an apple a day

We have two apple trees groaning in our front yard, and the neighbor's tree sometimes drops apples into our back yard.  As we pick and process the fruit out front, excess or rotten apples get tossed onto the compost pile out back.  Extra apples sit on counters, or in our fruit basket.  All of which is to say that there are plenty of apples within the reach of a certain dog.

Maya does not touch or seemingly notice these apples.  But if I pick an apple and carry it into the  back yard, her eyes light up.

This is partly because an apple looks a lot like a B-A-L-L, and a little bit because fresh-picked apples taste best, but mostly it has to do with adding value.  Adding/transferring value is one of those things that's useful to think about if you're trying to convince a dog (or other animal) that something is fun or delicious -- it's how we persuade them to enjoy their food more, or love being clipped onto a leash, or prefer to come racing back to you instead of pursuing a squirrel into the forest.  Really, transferring value is just another term for dog training.

The big ways to transfer value have to do with classical and operant conditioning, and all that fun stuff.  Those are important.  But what amuses me are the funny little psychological tricks to make something more amazing.

For instance, most rats find anything forbidden to be incredibly desirable.  The more you try to stop them from doing something, the more they want to do it.  Obviously, this drives some rat owners totally bonkers (especially those with expensive carpets or accessible electrical cords).  But it also means that you can make a very fun game out of pretending something is off-limits, and then getting the ratties more and more excited about trying to get it.  Put a box on the floor, for instance, and try to keep all the ratties from going inside.  We call this "the Pee Rag game," and, played fairly, it provides tremendous fun for all.

For both the rats and for Maya, my interest in a thing imparts greater value to it.  Food in my hand is worth more than food on the ground.  If I leave a tissue lying on the couch, a rat will probably make off with it eventually, but if I pick it up, I will attract the interest of all nearby rodents, all of them curious and acquisitive.

This is what is at work with the apples, which are common and boring until I pick one up.  Once I've touched it, Maya wants it more than anything, and will eat it all up with tremendous, single-minded enthusiasm.

Besides finding this occasionally useful, I must confess that I find it flattering.  Which is funny, of course, because it works both ways.  I don't just mean that a sock on the floor interests me much less than a sock dangling from Maya's mouth (though there's that too), but that I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about what she's doing, and why, and getting all excited about even quite trivial things (like apple eating). I can change Maya's opinion of apples just by picking them, but she changes my view of all kinds of things too. 

three years and a bit

I missed Maya's gotcha day by more than a month.  Oh well.  Lately, we've had so many random celebrations that trying to hit a specific day would just be silly.  For the record though, we've now had Maya in our lives for three years and a bit.

At this moment, right now, I don't think I've ever been happier with Maya.  Next year, perhaps I'll read this and laugh, thinking how much better things have become.  Time tends to give that perspective; right now, it's hard to imagine.

Maya remains a "hands off" dog, except to a select few.  I have had Maya for over three years, and, in that time, I can count the number of people who've touched her on the fingers of both hands.  Almost all of those people are professionals -- trainers, veterinarians and staff, and so on -- who are experienced in dealing with 'dogs with issues.'  When I say that things are wonderful with Maya, I do not mean that every facet of life comes easily to her (or to me).

But ask me to tell you something wonderful about my dog and I can't stop talking.  She is so smart.  She tries so hard.  She learns so fast, and thinks that learning is almost the most fun a dog can have.  She is great company on a hike, or great company if I feel like lazing around the house.  She is hilarious.  She smells good.  She has the best ears.  She makes mornings feel brighter.  She teaches me things about the world.  She is a good friend.  When I smile at her, her whole body lights up.  When I sing to her, she dances.

This moment, right now, is a good one.

dog jokes

I was digging up the tomato plot this morning, getting it ready for some transplants.  Maya wanted to play, so she made up a game of her own.  It involved pretending to be afraid of the shovel (she'd give a great, theatrical start of surprise every time I lifted it a few inches into the air) until she was sufficiently "scared," and then releasing the tension with great, grinning, looping zoomies all over the back yard.

Maya has been especially silly lately, perhaps full of the fun of springtime.  When she makes up games that involve such imaginative elements, and then slides her laughing eyes over to mine to make sure I'm watching, I can't help but feel she's making dog jokes.  It makes me laugh.  It also made me wonder if I could tell dog jokes back at her, so I pretended to find the shovel quite startling too.  Maya instantly flung herself into another round of zoomies, face alight with glee.  My success at canine comedy thrilled me to an embarrassing degree.

It is amazing I ever get any yard work done.

Other games of the day included tug with a piece of grass.

 

Putting things on Maya's head.

And rolling around waving our feet at one another.

It's hard to beat a lazy, sunny Sunday afternoon.