Peace

Posted on December 9, 2018 by ontheroadwithmilo

Life with Milo has not always been peaceful. For a long time, he divided up the world into prey and not-prey. If something moved, it was prey and needed to be ‘neutralized.’ Our walks followed complicated routes that avoided bikes, dogs, and big men. It was exhausting.

I learned that peace requires work.

I had to learn about German Shepherds, develop a relationship of mutual respect with Milo, and give him a job to do and some fair, consistent rules to follow. All of that, plus some time to grow up, made for a much better life.

The second sunday of Advent is all about peace: “The wolf will live with the lamb; the leopard will lie down with the young goat. The calf and the lion will graze together, and a little child will lead them.” But just one verse earlier there is a whole lot of talk about truth, justice, and integrity. They go hand-in-hand with peace. Peace is something you have to work for.

orange and white tabby cat and black and tan German shepherd dog sleeping side by side on a quilt

OK, so here we have the wolf and the leopard snoozing together. It’s not quite biblical, but there is a whole lot of peace going on.

You’re never (really) finished training your dog

Posted on May 30, 2018 by ontheroadwithmilo

German Shepherd puppy wearing a graduation cap and looking at camera

My neighbours, bless their hearts, take a keen interest in Milo and my wellbeing. They see me load him into my vehicle every Sunday afternoon on our way to some sort of dog class and often ask when we’ll be finished with the training.

What they don’t know is that asking me when I’ll be finished training Milo is sort of like asking an athlete when they’ll stop needing a coach.

Milo and I will always to go school because:

He and I can always improve our performance. We can get faster and more precise.
I can use all the coaching I can get. In class, the instructor sees things I don’t see. Sometimes I get in a rut with my instructions and Milo starts to anticipate our next move. Sometimes I reward him a bit late or a bit early. Sometimes I don’t keep my shoulders square and that pushes him out of heel position. A good instructor catches things I miss.
Obedience classes give Milo practice being around new people and new dogs in a safe, structured environment. Some people have this weird idea that a well-socialized dog runs off to play with every creature they encounter. This is wrong and dangerous. Not all people and not all dogs want strange dogs to charge forward for a meet and greet. A well-socialized dog can stay calm, happy, and attentive in a wide range of situations. This is particularly important for dogs like German Shepherds who tend to be territorial and to bond with only one or a few people. For dogs like these, socialization is not like riding a bike, it is more like playing the piano–they have to practice.

Milo and I both enjoy learning new things. I’d rather take Milo to a training class than go to a movie and Milo loves using that big brain of his.

black and tan smiling german shepherd in front of a grey sky and a grey lake.

Curious puppies want to learn all the things.

Taking selfies with your dog: Spatial pressure and talking without words

Posted on March 23, 2018 by ontheroadwithmilo

It was a darn near perfect Saturday afternoon–Milo and I spent hours sauntering along the Grand River. The air was crisp and the sky sapphire blue. Male blackbird songs filled the air with advertisements of nest vacancies and promises of good parenting. I had that “my cup overfloweth” feeling and wanted to commemorate the day with a selfie.

I got Milo and me positioned so that we were in good light and had something interesting behind us. But for the love of love, I couldn’t get him to look at the phone.

This is not new. Taking selfies with Milo is always a trial. When I put the phone in front of us instead of giving the camera a cute head tilt, he’ll look up, look down, or turn right around. I have a disturbing number of accidental pictures of Milo’s butt.

I always thought it was weird that such a biddable dog worked so hard to do the opposite of what I wanted him to do.

And then it hit me. He wasn’t doing what I wanted him to do, but he was doing exactly what I was telling him to do. Sometimes I forget that we don’t have a psychic connection and that Milo’s English isn’t that good.

I said, “Milo, look at the phone,” but the act of shoving the phone in his face told him to get out of there, which he did by looking or moving away. And if I stopped him from retreating while telling him to retreat, he expressed his discomfort with the tension by licking my face.

We’ve repeated this so many times that I might have taught him that the phrase ‘look at the phone’ means back up!

It’s called spatial pressure (or social pressure or body pressure), and humans use it on each other all the time. We can get each other to move without speaking and without touching. If I move into your space you will likely move away. Patrick Swayze’s character in Dirty Dancing understood this:

Trainers often exploit dogs’ tendencies to move when we get into their dance space as a training technique. In general, dogs (like people) prefer to turn around rather than walk backward. One standard method for teaching a dog to backup uses spatial pressure:

While this method might work well for you and your beloved pet, there are lots of other, and in my opinion safer, ways to teach a dog to backup. Getting into an unknown dog’s space is unpleasant for the dog, and a dog (like a person) can interpret this action as threatening. It is not difficult to teach a dog to back up without using spatial pressure.

Back to selfies.

The best we can do is wait until our dog is in a good spot and then slip in beside them and snap a few quick pics. It might help to hold a slice of cheese in the same hand as your phone, although with Milo this usually results in a phone covered with dog spit. If our dog selfies don’t turn out the way we want them to, we have to give our dogs a break.

Remember, we are always communicating with our dogs, and we often don’t realize that we are doing it or what we are saying. I actually had the thought that Milo hated having his picture taken and was stubbornly thwarting my selfie goals, when he was just responding in an entirely reasonable way to my actions.

With dogs, actions always speak louder than words.

Consent, respect, and dog safety

Posted on January 27, 2018 by ontheroadwithmilo

The woman walked straight up to Milo and me, grabbed Milo by the fur on both sides of his head, kissed him on the nose, and nuzzled his head with her face. That’s right, with her face.

Of all the dumbass things to do…

toothy darling

Raise your hand if you think it’s a good idea to grab this guy by the head and rub your face on his nose.

If I freaked out, it could have been the match that set off that powder keg, so I shoved a handful of liver treats in Milo’s maw and chirped, “OK, that’s enough cuddling.”

The woman backed off with her face still attached to her skull while Milo concentrated on getting all of that liver out from between his molars—it was a big handful of treats—and all was well.

Think about the fight or flight response. When a dog is on a leash, flight is not an option. This is one of the reasons why some dogs act more aggressively when they’re on a leash than when they aren’t.

Never approach a dog when they don’t have the option of saying “no thanks” and leaving. It is about respect, and consent, and common sense.

Ideally, if you meet Milo and me on a walk and you want to say hello to him, the scene plays itself out in one of these ways:

Scenario 1
You: “Can I pet your dog?”
Me: “Not today, thank you for asking.”
And Milo and I walk on.

When this happens, don’t give us the stink eye, because you know what? Although there are lots of reasons why we may not want to interact with you, neither he nor I have to give you a reason. I always appreciate it when people ask rather than, say, walk up and grab Milo’s face. But, if you ask and give us one bit of grief for saying “no,” you aren’t really asking. That is not cool.

Scenario 2
You: “Can I pet your dog?”
Me: “Milo sit” (with me between him and you).
Me some more: “Thank you for asking. Let’s see if he wants to say hello. If, when I release him he walks up to you, you can scratch him under the chin or on the side of his body.”
Me, to the dog this time: “Milo, would you like to say hello?”

This scenario can end in two ways:
Ending a: If Milo wags his tail and walks over to you, you get to share some personal time together.
Ending b: If Milo doesn’t happily walk up to you, I’ll say, “I guess not today. Thanks again for asking.” And Milo and I walk on.

In an ideal world if you and Milo interact, three of us—you, me, and Milo—all have to consent.

I won’t let him go bounding up to you and sniff your crotch or demand to be petted, and I won’t let you pet him if I don’t want you to and if he doesn’t want you to. The interaction will start when he walks up to you, and it will end when any one of the three of us wants it to. He tells us that he wants it to end by moving away. Milo is more fun and makes friends faster when he gets to consent.

If you want to pet a dog, but you’re wondering what doggie consent looks like, I recommend that you go over to Sara Reusche’s post at Paws Abilities. She gives a great step-by-step description of how to determine if a dog consents, and continues to give consent, to a social interaction.

This way everyone gets treated with respect, and everyone stays safe.

Animals in our lives: A philosophical investigation of the science of companion animals

Posted on December 6, 2017 by ontheroadwithmilo

I am terribly pleased to announce that I’ll be teaching Philosophy 271: Animals in our Lives, a new course offered by the Philosophy Department at the University of Waterloo in Ontario, Canada.

This class is a philosophical analysis of contemporary scientific research on companion animal (mostly canine) cognition, emotion, and training.

The students and I will explore:

how this scientific research is embedded in contemporary culture,
the practical influences on, and impacts of, this research, and
the role of values and ethics in the creation and use of this new scientific knowledge.

I’ll keep you posted as I develop and implement this course. I am So. Excited.

Phil 271 Animals in our lives

Life with a recovering reactive dog: Part two

Posted on September 23, 2017 by ontheroadwithmilo

Note: This is part two of a two-part post. Click here to read part one.

Now.

A couple of months ago I signed Milo and me up for a research project investigating canine fear and aggression in veterinary settings. I jumped into this survey eagerly, sure that Milo’s jackassery would provide them with some interesting data. They wanted to know about dogs acting out, and boy could tell them about a dog acting out.

I don’t think I was ever so pleased to be so disappointed about an experiment. You see, the survey questions all had a time index.

What sorts of fear behaviour did Milo exhibit at his last vet visit? None.

During that visit did he show any aggressive behaviours when:

Getting weighed? No.
Touched? No.
Vaccinated? No.
Having his ears examined? No.
Having blood drawn? No.
Having his temperature taken? OK, Yes. He growled at the vet tech when she tried to stick a thermometer up his bum. Fair enough. We didn’t get a temperature that day.

If those questions were about my worst vet visit or any vet visit three years ago, the answers would have been different. When I sat down to take this survey, I was ready to give those three-year-old answers. But, in the last three years Milo, and I, have changed. He’s a more confident dog. I’m a calmer person. And we’re a stronger team.

I caught myself living in the past again when Milo and I were camping at Killbear Provincial Park. Our campsite was beside what must have been an intergenerational, extended family camping trip. There were at least seven children under the age of five, they yelled a lot, and all of them, except the newborn, seemed to think that running while yelling was the thing to do.

Screaming creatures darting around—the kind of game that Milo was always keen to join, except that he weighed more than any three of those kids combined. I steeled myself for a couple of days of barking and a complaint from the Park Office.

Would you like to know what happened?

Nothing.

Milo started staring at one of the kids, and I told him to knock it off and that we don’t bark at silly things. He knocked it off and did not bark at the silly things. There were a bunch of people with dogs at that campground. And every single dog that walked by reacted to those children more than Milo did, every single one.

People came by my site and complimented Milo on being such a good boy.

One person even told me that I was “lucky” to have such a good dog. I let that one slide on by.

I will always be careful and respect the fact that Milo is a formidable animal. We’ve done a tremendous amount of work together over the years, developed a fantastic relationship, and things got better.

I love him to distraction. I just have to remember to love the dog he is right now.

Life with a recovering reactive dog: Part one

Posted on September 23, 2017 by ontheroadwithmilo

Note: This is the first half of a two-part post.

Then.

The damn snow was dragging at my feet, and I knew I wasn’t going to make it to my car before I started to cry. Milo and I were not at our finest on that winter day more than three years ago. Fifteen dog-handler teams had arranged themselves in a big circle on a snowy country field, and we were taking turns walking our dogs around the group. The idea was to keep your dog paying attention to you, and not to the other dogs or people or bunnies in attendance. The accomplished teams heeled with quiet precision around the field. But most of us newbies kept our dog’s focus with a steady stream of happy chatter. We could have used food treats for this, but it is hard to hand out treats when wearing mittens and it was cold enough that mittens were mandatory.

Milo and I were doing fine until another male gave him a glance that asked: “Wanna dance?” Milo looked back: “Sure, let’s go.” And off came the gloves. The other dog snarled. Milo lunged. My feet broke through the crust on the snow, and I was stuck.

It all took a very long heartbeat. Friends swooped in to take care of Milo, and I clambered out of my hole. Everything was OK, except for my blood pressure and my pride. This was life with a reactive dog. It just took a wrong look. He didn’t fight. I saw to it that Milo never got into a fight. But both of us were bundles of stress.

Milo and I retreated to an adjacent field where we could cool down. We played a bit, did some obedience, and practised calmly watching those other dogs from a distance. I’d been working on Milo’s reactivity for a while already, but this exercise was a bit too much and a bit too soon.

What put me in tears that afternoon wasn’t just Milo’s reaction, it was the supportive kindness of the people around us. We were training with the Kitchener-Waterloo German Shepherd Club. These people know GSDs, and many of them went through similar challenges with their pups.

After a few minutes on our own, the club president came over to check on Milo and me.

“We’re going to work on recalls now, do you and Milo want to join us?”

“Really? Seriously?”

“Sure, we’re all paying attention. It will be fine.”

It was more than fine. Milo was perfect. I left him with another handler at one end of the field, ran about 30 metres away, and called him. They released him, and he was in flight, skidding into a beautiful sit in front of me. Folks cheered.

As we were packing up for the afternoon, one by one, people came up to me. They said things like:

“It gets better.”
“He’s a beautiful dog.”
“I’ve been there, and I know it’s hard.”
“Good for you for working so hard with him.”
“Half a dozen dogs here used to react like that, and look at them now.”

I needed this support and encouragement, but darn it, I was at the end of my rope, and I knew this kindness was going to make me cry. I just wanted to get to my car before I lost it.

I was in an all-positive obedience class at the time, and someone there asked me if Milo was abused as a pup. That question took the wind right out of my sails. I adopted him at eight weeks, and his ‘abuse’ was patience, loving-kindness, and outrageously expensive grain-free food.

When Milo and I went on walks, I took to telling people that I was rehabilitating him. The phrase turned many frowns to smiles. After all, rehabilitating rescue dogs was god’s work. It was not a lie. I was rehabilitating him. I didn’t tell them he was a rescue; I just didn’t tell them he wasn’t.

Milo and I worked hard to get his reactivity under control. We went on weekly pack walks with the German Shepherd Club, I learned about counter-conditioning and desensitisation, and I worked on keeping control of my own emotions. I had to be calm to help him be calm–this it turned out, was the most difficult part of the whole procedure. I started working on obedience and scent detection with him. These sports taught him self-control and were something positive, fun that we could excel at together. Both of our confidence soared. He is a smart and biddable dog and was always a joy to work with, in isolation.

Things were slowly getting better, but they weren’t where I needed them to be until a fellow German Shepherd Club member and friend recommended that I take Milo to the trainer who helped her reactive dog. Finally, I found a trainer who understood Milo. It sounds simple, but she taught me not to permit Milo to be, what I have come to call, a jackass. We didn’t do anything dramatic or mean; I just learned to hold him to a set of high standards and how to properly handle such a big, strong, and strong-willed dog.

This whole process took about two years. Milo is a different dog now, but sometimes I forget how far we’ve come.

Click here for the rest of our story and to see where we are at now.

Aaron Provincial Park, Ontario, Canada

Posted on July 29, 2017 by ontheroadwithmilo

This park was stinky. Literally. I pulled into a campsite generously decorated with dog poop. While I was cleaning up it occurred to me that I had a neighbour who either lets their, evidently large, dog run loose, or is the sort of person who watches their dog poop in someone else’s campsite and thinks, “I’m just gonna leave that sitting right there.” I was looking forward to meeting this person, and their dog. It was going to be great. I knew it.

Sure enough, on Milo and my first walk two retriever-ish looking dogs galloped toward us while their owners yelled from their camp chairs, you guessed it, “don’t worry, they’re friendly.”

I yelled back, “I’m not.” It just popped out, no mincing of words at all. And at that moment, it was true. “Those dogs need to be on leashes.”

The indignant response was, “I don’t know why you’re upset. We haven’t had any problems.”

I saw this as invitation to describe the poop, and, you know, the law, which didn’t go over so well. Who would’ve thought? The best part was when they explained to me, and my fabulous gigantic German Shepherd Milo, that if I didn’t like dogs, I probably shouldn’t go camping. Oh boy, time to walk away. That time was actually long past, but as they say, better late than never. Some people.

In case you are wondering, here are some relevant bits of law:

Domestic and other animals

6. (1) No person in control of a domestic animal shall permit the animal to be,

(a) in a provincial park unless the animal is secured on a leash that does not exceed two metres in length; …

(4) No person shall permit a domestic animal, while in a provincial park, to

(a) make excessive noise;

(b) disturb other persons;

(c) damage Crown property or vegetation;

(d) chase or harass wild animals or birds;

(e) injure, or attempt to injure, a person or other domestic animal. O. Reg. 347/07, s. 6 (4).

(5) The person in control of a domestic animal shall immediately dispose of excrement from the animal in such manner and at such location that it will not cause a health hazard or public inconvenience. O. Reg. 347/07, s. 6 (5). …

I am sure these people are not a permanent fixture at Aaron Provincial Park, but I let them colour my experience of the place more than I should’ve. Thank heavens I discovered the group campground, a grassy field with picnic tables, empty. Milo and I spent a lot of time there romping, playing tug, training, and reading magazines (Milo didn’t read magazines as much as sat there and chewed a toy).

a black and tan German shepherd dog looking up at the camera. Fis shiny black nose is the highlight of the picture.

I can’t stay mad when I look at this big happy nose. Also, notice the leash…

Aaron Provincial Park is conveniently located on the Trans Canada highway just East of Dryden, Ontario. It lacks a sanctioned off leash pet exercise area.

For the love of god leash your darn dog

Posted on July 2, 2017 by ontheroadwithmilo

A post like this is silly because it has already been written about 14 million times. Pretty much all the dog trainers and all the dog professionals and all the municipal codes tell people to leash their dogs. leash

I’m writing it again because Milo and I were charged by a little schnauzer. I scared the little dog off and the schnauzer’s person got angry at me for yelling at their dog. What the what? I know that people respond weirdly when flustered. But seriously, that little dog charged my German Shepherd and I intervened before my dog did. That, my friend, deserves thanks. In fact, it deserves ice cream. Heck, it deserves a bottle of scotch.

This is not a rare event. Milo and I have been charged by Golden Retrievers, Poodles, little terriers, and a bunch of other pups.

I don’t care if the pup is a Yorkie or Mastiff, a puppy or senior dog, or a dog that’s an angel straight from heaven. I really don’t care if the dog is friendly. Even if the handler knows their dog can heel past a butcher shop, I don’t know that, and off leash dogs worry me.

Milo and I worked very hard, for years, to help him stay calm around other dogs. He is gigantic and now his behavior is, mostly, pretty good and so a person might not expect him to be stressed by a charging dog. He is. And so am I.

A little dog who reacts to Milo and me is not cute or brave, and does not think it is a big dog. It is probably scared, or perhaps stupid.
Yes, I know that Milo could ‘take care of himself,’ but I don’t want him to have to. And, who would want that to happen?
No, I don’t want the dogs to ‘work it out.’ That’s a project that could cost 1000’s of dollars.
And actually, I don’t want our dogs to say ‘hello.’ If we’re friends and I know your dog, then maybe. But my dog doesn’t play with strangers.

Where there are leash laws, please leash your dog. It’s the decent thing to do.

On the road with Milo

looking for a philosophy of people and dogs

Category Archives: dog aggression