Before we acquired my beloved Toby the Terverun, we had two failed attempted with dogs. Neither of these dogs had been acquired of our own will. In both cases, well meaning but extremely misguided people had bestowed puppies upon us without asking us if we actually wanted a dog. In both cases, the people who did the giving were not people we felt we could say no to.
When our oldest child was two and I was pregnant with our second, one of my university professors decided what we really needed just then was a Shih Tzu puppy. While we were struggling to finish our last year in university, a beloved aunt of The General’s decided her Miniature Poodle really should have a litter of puppies. She bestowed one on us as if this was the greatest thing she could have done.
No one in their right mind would have forced a puppy on us given our circumstances. We were extremely young, extremely poor, extremely stressed, going to university as well as working nearly full time to support our baby and toddler, who themselves were almost more than we could cope with. We already had two cats to feed and care for. We hadn’t asked for a dog. We knew virtually nothing about dogs, other than having grown up with family dogs.
This is our little family the day The General and I graduated from University. One the two dogs in the bottom of the photo is ours; the other belonged to my parents, whose house we were at. Don’t ask me which dog was ours. I was so stressed, I don’t think I even knew what the dog looked like.
Okay, it was the black Miniature Poodle. Happy now?
It was recipe for disaster. We had no luck even housebreaking these puppies, let alone training them in any kind of civilized behaviour. The ceaseless barking, the chore of cleaning up pee and poop from the dogs as well as from the kids, and the destruction of our already shabby furniture and belongings turned our lives into hell. It ended in the first case with us surrendering the puppy to the Humane Society, and in the second with us finding a new home for the Poodle.
Given this history, years later when we made the decision for ourselves to get a dog, I was determined that I would do everything possible to ensure this dog was trained. I would read everything I could get my hands on. I would put in whatever time was necessary and spend the money on whatever equipment and experts I needed to guarantee a happy and well behaved dog.
Toby arrived and it was love at first sight.
He had an enormous sense of fun. He was very smart and very determined. Every time he displayed an understanding of how the world worked, like rolling a ball back to me with his nose after I had rolled it to him, I was blown away. The first time he sat when I gave the command, I decided he was smarter than I was. After all, he understood my language, yet I had no comprehension of his.
I figured with a dog this smart, training would be a literal walk in the park. I knew the techniques cold. The books were clear. You did A, then B, then C. Or A, B and C in combination. You rewarded correct responses. You used the ‘right’ kind of collar and the ‘right’ kind of correction. The books and articles in magazines made it clear that there was an inevitable cause and effect at play. You gave the commands, showed the dog what to do, and after a few corrections and rewards, you had a trained dog.
My first reality check came with housetraining. I have described that nightmare elsewhere. My world was rocked. I was doing everything right. How was it possible that I was failing?
I suspect these days obedience training is all head halters and treats. When Toby and I went off to obedience training thirty years ago, we were asked to buy a choke collar and an eight foot leather lead in order to teach our dogs to heel. The instructor demonstrated the side jerk and release method, and off we went. I jerked Toby, and as soon as I released, he pulled.
Week after week I practiced the technique with Toby. Week after week we attended obedience. Week after week, dogs in the class learned how to heel on a loose leash. Week after week, Toby continued to pull.
It was the same story with other commands, especially ones that Toby found boring, like ‘Stay’ or ‘Come’. Why would he stay when there were other dogs lying down whose butts were just waiting to be sniffed? Why would he come, when there were interesting smells to explore in every corner of the training room?
I would go home after these sessions, frustrated to the point of tears.
What was wrong with me? Where the Spaniels and Golden Retrievers looked at their owners with the rapt attention a devout religionist would give to the manifestation of God, Toby didn’t give one sweet damn where I was or what I was telling him to do. He obeyed commands sporadically, if he bothered at all. He decided when it was time to get up from a ‘Down’ or sit rather ‘Stand’.
Not only was I the only person in the universe who couldn’t manage the basic task of housebreaking my dog, I was the biggest loser at obedience as well.
Fast forward.
By the time Toby was two, I could get him to go down and stay for an indefinite period of time with nothing more than a tiny downward flick of my finger. I could walk him comfortably on a lovely loose leash at a pace of my choosing. He came (mostly) when called. I successfully took him up to the Utility Level in obedience training.
I was happy. Toby was happy. And because he was no longer prone to running off to chase after the slightest distraction, he was safe as well.
What changed?
I understood the problem. The reason I could not train my dog was because I could not get his attention. It was liking trying to teach a five year old to read while she wandered around the room, playing with toys and talking to her friends.
But aside from stuffing him full of treats every time I wanted him to do something, how was I going to get him to focus on me? After all, I wanted him to obey the rules, even if I was out of treats, or even if I was far away, or if a distraction more compelling than a treat appeared on the scene.
A wonderful, open minded trainer took me aside from the class one day and suggested I try Toby with a prong collar. The trainer pointed out that I had a big strong, wilful dog who had figured out there were no consequences for disobeying me. At least no consequences that he cared about. She felt that the prong collar would bring his attention back to me.
I was horrified when she showed it to me and made her suggestion. It looked like a medieval torture device. What about a Halti, I asked? She told me I could try that if I wanted to. But it was her opinion that the head halter would only make Toby focus his attention on getting out of it.
“People hate prong collars, but if they are used correctly, dogs don’t care,” she smiled. “People love the head halters because they’ve been made to believe they are more humane. But dogs absolutely hate them.”
It was a measure of my frustration and determination that despite feeling like an ax murderer, I finally agreed to try the prong collar.
Together, we took out some links so as to make it fit correctly around Toby’s neck. If the prong collar was either too loose or too tight, it wouldn’t have done the job.
I gave the command to ‘Heel’ in my best strong, deep, dominant voice and started off. Toby immediately charged out in front and started pulling. I gave him a gentle jerk, not wanting to hurt him. He continued to pull. I gave the lead some slack and jerked back harder, then immediately released him. As soon as he felt the slack, he pulled again.
In the end, even with the prongs pricking his neck, I had to almost jerk him off his feet before I got a result. He yelped a little, but the look in his eyes, to me was worth inflicting that small, short lived discomfort. I was actually rather shocked as our gazes connected and I realized that he was totally focussed on me, asking me what I wanted, really ‘seeing’ me for the first time as a leader and not just as another packmate to be ignored when it suited him.
As Carol Kane playing the Ghost if Christmas Present said to Bill Murray’s Scrooge after clocking him a good one, “Sometimes you have to slap them in the face to get their attention”.
From that point onwards, Toby’s intelligence worked in my favour. In very short order, he understood that when the prong collar came out, it was time to stop fooling around and keep his attention on me. After that first strong jerk and resulting yelp, it only took the tiniest jerk to bring him back to heel position. Within a few weeks, I only had to show the pronged collar to him to make him get down to business.
Eventually, even off leash, when he wore the prong collar he knew he was meant to do what he was told. This helped with things like ‘Down’ and long ‘Stay’s. Toby walked much better off lead than on, because when off lead, he always had to watch to see where I was. He couldn’t rely on the slight pressure of the collar and lead. I had his full attention, without which you can’t teach your dog a thing. A short time later, I pretty much stopped using the prong collar because he and I were now on the same wave length, only bringing it out in dangerous or difficult situations.
So, end of story right? I had learned what I needed to in order to control my dog. Everyone go out and buy a pronged collar. No. Not at all.
We adopted our next dog, Mac, from the Humane Society, as an adult. We asked which dog had been there the longest or was having the most difficulty finding a home. It was Mac.
I have no idea why. Mac lived to do whatever we wanted him to do. Even if some teenager decided to make him wear the plastic rain bonnet his grandmother left at our house, Mac just sadly concluded that if his humans wanted to torture him, that had to be okay.
The first time I took him out to see how much he knew, I put him on a choke collar, and gave him the “Heel” command in the same dominating voice I used with Toby.
Mac collapsed into a puddle at my feet, tail tucked under, ears flat. He obviously thought he had done something wrong; something that displeased his alpha. I soon realized that my hard won training technique, learned with a dominant dog, was producing the exact opposite effect of what I wanted with Mac.
I didn’t need to work to get Mac’s attention. Mac watched our every move. He just wanted to be with you, even if you decided to climb a tree for reasons best known to yourself.
Toby would have understood that The General was inviting him to play a game. Mac was just focussed on getting to where The General was.
As a submissive dog, his attention was always on me in training. Sometimes painfully so. The slightest change in my facial expression would bring a change in his demeanour. Mac didn’t need a prong collar. Mac really didn’t need a collar at all. Look at that focus, even when off leash and not under command.
Training Mac presented a whole different set of challenges. Thankfully they were pretty easy to address. Once I started paying attention to what he was telling me, I backed right off. I pitched my voice high and chirpy. I kept the corrections almost imperceptible. Mac learned almost effortlessly. I still took him to Obedience with Toby and Shoe because, wanting to be with me.
Shoe, the German Shepherd puppy I trained for the Guide Dogs had a personality right in the middle between these two.
Shoe was bright and lively, but he wasn’t dominant or self-willed or silly. Shoe liked to work and willingly gave you his attention, but when he wasn’t working, he had interests other than watching his humans.
He didn’t assume a correction was the equivalent of telling him he had done something terribly wrong and was a total failure as a dog.
These three dogs taught me that so-called training rules and techniques cannot be blindly followed. A technique that works well with one dog may ruin another. You need to be flexible and apply common sense.
Listen to the dog. Understand what is going on, and be prepared to ditch everything you thought you knew.
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