Let’s consider Spot. If he got zapped when he jumped on Joe, there’s no reason Spot would necessarily assume his jumping ’caused’ the pain and, therefore, stop jumping. Maybe he would associate the pain with Joe. “When Joe shows up at the door, I get hurt. Well, I know how to take care of that. I’ll just bark and growl at Joe until that pain-producing so-and-so gets out of my house!” Great. So now we’ve created a completely avoidable aggression problem. What are we going to do now, zap Spot for being aggressive? Aggression to treat aggression? Not smart. Aggression begets aggression.

So, why are so many people enamored with shock collars? I read an interesting reply to this question somewhere on the internets. “Maybe just like we want our food fast, we want our dogs trained fast and we think something electronic with a remote control will do the job.” 

But try thinking about it this way. Go slow to go fast. Learn how to use an event marker–‘yes!’ or a clicker. Discover what your dog loves–treats, balls, tug, another dog–and give it to her after you ‘yes’ or click her for doing what you ask–‘come.’ ‘down,’ ‘leave it’. Soon, you won’t need the clicker or the reward. You’ll just be able to ask your dog to ‘sit’ and she will sit happily because she has so many great associations with sitting. 

Once your dog gets the hang of learning in this way, it just gets easier and faster to teach her new behaviors because she has not merely learned a few cues, she has learned how to learn. And, its fun!

How differently do you think our dogs feel when they see the clicker and balls and treats come out compared to when their necks are fitted tightly, which it must be, with a shock collar? I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to stress my dog unnecessarily. I want Sadie to light up when it’s training time. 

 

*For those of you who are still questioning or are unfamiliar with what shock collars actually feel like, check out this young man who thought he’d give it a try, voluntarily, of course.

*Also, visit Shock Collars-Say No. Interesting and informative. And, Responsible Dog – It’s All About Dogs.

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Today begins a new series of blog entries entitled ‘And another thing’—brief ‘shout outs’ shorter than my typical blog post and too long for a tweet. Some things grind away at my thoughts like a dog that refuses to give up gnawing a bare bone. Others things make me feel so happy, I swear could leap into the air and catch a Frisbee in my teeth! Still others leave me wondering… WTF?  Rather than keep these simmering, not-necessarily-fully-cooked tid-bits to my self, I want to share them with you. I hope you enjoy. 😉  Comments welcome.

I do not, I repeat, DO NOT want a ‘calm-submissive’ dog. Ah…that felt good. I’ve been dying to say that out loud. And, I’m not just being contrarian because Cesar Millan says a good dog is calm-submissive. Just for the record, I don’t disagree with everything he spouts. For example, I can think of one thing he says that I agree with. Dogs do need adequate exercise. Maybe many ordinary dog owners didn’t know this until Cesar said so. 

Okay, let’s break this down. Calm. Do I want a ‘calm’ dog? Well, yes sometimes, but I prefer the word ‘relaxed.’ A dog can appear calm on the outside but not be relaxed on the inside. When Sadie is so-called calm-submissive alarms go off in me. She’s possibly telling me she fearful, uncomfortable, and potentially reactive. I want relaxed!

When I’m working at the computer, preparing her dinner, or watching a movie, relaxed is good. When I take Sadie shopping ( she loves retail), being easy-going works there too. We both love it when sales people coo and marvel over how comfortable she seems, laying there on her side while I fumble through the sweaters. 

And, need I say it? In the face of distractions, do I want Sadie to be relaxed, or at least displaying calming signals? Oh yeah!

Do I want Sadie to go from energy level 10 to 1 in an instant? You bet. That’s why from the time I brought her home Nana helped us practice the cue ‘settle.’ It’s essential in an emergency and it’s even a fun game. Sadie’s romping all out. “Settle.” Plop. “Release.” Romp. Run. Chase. “Settle.” Plop. “Release.”  You get it.

Submissive? I don’t like the word. (I’ll leave the alpha implications, the flip side of submissive, for another post.) From the looks of the dogs that I’ve seen that Cesar has annointed as having acheived his perfect state of calm-submissive, they look flat-out freaked out to me. Tails tucked. Ears pinned back. Mouth tight or panting with anxiety. Head held low, unless he’s forcing it up with a leash. Calm on the outside, apprehensive on the inside. No thank you.

I prefer ‘appeasing’ to submissive. Do I ever want Sadie to display appeasing behaviors? Sure. She’s much less likely to get into a scuffle with other dogs if she approaches with her back slightly hunched, head low, tail wagging flat and slow. (No, she does not always do this.) Do I want her to offer appeasing behaviors to me? Hmm. I need to think about it. I’m not sure. But what I think doesn’t really matter because she displays appeasing behaviors anyway when greeting people she loves, which includes ‘helicopter tail.’ I absolutely adore helicopter tail.

If not calm-submissive, what do I want? I want ‘relaxed-happy-confident’! I want bright eyes, tail high and wagging, and a body relaxed in that lovely loosey-goosey way. I want ears relaxed or forward with happy anticipation. l want her joyfully to meet her people and doggie friends alike. I want excitement when we go to the ball park to play fetch, and when she’s learning a new behavior, for that matter. I want curiosity and interest in the world around her. And, I want her to ‘settle’ on cue. I want happy juice flowing through her brain and body as much as possible, not cortisol.

I’ll say it again. Sadie, are you listening? “I am filled with joy when you are ‘relaxed- happy-confident’!

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But, she was the dog I absolutely HAD to have.

I told Fran and Dorothy, the breeders (I detest the sound of that word), that I did not want a shy dog. My first dog, Sarah, was tremulous and suspicious. One day she was a happy puppy, the next, afraid of everything and everyone. To this day I do not know what happened. And, 30 years ago, help…what help? All I knew was that I could not travel that harrowing path again and live to tell about it.

My last dog, Morgaine, also a standard poodle, died of kidney failure at the age of fifteen on December 12, 2005. I grieved for her intensely. She was outgoing, yet sensitive, and always interested in the next new thing. When I was an instructor at the University of Colorado at Boulder, Morgaine accompanied me to campus. I think my students visited my office more to play with her than to talk with me. The first time she rode an elevator it was no big deal. After a moment of apprehension, she was good to go. I wanted another dog like Morgaine.

“I want a brave dog,” I beseeched Fran and Dorothy in the fall of 2006. Dutifully, they suggested “Pink” was the one for me. “Pink” because she wore a pink ribbon around her neck to distinguish her from her blue, red, purple, brown, green, and turquoise littermates. And, Pink, because they observed her as being confident but not over-the-top pushy.

On three separate occasions I drove 6 hours—round trip—to visit the puppies that happened to be Morgaine’s great, great nieces and nephews. And each time I vacillated as to whether or not Pink was ‘my’ puppy. I know, I asked for Fran’s and Dorothy’s advice. And, breeders, the good ones, and they were good ones, know their puppies best. But, I chafed at being told which puppy would be appropriate for me. Probably a residual rebelliousness left over from childhood.

Finally, much to Fran’s and Dorothy’s consternation, I told them I wanted Red. The problem was that by the time I had made up my mind, Red had been promised to a family in Northern California. She was headed for a life of romping on the beach with her to-be sister, another standard poodle about 2 years older. Nonetheless, I insisted; I had to have Red or no puppy at all.

Why Red? I loved how she carried her tail high and proud as she investigated every nook and cranny of the backyard. You go, I thought as she jostled over her littermates to get to the water bowl. When she molded to my chest as I held her, oxytocin, the ‘cuddle chemical,’ drenched my brain. And, then there was that mournful look she flashed at me. “Please, pick me. Pleeease.”

In the end, I got my ‘dream puppy.’ The people in California were perfectly happy to welcome Pink into their home. And, Fran and Dorothy had matched the rest of their pups with loving families.

All’s well that ends well. Right? Not so fast.

It didn’t take long to realize we were in trouble. After our drive home, I opened the door to Sadie’s crate, expecting a ball of chocolate fur to waddle towards me. Instead, she flattened herself against the back of her kennel and refused to get out.

Things went downhill from there.

Sadie flinched and cowered at the sound of our neighbor’s voices in the distance. Dogs barking sent her cowering. (Never mind that she spent her first weeks living in a house with three other adult dogs including her mother, all of whom barked.)

She hurled herself into the house through the back door at the sight and sound of birds, even though she had spent hours in Fran and Dorothy’s wonderful grassy yard with all the usual suburban fauna.

She startled at people walking on the sidewalk. My husband standing in the doorway spooked her. It took her one and a half hours and at least a half a pound of chicken to move within touching distance of my dog-loving friend, our first visitor. (Fran and Dorothy said they invited all manner of people to visit with the puppies.)

She scream-barked when she caught her reflection in darkened windows. She froze at the door from the house into the garage refusing to budge. We could not take a walk anywhere without Sadie flinching, freezing, or panting and pacing. How on earth Sadie would have survived flying in cargo from Denver to San Francisco, had she gone to the family in California, I do not know.

I wanted a puppy I could love, and I didn’t have one. Sadie seemed far away in her private universe of fear. I couldn’t connect with her. Desperately I searched for perspective on my ordeal, something that would relieve the tangle of grief and anxiety that roiled in my gut.

I melted down, more than once, crying to Fran and Dorothy, “I can’t do this! Everything frightens her. EVERYTHING! Nothing helps.” They didn’t know what to make of Sadie’s apparent transformation. Never before had they had so fearful a puppy. Dorothy and Fran reassured me that they would take Sadie back at anytime for any reason. We agreed I would give it a go with Sadie for six weeks, then decide whether to give her back, or not.

It was during this time that I attended a spiritual retreat with a local teacher. In our small group I poured out my heartbreak over Sadie. Not only was she shy and fearful. Not only did I always have to be on high alert to what might frighten her. But, I couldn’t comfort her … she did not like being stroked or cuddled! Maybe I could have managed the letdown of her fearfulness if only she would have nestled against me and let me pet her. But, no. Nothing!

The teacher, who has known me for years, said, “You always choose difficult work and make yourself stick with it. Maybe you are being presented with the opportunity to say no this time. You want a buddy and you don’t have that in Sadie. You don’t have to keep her, you know. You could give her back. Do you think you could do that?”

I could not.

Why not?

Possibly it was Sadie’s eventual enthusiasm for Gigi’s puppy kindergarten. That first class Sadie clung to me like a baby koala bear, anxiously scanning the rollicking scene. Toward the end of the hour, Gigi gently introduced Sadie to one easy going Cavalier King Charles pup. We attended twice a week, and by the fourth class Sadie could barely contain her enthusiasm. She screeched with glee as we pulled up to the ‘school house.’ Other puppy parents announced her entrance, “Heeeere’s Sadie!” Secure in this setting, she was the life of the party. I was so happy. No, not merely happy. Blissful. Every Saturday morning and Wednesday evening I totally ‘blissed out’ on Sadie’s precious lighthearted antics.

Maybe it was her developing joyful expression in greeting the few people she was learning to love. It might have been watching with wonder as Sadie skipped around her own yard, nose to the ground, tail riding high, oblivious to chirping birds. Maybe I was a sucker for extremely intermittent positive reinforcement, because these joyful moments were scarce treasures in the otherwise trying landscape of life with Sadie. Or, perhaps I just wasn’t spiritually advanced enough to know when to say no and move on.

Whatever my reasons, a little over two years ago, I decided Sadie’s forever home would be with me.

Still, my heart sinks a little when I see people doing things with their dogs that are out-of-the question for Sadie and me. Just enjoying a walk without being hypervigilent for possible triggers. Or, casually riding in an elevator. In fact, learning that elevators are not evil dog-devouring monsters, and can even be fun to ride, is a current project.

And, Sadie continues to challenge me emotionally.

In the face of all her issues, I feel woefully inadequate. I am not a good-enough mother. She deserves better. If only my head were one huge eyeball so I could see everything going on around us. If only I were as fast on my feet as a cheetah. If only I possessed perfect timing and eye-hand coordination (for clicking and treating), and was filled with the compassion of the Buddha. Then, maybe, just maybe, I could truly do right by Sadie. I could really protect her, teach her, and build her confidence.

There are days when I am convinced that Sadie would be far happier and make much more progress if, say, Gigi was her mom. Or Nana, our other positive trainer.

Even though I know diving into this emotional death spiral will only make things worse, as I’m sure you agree, it’s still a difficult habit-of-mind to kick. So in addition to all I’ve had to learn in order to help Sadie, she’s been presenting me with one opportunity after another to face my own demons.

In particular she’s making me aware that I see the doggy bowl as half empty rather than half full. I pay much more attention to how I screw up with her than what I get right. I’m so apprehensive that she will react fearfully, that I don’t nurture in my mind the picture of her (and me) being successful, which we are. Often. And, memories of those horrible early weeks of Sadie freaking out at everything, ‘squatter memories’ I call them, have supersized over time, what with all the self-defeating junk thoughts I feed them. They occupy far too much of my mental real estate.

So what’s a messed up mom to do?

Well, like I create training exercises for Sadie, I have designed a few for myself. Everyday I spend a little time remembering what I did well. How I ended fetch just when I noticed that Sadie was becoming over-stimulated and potentially snarky with other dogs. How I casually cut between Sadie and another dog whose intentions I didn’t trust, and the other dog just veered off and continued on its way.

And the stuff I get wrong? Like seeing the lone woman coming toward us in the distance in a misty forest near our house where we never see other people, and not gathering Sadie up before she saw the woman and barged up to her barking. I try to limit myself to five seconds of self-flagellation. This is difficult. Sometimes I can’t resist several minutes (Okay, hours.) of self-inflicted wounding.

But then I replay the situation in meticulous detail. I see the woman walking towards us. I notice Sadie isn’t yet aware of her. I call to Sadie, “Sades, ‘over here.’” This is her cue to come and touch my finger pointing to the ground next to me. Sadie bounds to me. I treat her and put on her leash. We walk some distance out of the path of the woman. I stop and point at the woman, now walking at right angles to us. “Look.” I cue Sadie. She looks at the stranger. Click and treat. We do this several times. When the woman is out of sight, we walk home on leash.

And, just as I take time each day to nurture confidence in myself, I hold an image of Sadie in my mind as feeling self-assured and happy. Her actual accomplishments add color and detail to my mental portrait of her. Like two days ago. A power pole and lines fell across the road to our house. Volunteers decked out is giant yellow helmets, over-sized yellow fluorescent vests, and stop signs the size of a café table tops were directing traffic to take a detour. A volunteer flagged me to stop and approached the car. Sadie was in her wire kennel in the back. The entire time the man was giving me directions, Sadie made not one peep. This was new and HUGE! This was the first time I recalled someone directly approaching our car (not something that happens very often) and Sadie not barking her little head off. And he must have looked very weird to her. He did to me. But, it was no big deal for her. I’ll take it!

I’ve heard it said that whatever we focus our attention on, grows.

I want to cultivate a warm, fuzzy, feeling when I think of Sadie. So, to get that oxytocin flowing I list all the little things I love about Sadie. Here’s today’s list—I love how her tail spins in circles when she looks at my husband. I love the tippy-toe-wiggle-butt dance she does when she greets the people she loves. I love her unadulterated joy at running through the forest. I love that she eats easily when fed. I love how she rests her chin on my knee and looks up at me. I love that she comes (almost always) when I call her. I love her sweet demeanor. And, I love her impishness as well, like when she playfully pounces her doggie friend, Moses, who gets all pissed off at first and then bounds back for more.

Good news! Because all these exercises are self-reinforcing, I don’t need to reward myself with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream in order to increase the likelihood of my repeating them. I just do them because they make me feel good.

Even better news. Not only do I feel better since I’ve put myself on this program, and, I don’t think I’m just making this up–I think Sadie does too. As I’ve been nurturing images of Sadie being more confident and relaxed, maybe she is settling into her own body a little more. Maybe that’s why she didn’t go off on the guy in the yellow helmet peering into our car window. Or, not. I’m just saying.

I’m reminded of that old Rolling Stones song, You Can’t Always Get What You Want.

The chorus. You remember it. Sing along


You can’t always get what you want

You can’t always get what you want

You can’t always get what you want

But if you try sometimes you just might find

You get what you need

 

Sadie might not have been the dog I wanted, but she certainly is the one I need—and have learned to love.

 

 

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