Dog in the Snow

This blog is getting very word-heavy.  Time for some photos of Maya having fun!

Having fun is what Maya does in the snow, almost without fail. Here she is in our backyard after the first big snowfall of the year.

We take a lot of winter trips.  Maya loves galloping along snowmobile tracks.

She loves stepping on the backs of snowshoes and causing people to fall face-first into the snow.

She loves exploring, sniffing tracks, and sticking her whole head in the snow.

She loves telling us to hurry up.

She loves occasional pauses for quiet contemplation.

She loves snow.

update on the 'two way communication' project

Earlier this month, I wrote about teaching Maya an "outside" cue.  At the time, I was thinking hard about my relationship with my dog -- what it was, what it is, what I want it to be.  I think about this a lot, really.

The "outside" cue has become part of our regular schedule.  One unexpected problem has arisen, however.  When I started teaching Maya to signal her desire to go out, it was bitterly cold.  She just wasn't that interested in spending time out there.  Since then, it's warmed up considerably.  The snow has mostly melted, there are wonderfully sunny days, and the ground is a lovely mixture of frozen and thawed. 

On nice days, Maya would prefer to spend a lot of time outside.  Especially if I am busy.  So she gives the signal on a very frequent basis, and I have to decide whether to "listen."  Any time I get up and open the back door, I reinforce the behavior, and Maya has learned to tolerate disappointment, so it doesn't matter too much whether I comply at a 100%, 60%, or 10% rate -- the behavior is still solid, and Maya doesn't pitch temper tantrums over noncompliance.

She has important business outside. There are things to sniff, a neighbor's dog who needs watching, and, from a certain corner, a glimpse of activities out on the street.  The squirrel who lives near our woodpile is active, birds fly in and out (less interesting than squirrels, but still worth noting), and patches of sun are made for sunbathing.  Maya loves being in the yard.

But she has a few problematic behaviors.  The neighbor's dog sometimes charges the fence, which means Maya needs to charge back, and a major barking festival ensues.  Activities on the street also provoke barking.  Most problematically, Maya will charge our fence when our neighbors on either side seek to use their back yards.  I don't permit this behavior to continue, and am hoping to eventually eliminate it (difficult, but may be possible), and listening/watching for it takes a fair amount of my attention from other projects.

So I answer to my cues only when it suits me, and this seems to be fine with Maya.  The only cue that she hates me to ignore is "dinner," and she will get fussy if I ignore it too frequently or for too long.  All in all, I am happy with this experiment, even if it isn't quite as transgressive or transformative as it initially felt.

One other thought: I wrote in the earlier post that when she first came home, "I needed Maya to accept my version of the world ("it is safe"), and could not listen to or give credence to hers ("everything is very dangerous, bark bark bark")."

By "not listening to" her version of the world, I don't mean that I didn't listen to what she was saying.  Maya was shouting, with every fiber of her being, that the world was a scary and overwhelming place.  I listened.  We shrunk her world to a manageable size, and taught her to deal with it.

There is a piece of advice that nice people often give me about Maya, which is to just "let her get over it."  Go about my daily activities, ignore her distress signals, and just let her figure out how to cope.  I will probably write more about this sometime, but the short answer is that this course of action would have utterly destroyed Maya.  Her ability to deal with the world was so marginal, and the world caused her so much distress, that figuring out coping mechanisms was physically and mentally beyond her capabilities.  It would have been like trying to learn trigonometry while your house was on fire, assuming you had no background in basic mathematics and that learning trig was an absolute requirement for maintaining your safety and sanity.

My project is not to tune Maya out, but to help her re-think how she sees the world.  And in doing that, I couldn't just accept her version of events...I had to carefully set things up so that she'd start to perceive things in a new light.  And in so doing, I listened to Maya really carefully.  I just didn't necessarily adopt her views.

celebrating bad behavior

Make that "bad" behavior.  You know, normal dog behavior that happens to run afoul of human preferences -- rolling in stinky stuff, counter surfing, digging holes, barking at the UPS delivery person, that sort of thing.

These are things I celebrate, because they do not come easily to Maya (well, except barking of course...that comes far too easily!).  She almost never rolls in anything, took a whole year to consider checking out the counters for edibles, even though they are right at chin height, and had to be taught how to dig holes.  Yes, I taught my dog to dig holes...it seemed like something she'd enjoy.

When she finally did counter surf, it was to eat almost an entire pie that Brian had baked.  Happily, we had already had a piece each, otherwise my amusement might have been much less.  Really, I was tickled.  As a puppy, Maya was too fearful or inexperienced to do much in the way of problem-solving, and here she was coming up with creative solutions all on her own!

I also praise her for rolling in stinky things.  "Way to go Maya, you're rolling in fox poop!" is something I have actually said.  Followed by, "Good dog!"

The thing about being a fearful, anxious dog is that it limits your ability to interact with the world in positive ways.  Maya is smart, sensitive, and vigilant, and it's sometimes hard for her to relax enough to just revel in being a stinky, stealing, cheerful dog.  I have learned to enjoy those things along with her, and she is slowly relaxing enough to do more of them.

Eating toilet paper, however, is not a behavior I ever plan to celebrate.  That's just gross.

Behavior Assessment

Maya and I met with a trainer today.  I've been working without one, for various reasons including bad experiences and a real need to figure some things out on my own.  We're ready, and by a series of incredibly fortunate strokes, we found a great person to work with.

The assessment took place in one of the Santa Fe dog parks, where they have individual runs (that are several thousand square feet large) for dogs who, for whatever reason, don't want to mingle.  We chose an outside location because it's less stressful for Maya, and significantly more like her normal environment than an enclosed office.

It also happened to be freezing.  And snowing.  Maya and I got there early so she could run around for a while, and she was enormously cheerful about the chance for sniffing and chasing her favorite ball.  I was enormously grateful for my giant down jacket, without which I'm sure I would have frozen.

The trainer showed up after a little while, but stayed on her side of the fence.  Maya noticed as soon as she got out of her car.  Ears pricked, face uncertain, body starting to tense, even though we were still about 80-100 feet away.  I did a little circling with her, and a little "look at that," but kept walking.  When we were about 50 feet away from the trainer, Maya triggered (bark bark bark!).

We turned parallel, and walked along the fence so I could say hi.  Maya was jumpy, tense, and reactive, but not genuinely freaking out.  We ended up finding a comfortable distance of around 30 feet, with me free to chat with either the trainer or Maya.  I rewarded Maya for soft gazes, calm behaviors, or focus directed to me.  I had a pocket full of hot dog pieces, so I saw results quickly!

This is the nicest part.  Maya calmed right down.  As long as the trainer stood still, she was totally focused on me.  Well, not totally, because she noticed every arm gesture or change in voice, and barked at some of it.  But she offered me calm behavior after calm behavior, including a relaxed down.  It was the nicest experience.

I treated appropriate behaviors, ignored those I didn't like, and it was actually a pretty good training session.  Maya is triggered by movement, especially movement away or parallel movement, and proximity.  As long as these things stay around her comfort level, though, she is a delight.  I love working with her.

The rest of the session was just me and the trainer talking (Maya practiced being calm in the car, which she seems to have accomplished remarkably well).  The talking was fun too, and reassuring on several levels, but the nicest thing was just watching Maya offer cheerful, smiling, soft-eyed behaviors to me, over and over, because she knows that's the best way to feel good.  So, so satisfying.

Promises

There is a promise I made to Maya when I adopted her.

I didn't know what she was going to be like then, nor have any idea of the challenges that lay ahead of us.  My reasons for worrying had to do with my own heart -- the last of my six rats had died a few months before, and I had loved those ratties more than I can possibly describe.  I was sore, sad, and worried that a dog might, inevitably, suffer consequences as a result.

When I adopted her, I told Maya that I would never get mad at her for what she wasn't.  She wasn't a rat, wasn't going to be my instant soulmate, and I wasn't going to hold those things against her, ever.  I promised to accept her for what she was, and for who she was.

Of course, at it turns out, this was a much more far-reaching promise than I'd intended.  I knew Maya was a dog, but had no idea how intense and challenging a dog she'd turn out to be.  What she wasn't was a normal dog, an easy-going dog, a safe dog, or a dog who could do all the things with me that I'd dreamed.  There was a whole lot more "wasn't" than I had imagined. 

I stuck by the promise though.  For all my frustrations, sorrow, and stress, I've always made sure I pay attention to who and what Maya is.  The things she cannot do sometimes cause me real grief, but that is not the way I define my dog, and it's not something I hold against her.  She is the way she is, and that's okay with me.  Not that I ever stop trying to improve her ability to cope, just that I accept that these difficulties are a part of my dog, who I love.

Recently, I've discovered that I have knowledge and skills that people who've been around dogs for years never developed.  I started volunteering down at the Santa Fe shelter, and have tools for working with the shy/hyperactive/miserable/barking/rough dogs that are enormously useful.  I enjoy the praise and attention this gets me (who wouldn't!?), and I really enjoy working with the dogs, but mostly I enjoy the realization that Maya has forever deepened my relationship with this fascinating species.

When I adopted Maya, I changed her life.  She changed mine too, and I thank her for it.

the first thing

The very first thing I taught Maya was that human-dog communication was possible. Oh, I tried to teach her things before that.  Like not to be scared of stairs, which involved luring her with treats. I have since learned that luring is not the best idea with phobias, but Maya was more inexperienced with stairs than outright phobic. It took me a while to learn the right way to help her, and I certainly made some errors along the way.

But the first thing I taught her was that we could communicate.  I don't think she had any idea before...she was watchful, careful, and sweet, and completely clueless about life with humans.

Clicker training is the single area of dog training in which I've had actual, formal training from real trainers.  I even had a clicker already, long before we had Maya.  So, a day or two after she came home, I pulled out the clicker and a handful of dog treats, and set to.

I was working on a 'sit,' which is an easy thing to lure and a pretty simple movement for most dogs.  I loaded the clicker, lured a sit, clicked, treated, and repeated.  Then I quit luring, and started simply shaping -- letting Maya direct her own actions, and rewarding those that moved her toward a sit gesture.

Needless to say, she'd never done any clicker training before.  No shaping either.  She was very interested in the treats in my hand, and desirous of getting them into her mouth, but the idea that she could make that happen via her own actions hadn't yet occurred to her.  I waited, clicked a squat that turned into a sit, treated, and stepped back.  She stepped toward me tentatively, and sat.  Click, jackpot.  I stepped back again.  Maya stepped forward, sat, I clicked and held out a treat.

She leaped about four feet in the air and let out one shatteringly joyful bark.  Forget the treats!  She'd just learned that dog-human communication was possible, a better reward than any number of dog snacks.  It was one of the single most amazing emotional reactions I'd seen.

And here's a photo of puppy Maya, age 7-8 months.

Maya meets a puppy

Last weekend, Maya was attacked by two off-leash dogs.  Brian had her out for a run, and as they jogged past a woman with two dogs, one barked.  She said, "Oh, don't worry, that one doesn't attack."  Whereupon the other one attacked.

So I've spent the week trying to make sure that Maya didn't absorb any negative lessons from her experience.  Lots of walks around other dogs, lots of positive reinforcement for any exposure to them.  Yesterday, we arranged for a trip down to the Santa Fe shelter (the shelter from which we adopted Maya).

I explained to them that I have a challenging pup, who is reactive to both humans and dogs.  I also said that if we could find a dog with good social skills (especially dog-dog skills), and if Maya got along with it, we'd be open to adoption.  They were enthusiastic about a meet-and-greet, so we set one up with Sarabi, a lovely two-year-old puppy.

It went pretty well.  Maya was nervous and jumpy about being in a new place (that smelled like strange dogs and was full of strange humans).  She greeted Sarabi with raised hackles, and then immediately tried to hide behind Brian.  Then peeked out, tiptoed around, and said hi again.  Eventually, the hackles went down, and she slowly relaxed.

Two great things, from my perspective.  First, Maya had no problem backing away and de-escalating the situation.  This was something she had a lot of trouble with as a wild puppy, and something we've worked really hard to help her learn.  So it was great to see her being so conflict-averse.  Second, she eventually relaxed all the way from the shoulders back...just loose, waggy, and only mildly stressed.  To be in a new place, with new people and new dogs, and still manage that degree of relaxation is really, really great for Maya.

The third thing, less surprising but rather delightful, was that she checked in over and over and over again.  She checked in with me, she checked in with Brian, and she never stopped responding to our words and postures.  She solicited cuddles when she was stressed, which I found cute, hid behind us for safety, and did a little bit of guarding us from the strange dog (less cute, but interesting).  Overall, for Maya, this was a terrific performance.

So we're repeating it today.  They never got to a point where they were comfortable playing together (Sarabi did some face-licking, but Maya was horrified by it), and I'm hoping they get that far today.  Even if they don't, I hope Maya keeps learning these calm, happy sorts of lessons...it's so good for her.

Update: it went even better today (more relaxation in every way for Maya), but still no play.  No new dog for us!  Even so, it was a terrific experience and great for me to see my dog handling a stressful situation so well.  Good weekend!

two-way communication

One of my winter projects was to teach Maya an "outside" cue.  Not a cue I give her -- one she can give me to signal that I need to get up and let her out to pee/sniff/take care of important dog business.  Once that was established, I started working on a second cue to signal "dinner time." 

Two thoughts I had going in.  First, that deliberately giving control of those decisions to my dog feels good to me, but seems to go against a certain amount of general dog training advice.  Second, I was pretty sure this would be a little overwhelming for Maya, especially at the beginning.

On the first issue, my motivation stems largely from a lack of satisfaction over certain elements of the relationship Maya and I share.  I know a lot of people have strong feelings about dog-human relationships and how to characterize them -- are we pets and owners? companions and guardians? fur-children and faux-parents?  teammates? partners? -- and I have my own preconceptions and preferences.  Maya is her own person and also my property, she is my companion and perhaps someday my partner.  But she isn't my partner now: we do not make decisions, or take action, equally.

For me, there's no issue with thinking of pets as property (in a very real sense, they are), but I don't think of my pets as my children.  I realize that doing do is a way to encompass a very important idea about pets as dependent members of the family, and I don't have an issue with people who find the characterization apt. But thinking of dogs as children consigns them to a juvenile status that simply doesn't suit me; I want Maya to be an adult member of her own species, not a juvenile member of mine.

Maya is just on the cusp of adulthood, and hasn't quite crossed over yet.  When I first got her, she was younger than I thought (the shelter said a year or more, the vet said about seven months old), and I knew almost nothing about dog development anyway.  I was honestly unprepared for the sheer youth of the dog I was adopting, and she was completely unprepared for life among humans.

I needed Maya to accept my version of the world ("it is safe"), and could not listen to or give credence to hers ("everything is very dangerous, bark bark bark").  I deliberately stripped her of all decision-making abilities, narrowed her life down to predictable situations, and refused to listen to her when she got over-excited.

Her behavior improved, but I wasn't happy with where this put our relationship.  I want her to grow up, and I want communication between us to be a two-way street.  So, this winter, I decided to start giving her back control over her own life.

The question of whether Maya is capable of dealing with this remains open.  I started by teaching a very simple cue (she stands or sits, quietly, and rests her head on the arm of my chair, or with her nose touching my elbow) for her to signal a need to go outside.  It took about three seconds for Maya to realize she now had a way to signal "give me attention!!"  She promptly started signaling for attention all the time.  After some thought, I responded by getting up the first time and opening the back door, and then ignoring all subsequent attempts for about half an hour afterward.  So far, I am not certain she is getting the message.

Then I taught her that she could give the same signal, followed by a sit with eye contact, to obtain dinner anytime after 6 pm (she was previously on a fixed 8am & 8pm meal schedule).  Other than a few obvious attempts to signal for dinner at 6, 6:15, 6:30, and 6:45, that went a lot more smoothly.  Maya is used to the routine of a single evening meal, so I don't think she was really expecting unlimited food access. 

I know Maya enjoys the new signals, though she mis-uses them constantly...obviously, she has not read the same dog training books I have.  I think we are slowly narrowing in on a precise meaning for each cue, and that she's figuring out how to maximize her rewards with each (signaling for dinner works just once, signaling to go outside works only occasionally).  Because we're still ironing out the kinks, I'm not sure whether I've really given Maya more control over her life or just used my control to give her some new behavior options.  Either way, I think we both enjoy the training game!

And this is Maya's face right before we went on a walk.  The last words out of my mouth were, "Only good dogs get to go on this walk."  Clearly, she is skeptical.