The Puppy Diaries: Raising a Dog Named Scout (6 page)
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Authors: Jill Abramson
BOOK: The Puppy Diaries: Raising a Dog Named Scout
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Diane also introduced us to the use of a training clicker. When Scout responded in the way Diane wanted—such as looking at Diane when Diane spoke her name—Diane marked the behavior with a click from a red and yellow plastic clicker. Then she immediately gave Scout a treat from a little pouch that she had attached to her belt. It was filled with bits of chicken, most of them no bigger than a fingernail. Using the clicker and her treats, Diane quickly succeeded in getting Scout to respond to a number of different commands. She offered rewards for every bit of good behavior and suggested that we do the same, even if the treat was just a piece of kibble.
When Scout jumped up on us, Diane urged us to turn to the side and look away. Better to ignore Scout for a few seconds rather than scold her, and then get her to sit, followed by a click and a reward. When Scout nipped too hard during play, Diane suggested that we say “Ouch,” put our hands up, and stop play. Then, after a few seconds, we should resume playing. Diane explained that this is how puppies play with their littermates. When one gets hurt and squeals, play stops for a bit and then continues.
Diane also said she thought Scout might have become bored with her toys and suggested that we get her a Kong, a cylindrical rubber chew toy that can be smeared with peanut butter or filled with puppy treats and put in the freezer. “It can really keep dogs busy,” she said. “It’s fun and interesting for them to work at getting what’s inside.”
At mealtime, Scout had the bad habit of barking loudly as we prepared her bowl. Fortunately, Diane had a cure. She suggested that we ask Scout to sit before we put her bowl down and then reward her patience with a piece of kibble. “Nothing is free anymore,” she said. “Always ask for a sit before you feed her. Then give a click and a treat.” When we tried this approach the next time we fed her, the barking stopped immediately.
Diane, who believes that small amounts of human food are good for dogs, gave us a list of approved and forbidden ones. Yogurt, already in Scout’s diet, was fine, along with carrot chunks, cheese, and a number of other foods. On the verboten list, because they could poison a dog, were grapes, raisins, macadamia nuts, and, oddly, nutmeg.
This advice, of course, ran contrary to Henry’s human food ban. But after hearing more about Diane’s commonsense attitude toward food and seeing Scout’s eager response to Diane’s tiny bits of chicken, Henry
declared that Diane had changed his mind. In the wake of Diane’s visit, our pack leader’s rules underwent a rapid evolution. In no time, they changed from “No Treats Whatsoever” to “Treats at Special Moments” to “Treats Basically All The Time Unless Scout Is Biting You.” I was thrilled, of course, and secretly I hoped that one day Henry would let me return to the stove.
declared that Diane had changed his mind. In the wake of Diane’s visit, our pack leader’s rules underwent a rapid evolution. In no time, they changed from “No Treats Whatsoever” to “Treats at Special Moments” to “Treats Basically All The Time Unless Scout Is Biting You.” I was thrilled, of course, and secretly I hoped that one day Henry would let me return to the stove.
Without being pushy, Diane also suggested that we sign up for her next puppy kindergarten class, a package of eight sessions on Tuesday nights during which Scout would learn basic commands and socialize with other pups about her age. At the beginning of the consultation, we had talked with Diane about our plan to introduce Scout to New York, and now she told us that she thought the classes would help us handle Scout in the city. Henry, bless him, declared that he was willing to arrange his schedule around the puppy class. Instead of returning to the city on Sunday, he would work from Connecticut the first two days of the week and then drive to New York with Scout after Diane’s class on Tuesday night.
Before she left, Diane gave Scout some hearty farewell pats and the two of us a clicker. Our separate cries for help had been answered.
I didn’t want to miss Scout’s first day of school, so the following Tuesday I left work early and took the train to Connecticut. Diane had promised that the class would be fun, and it was impossible not to trust someone who signed her e-mails, “Warmest wags, Diane.” But it had been eighteen years since our younger child piled onto the school bus for the first day of kindergarten, and I felt the same mixture of anxiety and hopeful pride as we drove with Scout to the town where Diane taught her classes.
What we didn’t know then was that by showing us how to use a clicker during her home consultation, Diane had introduced us to a dog-training method known as positive training. Later, I learned of the battle that rages between trainers who favor a more coercive, pack-leader approach and those who prefer a positive reinforcement technique that usually uses a clicker or a familiar sound to mark desired behavior in dogs.
Cesar Millan, whose television show on the National Geographic channel is one of the most popular shows on cable, is the avatar of pack leaders. Another cable personality, Victoria Stilwell, is a persuasive advocate of positive training. Others are also gaining national reputations for their ability to teach positive training; among them is Karen Pryor, the author of several popular dog-training manuals, under whom Diane had studied.
As with child-rearing, dog-training experts sometimes make convincing cases for completely opposing points of view. On the pack leader versus positive training issue, I had no idea which side was right; confusing the matter, the monks’ books, which had served as our primary source for puppy advice, combine some of both approaches. When I found time to do a bit of research of my own, one of the experts I consulted was Shawn Stewart, who has worked with all kinds of dogs, including homeland security canine defense units. Stewart told me that the right method depends on individual considerations about the dog, the owner, and the environment. As he put it, “No one out there can say that any one method will fit any dog or any owner.” In the face of conflicting advice, this seemed like a very sensible conclusion.
Instinctively, Henry and I leaned toward positive training. Our preferred parenting method had been to use encouragement, not punishment, to teach our children good behavior. And since Scout seemed eager to learn and responsive to instruction, we were happy to try out Diane’s clicker training. Besides, if Scout attended all the puppy classes and passed the course, she would earn a basic manners certificate from the American Kennel Club, the organization that sponsors the Westminster Dog Show at Madison Square Garden each year. She would officially be a Good Dog.
It took about twenty minutes to drive to Durham, a town just to the north of us. Diane’s class met next to a veterinary clinic in a large commercial garage with high ceilings and roll-up doors. There were six other puppies in the class. At forty pounds, Scout was the largest pupil by far. Diane had the
humans
—she preferred this word to
owners
—and the leashed pups introduce themselves on the lawn outside the classroom. Because Scout had become well socialized with other dogs at Marian’s pool parties and at the farm, she pulled eagerly toward her classmates.
humans
—she preferred this word to
owners
—and the leashed pups introduce themselves on the lawn outside the classroom. Because Scout had become well socialized with other dogs at Marian’s pool parties and at the farm, she pulled eagerly toward her classmates.
Scout was especially smitten with a tiny Chihuahua named Petunia, who cowered each time Scout approached. Once inside the classroom, which had accident-proof concrete floors and was filled with colorful toys, Diane had to place a puppy fence around Petunia and her owner because the Chihuahua remained so shy and fearful. This only made Scout more besotted, and she expressed her ardor in loud, disruptive barking.
I could feel my face reddening, but Diane remained unfazed by Scout’s yelps. “Just relax and have fun,” Diane told me. She distracted Scout by inviting her to demonstrate an exercise called “charging the clicker,” where the dogs practiced hearing the click, responding to it, and getting a treat. Diane had asked us not to feed the dogs before class so they would remain responsive to the treats.
Puppy kindergarten class
Diane told us that she had become a devotee of the clicker method after she had attended a puppy class where a coercive trainer had dragged Diane’s collie across the floor by her collar, practically choking her. “I wanted to find a different way,” she explained. After attending one of Karen Pryor’s training conferences, Diane met some other positive trainers in Connecticut and they began perfecting their techniques together. Not long after she gained certification from the Association of Pet Dog Trainers, she quit her job as the vice president of a plaster molding company to become a full-time trainer. “I felt this was my calling,” she said.
Diane was a born animal lover, and no situation seemed to fluster her. She had always adored dogs, especially collies, and she enjoyed telling stories about the animals in her life. She had once trained a raccoon, Ziggy, who often palled around town with Diane’s beloved collie, Ronnie, and her cat. One day the raccoon had lured Ronnie into the basement of a neighbor who had filled some shelves with jars of homemade raspberry jam. Ziggy climbed up and began smashing the jars on the basement floor. When the neighbor heard the noise and hurried down to the basement, he saw Ronnie’s paws and face covered in red jam.
Ziggy had slithered away and Ronnie got the blame for the caper. Ziggy eventually returned to the wild, but she came back once with her three babies to show them off to Diane, who almost became teary when she told the story.
Ziggy had slithered away and Ronnie got the blame for the caper. Ziggy eventually returned to the wild, but she came back once with her three babies to show them off to Diane, who almost became teary when she told the story.
Scout was entranced by Diane, as were the other dogs in the class. Happily, the dogs all seemed to get along well. Ella, a black Lab who was about Scout’s age, had a sweet disposition and was less barky and jumpy than our pup. A springer spaniel in the class was already remarkably well trained: her owners took turns getting her to sit, stay, and lie down on command, much to the chagrin of the rest of us. A boxer puppy named Oliver was true to its breed and spent most of his time on his hind legs, trying to grab another dog or a human leg with its front paws.
The veterinary clinic itself was located on a large corner lot, and Henry had noticed that most of the owners and dogs showed up a few minutes early in order to get in a little walk. It was obvious that each of us hoped our puppy wouldn’t embarrass us by having an accident during class, even though the garage’s concrete floor would be easy to clean.
Halfway through the first class, Diane called for playtime and told us we could take our puppies off the leash. Scout’s attention turned to Ella, and they were wrestling when I heard a little yelp: Scout had nipped
Ella’s ear. But I didn’t think it was an accident, and I immediately thought of Beverly Cleary’s irrepressible heroine Ramona Quimby, who, in her first days of kindergarten, had a hard time suppressing her urge to pull the “boing-boing” curls of another student. Like Ramona, who loved her patient kindergarten teacher, Scout was crazy about Diane and barked with jealousy when Diane fixed her attention on one of the other dogs in the class. She wanted Diane to belong to her alone.
Ella’s ear. But I didn’t think it was an accident, and I immediately thought of Beverly Cleary’s irrepressible heroine Ramona Quimby, who, in her first days of kindergarten, had a hard time suppressing her urge to pull the “boing-boing” curls of another student. Like Ramona, who loved her patient kindergarten teacher, Scout was crazy about Diane and barked with jealousy when Diane fixed her attention on one of the other dogs in the class. She wanted Diane to belong to her alone.
The biggest lesson Diane imparted in the first class was that dogs are visual creatures who respond to many kinds of cues besides verbal ones. Training, she said, is not effective if an owner uses only verbal communication, and sentences with many words will only confuse a dog. Instead, we needed to learn to employ visual cues, using our faces, bodies, and hands. Diane showed us how to get our pups to sit by moving a hand slightly over and behind the dog’s head. Scout wouldn’t respond to this signal in class, but after a few days of practice she began sitting in response to the hand motion.
In later classes, Diane taught us how to prepare our puppies for the unexpected. She gave us a sheet with “The Puppy’s Rule of Twelve,” encouraging us to expose our dogs to twelve different objects, people, and locations in the coming weeks. In one class, she
made us put on funny clothes and carry canes and umbrellas. Another time, to help the pups learn to deal with sudden noises, she intentionally let a metal chair fall to the ground and make a loud clang. Henry and I were especially grateful for this phase of the training, since it would help prepare Scout for all the noise and strange people she would soon encounter in the city.
made us put on funny clothes and carry canes and umbrellas. Another time, to help the pups learn to deal with sudden noises, she intentionally let a metal chair fall to the ground and make a loud clang. Henry and I were especially grateful for this phase of the training, since it would help prepare Scout for all the noise and strange people she would soon encounter in the city.
One of the most useful and gratifying exercises involved the command Leave it, which would later prove essential when Scout picked up something truly yucky on the streets of New York. (It still made us anxious to recall Buddy’s uncanny ability to scour the city’s sidewalks and find chicken bones, which can lodge in a dog’s throat.) The premise was simple enough: Diane instructed us to present our puppies with a low-value treat, such as a piece of kibble or a packaged liver treat. When our dog turned her head toward it, we said “Leave it” and presented a far more appealing, high-value treat, like a bit of chicken. Scout responded to this command on the second or third try, and she got better at it within minutes, despite the tumult all around her. Food was a bigger motivator than we had imagined.
Like Buddy, Scout resisted the command Down, which is supposed to prompt a dog to lie on its belly. (We had better luck with Off, which we used in the
early days to break Scout of her habit of jumping up on people.) When she saw that Scout wasn’t responding to Down, Diane suggested that Henry sit on the ground and lure Scout under his knees with a treat. At the moment her belly touched the floor, Henry delivered a click and a treat. This exercise was especially valuable because it illustrated the need for creativity and persistence in the face of the challenges dogs always present.
early days to break Scout of her habit of jumping up on people.) When she saw that Scout wasn’t responding to Down, Diane suggested that Henry sit on the ground and lure Scout under his knees with a treat. At the moment her belly touched the floor, Henry delivered a click and a treat. This exercise was especially valuable because it illustrated the need for creativity and persistence in the face of the challenges dogs always present.
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