There are horror stories about rescued dogs who have been so
traumatized that they are anxious and aggressive, and they display such
neurotic behaviour that their adoptive families have great difficulty enjoying
their company.
None of that was true for Kinook. She was a calm, easy dog
from day one, uninterested in chewing anything other than treats that were
offered to her, and there was never a need to dog-proof the house upon her
arrival. Shoes, flower vases, books and potted plants remained where they were,
on the floor, or at dog-nose level, and nothing got chewed or broken or peed
upon. I prayed for an easy dog, and got one!
So when I hired Kathleen Collins to help me train Kinook, it
was not to make her into an easy pet, which she already proved to be from day
one, but primarily to protect her, a lesson I’d learned the hard way with
Mushi, the dog who did not come when called, and got killed by a truck.
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| At the training sessions |
When I saw Kathleen I thought of a Marry Poppins for dogs:
she was a slender woman with copper-fire wired, wild hair adorned with
feathers, the poise of a horse-riding princess, and the high-pitched voice and
laughter that was endearing to humans and commanding respect to animals. I had
met Kathleen at a local business show, and kept her unusual card which depicted
a Borzoi hound dog silhouette, as thin and poised as her owns, and mentioned:
“Animal Lifestyle” – training, animal behaviour, and pre-pet consultations.
Kathleen arrived at our home, her tiny body making herself felt
as a huge presence. Kinook liked her from the first touch, and Kathleen
produced tiny bits of sausage to introduce herself to my dog.
“See how she lies down with her back to you?” Kathleen
pointed out. “It means that she trusts you!”
She kneeled on the floor near Kinook and proceeded to
demonstrate commands to which my dog responded as if she had always done that:
eagerly and naturally. “Come!” “Sit!” “Down!”. When I tried the same, I could
swear my dog yawned with boredom, and if she talked, she’d say something like:
“Meh, I don’t think so, lady.” That day I learned that Kathleen trained people
before she trained dogs.
The fiery woman made it clear in writing and in spoken word:
her approach was positive reinforcement. Give commands to the dog when you
expect the dog to respond, and reward her with “Good Girl!” Dogs can pick up
mental images, so never call a dog when you are incongruent about your message,
for example, when you call the dog but expect her to go away, because the mixed
message will confuse the animal and she will fail to come. Avoid if all
possible to create situations that require you to deem your dog a “Bad Girl!”
Treats will be used first as bribery, to motivate the dog to perform a command,
and then later as reward. In time, treats as rewards will be replaced with an
associated gesture, like a pat or caress, and word. Calling the dog’s name
means only one thing: “Pay attention to me!” That’s it! A common mistake many
humans make is use the animal’s name in lieu of a command, and worse, in lieu
of a punishment, uttered angrily. This creates distrust and a rupture of
connection between human and animal. Kathleen made it clear: make training a
positive, fun experience for Kinook, something that she looks forward to. It is
my responsibility to behave in such a way that Kinook enjoys paying attention
to me, so I should only call her name with a kind, benevolent voice; and it’s
up to me, not to my dog, to make her answering to my commands worthwhile her
time. This approach was different than the militaristic attitude I had seen in
other dog handlers in the past: it was kind, fun, playful and pleasurable for
both of us. I liked Kathleen and her approach. In fact, I liked her so much
that I befriended her, and she is still very dear to me.
“What do I do if Kinook does something I don’t like?” I
asked. The all-positive training was like learning a new language to me.
Kathleen advised to never say “no” to Kinook (it’s a bad
vibration thing!). What I want is for Kinook to stop her behaviour, so all I
need to do is either to say: “Stop!” or make a specific sound, such as:
“uh-uh-uh!”
I learned all about pack behaviour: each pack, in our case,
our Tana-J.-Kinook family, has a leader, an Alpha. If humans are too weak and
do not claim their Alpha position, the dog will kindly oblige to assume it,
which is problematic, because leadership is stressful, and a stressed dog makes
an unhappy dog, and an unhappy dog makes an unhappy family. How do you
establish your leadership role in the Dogese language? You go in and out of
doors first, as the Alpha watches for dangers. You decide when games begin and
stop. You dispense attention within limits, and proceed to ignore the dog upon
arriving at home, at least for two-three minutes while you place down your
purse and groceries and remove shoes and coat. As difficult as I found this
last task, it proved itself useful to prevent separation anxiety in Kinook: if
it’s not a big fuss when I return, it’s not a big fuss when I leave, and she’s
happy just as well.
Kathleen met with us once or twice a week in our home, and
in a variety of outdoors fenced places where she could work with us and
sometimes other clients. J. and I learned to walk with Kinook on and off leash,
call her, ask her to sit, to stay and wait, to lie down, to work for her food
by shaking the paw, and then shake the other one. Kinook was all too happy to
perform for Kathleen, and eventually she became eager to perform for me too – I
had apparently more leadership bones in me than J. – and with practice and fun,
I turned out to be a quite skilled and effective handler for my pup. I suspect
that Kinook received some training in her first months of life with her
previous family, and even if she must have received her commands in French
language, she understood English just as well and responded fast. As a truly
honorable Canadian, Kinook proved herself bilingual.
Training, I must admit, became a two-way street. She trained
me, J., and our house guests to open the door whenever she fancied going out,
then back in, then out again, which was a favourite occupation of hers. She
also trained us to provide her with two, not one meal a day: an egg for
breakfast, and meat for dinner, with free choice kibble in between. Kinook also
taught me that even though she looked like a wolf, she was not a wolf, and she
preferred her food spiced and cooked and flavourful, and she turned her nose
away to anything raw and bland. Culinary art is one of my favourite creative
expressions, and I obliged, mindful of what was doggie-friendly, with no
onions, just a hint of garlic, selected spices and plenty of herbs.
One day the three of us went walking to the Arboretum, a
beautiful park by the water, with blooming crab apple trees and lilac bushes,
and one of the official doggie-friendly parks in Ottawa. To teach Kinook to
walk off-leash within reasonable distance, we followed Kathleen’s suggestion,
and while our pup was way ahead of us on a trail, we hid behind a bush. When
she looked back to see us, she must have panicked, because it only took that
one time for us to hide to keep Kinook walk only as far as she and us could
still see each other.
I teach Reiki from home, often during weekends, and during
lunch my students and I share a potluck meal with healthy vegetables, fruits,
nuts and Kinook’s favourite, cheese. What seemed to me like successful dog
training, seemed to my dog like successful people training, and she proceeded
to sit in front of a student who had cheese on her plate, lift a paw, then lift
the other one, the magical formula for receiving treats. And it worked. Every
time.
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| Shake the paw! |
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| Shake the paw! |
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| Sit! |
Kathleen and I shared a great deal of ways to view the
world, and when our professional relationship ended, our friendship took us on
long, happy hikes, me with Kinook happily exploring generously-scented bushes
in doggie forests, Kathleen speeding alongside Nigel, her beloved female
Borzoi, too fast for me, of course, since like my dog’s breed, the Akita, I too
am a low-energy type.
I asked Kathleen if she can help me get more cuddles out of
my dog. Her reply came with the usual ironic high-pitch voice: “Hell, no!” If
you wanted a cuddly dog, you should have consulted with me before adopting one.
You have an Akita. Asiatic breeds are like the people, a bit aloof. Don’t get
me wrong, she loves you to bits, but she’s not cuddly. If you give her too much
affection, she’ll give you this regal look and tell you to piss off, get a
life!
And when she said: “Piss off! Get a life!” she could have
well spoken the exact words that Kinook would have said to me if she could.
Kathleen is like that, the voice impersonator for all breeds and species of
animals, and she does it damn well. There were times when I kneeled on the
floor, near my dog, eager to exchange some tender, affectionate hugs and kisses
with her; and every time she would stand up quietly and move over a few feet
away, leaving me alone on my four on the floor, looking at her say: “Piss off!
Get a life!”.
“Kathleen, do you know a vet with holistic view and practice
in town?” I asked. She did know someone, and Kinook and I went to see Eddy
Beltran.
Eddy was wearing a face mask, his face only showing a pair
of kind, bright blue eyes. He showed me how to lift my big girl to place her on
the table, then he looked at her. “Come, stand in front of her face, so she can
see you” he instructed me while he proceeded to touch and palpate the dog’s
body. “Take a deep, slow breath” he continued to instruct me, “and let it out
with an audible sigh”. I did so, and Kinook followed my lead with a sigh of
content. That little intervention prevented any fear of doctors, the deep
peaceful sigh of my body giving my dog the clue that all is well, and she can
relax too.
“Look at these big, brown, kind eyes of hers!” Eddy
exclaimed, and then turned towards me and said the last thing I expected to
hear from a busy sought-after veterinarian with a waiting list to his practice:
“Any time you need someone to sit for your dog, give me a call, and bring her
over! She’s such a good girl!”
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