I'm at K9 Nose Work Camp in Cleveland, GA. It's in the foothills of the mountains, a beautiful place, really. But along with the beauty comes wildlife. I'm not a city-girl (not that there's anything wrong with that), so I'm used to critters. Heck, I pick up bumblebees, save spiders, and move toads out of the dogs' reach. I'm pro-wildlife.
Just as I'd moved everything into my cabin, this big old snake comes slithering by.I'm ok with snakes and other slithering creatures as long as they stay outside, especially if I'm inside.
After my snake encounter, I found myself jumping at slightest noise in the leaves. I investigated every room I entered, checking for a snake or lizard or salamander.
I now have a small idea of what reactive dogs go through. I know my reactivity isn't logical. I know snakes don't want to get close to me. However: I'm now hyper-vigilant whenever I hear something move in the leaves. I jump at the slightest movement or sound. It could be a bird hopping among the leaves, it doesn't matter. I'm getting the heck away from there -- and quick!
This morning, on my way to breakfast, yet again, something moved in the leaves. It's been two days since my snake run-in (with no other snake spottings), but I yelped and jumped. Run first, investigate later.
My heart was racing and I felt almost angry. When further inspection revealed the creature that made the noise -- a toad, for goodness sake! -- I was rattled. A toad? I pick these things up all the time. I am definitely not afraid of a toad. But that one experience -- and it wasn't a terrible one, nothing awful happened to me (except I was scared) -- has now molded my entire camp experience. If I had to live the rest of my life like this, I would be a very unhappy person. Thankfully, I know this reactivity will naturally fade.
If I were a dog, I think I would probably have bitten the closest thing to me. Just out of frustration, adrenaline, and anxiety. And if my owner hired a trainer who would correct me for my reaction to the noises in the leaves, I know I would bite! My reaction is reflexive - I'm not thinking before I yelp and jump. And lastly, being reactive is exhausting; it's frustrating!
If you have a reactive dog, know that they aren't being reactive just to annoy you. They aren't reactive because they want to be. They're reactive because they can't help it.
After our R.E.A.D. programs at the local elementary schools every week, Tango exits the schools then takes me on a short sniff walk.
He's almost nine years old now. Our walks are a little different now than they were even two or three years ago. They're more...aimless now. When he was younger, he'd follow my lead, keep up with my pace changes, look to me for where we were going and what we'd do.
Today, though, I noticed that Tango definitely led the walk. We went at his pace, he sniffed where he wanted, and he was much less open to my suggestions.
I'm not particularly keen on watching my boy age. There's no alternative -- no acceptable one, that is -- to seeing him get old, I know that. But on today's sniff walks, he seemed more "old man" than usual.
His face is getting gray, yes it's true. You can see the old man face coming in. For a long time, I was so proud of his "puppy face." Wherever we'd go, people would ask his age and be surprised when I'd say 5 or 6 -- even 7 years old. "But he looks like just a pup!" they'd exclaim. I'd smile and say "yes, he'll be forever a pup."
Now, though, he's growing into his old and wise face that comes only with age. I never thought about Tango aging. Why would I? He'd never be anywhere but by my side for the rest of my life, right? I don't even need to think about life after Tango, do I?
Oh, he's still spry and frisky and ready to roll -- he's not done living yet! (Regarless of my melancholy post...) He'll still chase the tennis ball enthusiastically, he'll still jump in and play with the others when the ruckus is just right. And as much as I love the face of an old dog, it does give me pause, makes my heart stop for just a beat, for I simply can't bear to think about how quickly dogs live their lives.
Tango's only nine -- he's got quite a few years left. And my melancholy mood will be fleeting, I'm sure. It just feels odd to enter another phase of Tango's life -- his mature years. It'll take some getting used to on my part.
I just returned from Nashville, TN, where I attended ClickerExpo. A lot of people think of ClickerExpo as a dog training conference. It's a whole lot more than dog training. It's all about behavior. Not just dog behavior. Some of the speakers are dog trainers, yes, but there are also horse trainers, marine mammal trainers, even teachers of humans! So how can it be that all those different species can be taught in exactly the same way? Well, for a couple reasons.
First, all those species are smart enough to know that if something works, it's a pretty good idea to keep doing it. If something doesn't pay off, we quit doing it. Next, even though each species communicates differently -- and live in different environments -- they are curious, social animals interested in learning and exploring.
The common thread running through all those species and how they learn is the clicker. The clicker is a language that every member of the different species can understand. It's the common language between all those living things! As people, we're used to English being the official language. But it isn't really. No matter where you come from or what's your native tongue, if a clicker is involved in the learning process, we can all speak different languages and still be able to teach each other new skills and behaviors. Fascinating, isn't it? It's one of the many things I love about clicker training and about ClickerExpo.
I used this Expo experience to get out of my comfort zone a little bit. I'm interested in dogs. I understand dogs. I know a lot about the behavior of dogs, the body language and body signaling of dogs. But I don't know very much about horses, despite my deep love (since I could walk) of them. I attended two lectures given by Alexandra Kurland, a popular horse trainer and found that the one thing I do know is how to get behavior, how to modify behavior. Regardless of the type of animal you're working with, the clicker works the same: it marks the good behavior and tells the animal he's earned a goodie for doing that behavior.
Ken Ramirez, the executive vice-president of animal care and animal training at The Shedd Aquarium in Chicago, works with many other species besides dogs. He works mainly with marine mammals. I had the good fortune of spending a week at Shedd with Ken, learning from his week-long animal trainer program. It was an experience I'll not soon forget. Ken's masterful training works on the beluga whales, the snails, and the other 32,600 animals from the world's fresh and salt waters.
Wow! If Ken can use the same training on that number of animals -- some of which live in the water, some out, and some can live in either place -- that's pretty powerful training!
Clicker training is becoming common place in zoos, aquariums, shelters, and in horse barns all across the world. If it works on porpoises, horses, and snails, it can work for you and your dog, too! Catch the wave, sign up for a clicker class near you!
Imagine that from the minute you wake in the morning until you lay your head down at night, that someone is bugging you. You've got someone tugging on you, someone talking to you, you can't get a moment to yourself. Not one second to yourself.
Now imagine that's what happens every day. You've tried to hide from the person, you've tried giving them the slip, you've tried ignoring the person. Nothing. They're still there, still bugging you. Every minute of every day.
Finally, you've had enough of it. You can't take it anymore. You've got to do something about it. That person missed all your subtle signals, so you politely ask him (her?) to leave you alone. They don't listen. And worse, you get chastized for even asking. How do you feel? Probably hopeless. Maybe frustrated. Possibly sad.
Do you think the person that politely asks for a little space, a little peace, a little quiet deserves to be chastized?
So why do we hold dogs to higher standards than we do people? Humans can at least talk the same language. We're actually able to speak our minds and get some space. Dogs don't have that ability - they must rely solely on body signals to communicate their needs, their state of mind.
When we ignore those signals, we're setting the dog up for failure. That was my point in writing the blog post about Mr. Gibbs, the service dog for the three year old girl. I see a lot of "please give me a break" signals from Mr. Gibbs. And no one is either seeing those signals or doing anything to help the dog.
Remember the Denver news anchor, Kyle Dyer, who was bitten on live tv by a big white dog who had been rescued from a frozen river? That dog was screaming "Please back off!" but no one paid attention to his signals. I've embedded the video below along with my notes about all the communication signals the dog is offering to get a little bit of space.
0:01 - The dog is already licking his lips and flicking his tongue. These are both recognized dog stress signals. There are 8 tongue flicks in seven seconds. This dog is screaming "I'm uncomfortable!"
0:08 - Pause here. Look at how tight the collar and leash are on the dog. You'll also see another tongue flick here. Also notice how the news anchor's hands never leave the dog's head. She's all over him, never giving him any space.
0:16 - Now we're getting a tongue-flick marathon. There are seven flicks in rapid succession, right before she leans into his face.
0:21 - With no means of escaping the woman in his face (he's backed up into his owner's legs and the leash and collar are too tight for him to move away), he bites the anchor.
Both Mr. Gibbs and the dog above were trying to communicate, trying to get people to give them some space. Both of their signals were either missed or ignored. I'm not drawing parallels between the Mr. Gibbs and the dog that bit Kyle Dyer -- other than both of them had their stress signals ignored.
What I do know for certain, however, is that if Mr. Gibbs signals are ignored (or not understood), at best he's in for a pretty miserable life. At worst, he'll get tired of being laid on, pinched on a prong collar, and hit in the head with a swing. He may start to ignore the 3-year old even more than he's already ignoring her -- and for that he may get labeled stubborn and then forced to interact. And when his signals are again ignored, he may escalate his signaling to something he hopes the humans can understand: a growl. Unfortunately, many growling dogs are punished, effectively taking the very form of communication away from them that worked.
Ignoring a dog's signals puts the dog in an unacceptable position. They either resign themselves to their fate or they speak up about it. Both are unfortunate options for a dog.
I don't have the luxury of watching "feel good" segments or programs that contain dogs. Because I "do dogs" for a living, I see all the little signs, the communication signals a dog is sending, and nothing is ever cute anymore, but rather just filled with warning and distress signals from dogs.
Take this morning's "feel good" segment on The Today Show for example. It piqued my interest because it was about a service dog for a little girl who is connected to an oxygen tank 24 hours a day. The family procured a service dog to carry the oxygen tank for the three-year old girl.
The anchors on the show, the parents, and the little girl were oblivious to the many signs from the dog that he wasn't a happy camper. Based on all the publicity Kyle Dyer, NBC anchor in Denver, received when she was bitten on the face by a dog live on the air, I was hopeful that people had started to pay attention to dog body language.
Sadly, I was wrong. Below is the segment. Watch it once without reading the warning signals I've listed below. Then watch it again, looking at the specific minute and second spots.
Some things to know before you take a look at the video. The red bandana is used to cover a prong collar on Mr. Gibbs, the service dog. A prong collar is a collar fitted with special barbs or prongs, that lie against the dog's neck. When pressure is put on the collar by pulling on the leash, those prongs dig into the dog's flesh around his neck. The pain from the prongs are supposed to be a correction to the dog so he won't do whatever it was again.
1:24 - Mr. Gibbs ignores the girl. Girl pulls hard on the leash. Those prongs are now digging into the dog's neck.
2:39 - Girl is pulling Mr. Gibbs with the prong. Pause the video here and you can really see the pulling.
2:42 - Mr. Gibbs tries to go with the trainer (instead of the girl) and he gets a BIG yank from the girl. Do you wonder why the dog doesn't want to be with the girl?
2:56 - The first sign of stress from the dog: a lip lick and a look-away. These are both classic stress signals from a dog.
3:13 - "He gets beat in the head," the little girl says. Apparently she likes to swing a lot, and Mr. Gibbs cannot get out of her way. The father repeats the little girl's sentiment and laughs a little sheepishly.
3:30 - "What do you say to him," the anchor asks. The girl answers "Down!" and "At ease." Both are dog training cues -- not "I love you!" or "Good boy!"
3:32 - Hit pause here. Is this dog looking to interact with the girl? Does he even acknowledge her?
3:34 - Slight "whale eye" from Mr. Gibbs. The whale eye is another sign of stress. This happens when the girl is laying on the dog. The dog has no escape, no say in whether or not he can get out of the situation. This is a recipe for disaster.
4:11 - We're now in the live interview with the anchor, parents, child and Mr. Gibbs. Pause the video at this spot. See the girl tugging on the prong collar? Every tug on the collar brings discomfort to Mr. Gibbs.
4:14 - The girl gives a double-tug on the prong collar, hard.
4:18 Another tug from the girl. The father finally rescues Mr. Gibbs from the daughter's tugs by placing the dog back onto the couch. I wonder why the dog was trying to get down in the first place?
4:54 - Mr. Gibbs looks to the father for help out of the situation.
5:01 - There's a big lip lick and a yawn. Two classic signals that the dog is stressed and would like to leave. He keeps trying to get down off the couch.
5:15 - Another lip lick from Mr. Gibbs. The signals this dog is throwing are increasing.
5:17 - Mr. Gibbs turns his head away from the girl to try to break off contact, but she just gets closer to Mr. Gibbs. He's trying very hard and his patience is admirable.
5:57 - Mr. Gibbs is resigned to his fate.
6:15 - Girl squeals, maybe there's a little bit of a squeeze by her, Mr. Gibbs tries again to get up and leave.
6:20 - Another head turn by Mr. Gibbs -- another attempt to break off contact with the girl, but again she follows.
6:35 - Girl grabs Mr. Gibbs' head, pulls it down, and grabs his eyebrows.
6:41 - Girl grabs Mr. Gibbs' prong collar and pulls off the bandana covering the prong collar.
6:45 - Pause it here and just look at the picture. Is the dog happy about his circumstances?
6:53 - The girl is now pulling the bandana back onto Mr. Gibbs, getting it caught in his mouth.
7:01 - Mr. Gibbs is nearing the end of his attempts to get out of the situation and/or get some relief from this girl from the other people in the room. Finally he lies on the girl as a last ditch effort.
It looks very cute, but in reality, Mr. Gibbs lays on her in resignation -- not enjoyment.
There are reasons why most service dog agencies won't let a young child have a service dog. Unfortunately, this segment highlights the many reasons why. The child is far too young to have the responsibility of caring for a dog, her parents haven't taught her how to kindly interact with a dog, and everyone is ignoring (or doesn't recognize) the dog's many pleas to be removed from the situation.
When you're stuffing Kongs for 4 dogs, it's helpful to pre-stuff a bunch, freeze 'em, then you've got them ready to go whenever you need them. I use the Kongs to buy me some time if I'm working on a project -- occupied dogs are good dogs. Also, every dog in my house gets a stuffed, frozen Kong as I'm walking out the door. They love to see me leave (and don't, therefore, stress about my leaving or being gone) -- it's a preventative measure to avoid separation anxiety.
Our basket of empty Kongs.
Today as I stuffed Kongs, I took pictures, too, so you can see the process from beginning to end. We start with a basket of empty Kongs. I will run these through the dishwasher about once a month (top rack, no heat) just to clean all the spooge off. It's for my sanity only -- the dogs do not mind the spooge, believe me.
We stuff our Kongs with peanut butter.
So we start with peanut butter -- you can put almost anything in that your dog likes. Some ideas: cream cheese, canned pumpkin, leftover mashed potatoes, plain yogurt, ricotta cheese, cottage cheese -- pretty much anything that's gooey. You don't have to stop there -- if you really want to keep your dog busy, toss in a few kibbles and shake the Kong around so the kibbles stick to the sides. Or, add some apple or banana pieces (no grapes or raisins -- these are toxic).
PB is ready to go into the Kongs.
So. Now you've got your filling and your Kongs. Now just slide that knife into your filling, then put that filling all over the inside of the Kong. So the peanut butter's on the knife, now just run the knife along the inside of the Kong. I try to evenly distribute the peanut butter, but that's because I'm a control freak and like to have everything just so. The dogs don't care how the PB is distributed just so long as there's PB in that Kong!
PB stuffed inside the Kong.
After the Kong is stuffed, I drop it into a big plastic bag. Why the plastic bag? We put our stuffed Kongs in the freezer. Frozen peanut butter takes longer for the dogs to get out, so it keeps them occupied for longer.
Kongs get dropped into a plastic bag.
This plastic bag also keeps all the Kongs together so I can find them easily. And it keeps my freezer a little cleaner.
The Kongs are ready for the freezer.
All that's left now is popping the entire bag of peanut butter filled Kongs into the freezer and letting them get frozen. Now I'm ready for the week ahead! Or at least ready for the next few days, that is.
Oh, these two. They'll be the death of me. A dog trainer's dog + a dog trainer's husband = DISASTER.
These are the first words out of my husband's mouth when I got back from teaching dog class last night: "Nemo ate your Junior Mints, not me."
Huh?
I asked: "How did he get them when you were right here the whole time? Did you split them with him or something?" (Knowing this was 100% possible.)
He replied: "He got them when I was outside with the dogs."
This led to a lot more questions from me such as: If the dogs were outside, how did Nemo get the Junior Mints? Why were you outside with the dogs, anyway? Especially with all three dogs when one -- especially Nemo -- was left in here?
Anyway, the details aren't relevant, but let me tell you what I found interesting about this entire episode. Nemo steals only when my husband is home with him. Never when I'm home.
And that's not the only thing that's different where Nemo's concerned. When we're eating dinner, Nemo puts his slimy, slobbery, drooley face right in my husband's lap. When my husband's done with dinner, Nemo will actually try to move my husband's arm out of the way and try to lick the plate. I'm dead serious.
What does Nemo do with me at dinner time? Keeps his distance. I cannot stand to eat while a canine beggar is trying to work his magic on me. I'm impenetrable! I don't even allow the begging. Oh yes, I could ignore it alright, let the behavior extinguish on it's own. But I find begging so annoying that it's just not allowed. Beggars are asked to settle before they even become beggars. Before long, the beggars aren't beggars, but are instead, brilliant settlers. On my watch, that is.
Back to the Junior Mints. It was, by the way, a movie theater sized box of Junior Mints. And my name was all over them. I had been saving them -- for that very night actually.
So the Junior Mints. Here's what really blows my mind. Those Junior Mints had been sitting on the counter for two days without incident. I even broke my own rule and let the dogs have the run of the entire house while I dropped off a book at the library. Not a soul even moved from where they were napping. Nothing.
So, why, I queried my husband, do you think Nemo stole while (1) I was gone and (2) my husband was the sole human being in the house. My husband's answer: "Because he's a bad dog, that's why," said with mock fierceness.
No. Because Nemo plays him like nobody's business. Nemo knows that my husband's not the most observant character. Nemo knows that my husband will be fooled when Nemo barks to go out, getting the other three dogs riled up and go running out, including my husband -- without Nemo. Nemo's a PLAYER! And my husband's the playee.
And I'm just the girl who gets robbed of her Junior Mints after dog training class...
This sweet 10-year old Labrador (Lily's her name) is in her own little version of doggie-hell. This is a dog who was released from the service dog program, in part, because she hated (and I do mean hated) wearing her vest. Keep that little nugget in mind as you read.
She's had an ear infection (our oh-so-mild winter means her allergies haven't gone dormant) so I've been putting meds in twice a day. Monday I noticed that she had what looked like a giant marshmallow at the base of her ear. It was big, puffy, and looked awfully painful.
The next day, our veterinarian diagnosed it as an aural hematoma. It's surprising to me that with all the Labradors we've raised (we're on our 11th service puppy, for goodness sake), we've never had a hematoma in the bunch.
I should backtrack a bit to tell you what a hematoma actually is. It's a pocket of blood on the ear flap that was caused by some sort of trauma. It can come from rough play, shaking the head too hard (or too often), or even by being bumped by another dog. Who knows where Lily's came from.
Guess how you fix a hematoma? Let me give you a hint: it's not (unfortunately) by slipping a needle into the ear and draining the blood out. Yeah. The poor hematoma-ed dog has to have surgery. Surprised the heck out of me when the dear veterinarian said "we'll do the surgery today." Surgery? Today? Gulp.
Get this: the ear has to be sort of split into two, kind of like a sandwich. There's the bread -- the outside part of the ear; then there's the sandwich filling -- the cartilage in the ear; and the other slice of bread -- the opposite side of the outside of the ear. So they split that ear wide open (my stomach is tightening just thinking about it), drain all the blood and yuck out of it, then sew both flaps back down. And they can't just leave it like that or else the blood and yucky stuff will just re-collect right there and the ear will be as big as it was before the surgery.
So they sort of quilt the ear back together -- they stitch what I call baffles into the ear. They pretty much just make lots of little stitches through the ear so there aren't any big pockets that can fill up with blood.
Here's the worst part for my squeenchy stomach: they also leave these little slits in the ear so that if any blood and yuck are still left (and oh my, are they ever), they've got some exits. So we have to scrub the scab off those little slits every single day for a week.
You know how you score a loaf of bread as it's baking so you can have that cool top on your loaf of bread? That's exactly what those slits in Lily's ear remind me of. I can't clean it. I just can't. I make my husband do that. I can't even look at it, who am I kidding?
So anyway, I tell you all of that just so you can suffer through it like I do everyday. Because that's the kind of girl I am, I like to share. The real reason for this post is how I'm trying to help my tactile phobic (she hates anything touching her and would rather die than have medicine administered) dog get through this tactile-loaded situation.
I can't slowly get Lily used to this process. The medicine's got to go in two times a day and that ear has to be scrubbed. She hates it, period. But here's how I help her:
I don't call her to me to administer her meds or mess with those slits. That would completely ruin her "come when called" behavior. No dog will come to you voluntarily to have something yucky done to them. I simply go to her.
I don't sneak up on her. I let her know I'm coming and I show her that I have "the instruments." I want her to feel safe and not have to worry every time I approach her if I'm hiding the syringes from her. She knows right away whether or not it's time for the dreaded ear-treatments.
I'm quick and efficient. I don't drag it out. I get in, I get out. My telling her how much this doesn't hurt and how sorry I am is lost on her. I'm doing her more of a favor by getting the process over as quickly as possible instead of apologizing to her
I heavily reinforce her with high-value stuff. The past few treatments, the reinforcer has been Vienna Sausages (don't judge). Tonight we're opening a can of canned salmon. It doesn't undo the horrors of being medicated, but I can tell you this: it looks like she really enjoys those treats at the end!
We're in this 'til Tuesday, when we can drop back to messing with her just once a day. And then it's just another week or so more, 'til Lily can get out of her doggie-hell.
Tango loves Mondays. Monday means Tango gets to visit two local elementary schools and be smothered with attention.
Tango's a therapy dog and his job right now is to listen to kids read. Kids who might not read as well as their classmates, they might have a little bit of a speech problem, or maybe they can't tell the difference between a period and a comma.
Reading in front of classmates who may snicker, giggle, or poke fun at them actually inhibits their reading skills. That's where dogs enter the picture!
Dogs don't care if the kids skip a word, if they can't quite get the punctuation correct, or if they stutter a bit. Dogs just really like it when a child sits on the floor with them, softly rubbing the dog's fur as they struggle with each word on the page. Dogs don't judge. Dogs don't snicker. Dogs just eat up all the attention and will even offer an encouraging lick to the struggling reader.
Interested in getting your dog into therapy work? You're not limited to elementary schools and kids. Your dog could visit nursing homes, help relieve stress on a local college campus during stressful final exams, or visit wounded soldiers in the hospital.
Here are some ideas on how to get your dog ready for therapy work. Good Manners Are A Must: Therapy dogs don't bark. They don't jump. And they aren't rough with their mouth. Get your dog into a local positive reinforcement (clicker training) class that specifically teaches good manners behaviors. [Good manners are Smart Dog U's specialty! We offer Canine Building Blocks to help teach your dog good manners!] You might need to go through your training class more than once to really solidify those good manners. Good therapy dogs are on their best behavior no matter how much the kids giggle and squirm, how roughly their handled by well-intentioned seniors, or how distracting the buzzes and beeps are on the hospital equipment. It takes time and practice, for sure.
Canine Good Citizen (CGC) Test: The bare minimum requirements are the CGC credentials. The CGC is a 10-item test and it covers behaviors like walking on a loose leash, coming when called, reaction to distractions, and sitting politely for greetings. Take a look at the full list of CGC test items. A more advanced test may be required if you and your dog wish to visit schools, detention centers, psychiatric facilities, and hospitals. The more advanced tests can be administed by The Delta Society and require that both you and your dog are tested to ensure you make a good team.
Join A Local Therapy Dog Group: Most communities have local therapy dog organizations that serve as an umbrella for coordinating all the visits and testing of therapy dogs. For help in finding your local organization, try searching for your town name and "therapy dog."
Not every dog would enjoy being a therapy dog -- two of my dogs at home wouldn't enjoy work as therapy dogs. Nemo is a bit wary of strangers in unfamiliar circumstances and Lily is not good if other dogs are present (your dog must be good with other dogs -- and by good I mean neutral [not good as in "Let's PLAY!"]). Even Tango has his limits: one of our visits is with a class of 8 special education students who can be noisy, (unintentionally) rough, and unpredictable. One hour is Tango's maximum in that environment -- I make sure that we're there less than an hour to ensure that Tango's never pressed to his limit. So be sure to take your dog's personality and preferences into consideration when you're deciding whether to give therapy work a shot. Honor your dog.
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