Positive Reinforcement

My husband is reading a book called Dog Sense, by John Bradshaw. He shares interesting snippets as he reads along, but the main gist of the book is as follows: We have all been sold a bill of goods with this idea of the dog as a sort of domesticated wolf, whose social life is rigidly controlled by a dominance hierarchy, and who will feel most comfortable if you "show him who's boss." Firstly, the latest research shows that wolves aren't pack animals who live within a military-style pecking order - they live in family groups, where trust and cooperation and flexibility are the norm. Secondly, dogs aren't really at all like wolves anyway. Thirdly, forget dominating your dog - positive reinforcement is where it's at.

Our first exposure to serious dog training was with a Koehler method trainer in Hyde Park in Chicago. All the neighborhood dog owners took this guy's class, and let me tell you we had a neighborhood of dogs who behaved with Teutonic precision and orderliness. Everyone came when called, everyone could heel off leash, everyone sat at the kerb. Oh yes, we were an impressive bunch, and for me the Koehler method has always been the gold standard of dog training. As Koehler himself said - reliability off leash is the standard by which you should judge training methods.

There was only one naysayer in our neighborhood - a Hungarian professor, whose family had been wiped out by the Nazis. He just couldn't stand all this barking of orders and rigid discipline. He was known to dive in to the middle of a training session, scoop the trainee up into his arms and commiserate loudly.

Now it looks like Hungarian Guy was right, as along comes the "latest research," and we find that all this yanking and yelling and pinching and showing who's boss is just not an effective way to train your four-legged friends. Sounds familiar.

Anyway, my husband and I have been on a campaign of playing Mr. and Mrs. Nice Guy to the dogs. And we've seen quite impressive results. Malcolm likes to run after trucks, and he's fond of heckling the horses. Since I've started lavishing praise and sweet talk upon him for everything he does, there's been a big improvement in his response if I call his name when he's off yelling at a horse or vehicle. You can see him trying to withstand  the magnetic force of my voice; but he can't resist it, and he turns and comes over to me. My husband has also noticed that the dogs come over to elicit affection more often - which is especially noticeable with Malcolm, as he is not a particularly outgoing dog.

Now, I can't compare this to a full-blown course of Koehler classes, which I'm sure would yield much more impressive results. However, the off-leash part of the training culminates in using a "light line" to fool the dog into thinking there's no leash attached when in fact there is. The dog disobeys - yikes! - and (barring Hungarian intervention) wrath descends. But the positive reinforcement also seems to set in place a force of action-at-a-distance. You can see it reeling the dog in, and it never gets tangled or caught on bushes.

Good Dogs

So ... I had occasion to think of all this today when I was riding Rose. Which I was doing because my husband and daughter started to complain that we have NO horses who are dead broke (as the unfortunate expression goes). Plus also, I just really had an urge to get up on a horse. Rose was very sweet about getting tacked up and seemed to enjoy the process. Plus also she's a lamb about mounting.

Once up, however, I realized that what we do in fact have is GREEN. This is only the second (I think) time I've ridden her, and the first time was with a halter and two thick, clumsy ropes for reins. This time I had the bitless and was prepared to be a little more fine-tuned.

I rode her in the yard with the other horses milling about - usually at a distance, although they did come over and interfere a couple of times. Rose was quite willing to listen, very blocked in the shoulders, and got a little irritated sometimes when I wanted her to do something she hadn't planned on. She's used to just riding out with George, which involves very little in the way of steering or direction on the part of her rider.

Whatever it was or is that people are supposed to do when they're training horses or whatever it was that I used to do, well all of that is kind of out the window for me these days. I started out not knowing exactly how we were going to proceed.

The positive reinforcement thing came into play, when I realized that the little tap on the horse behind the girth was no longer a resource I could fall back on. A few times Rose refused to move forward. And became a little cross at the idea, as it involved moving away from the other horses. So I just asked her to wait, pointed in the right direction. And eventually she moved forward, and we didn't come to an argument, which is the main thing.

I realized she's very blocked in the shoulders and that we could profitably have a very short ride, focussing on that issue. She's hard to "steer", and I discovered that rather than going straight to working on the bending while moving, it was helpful to come to a halt and draw her attention to her withers, which seemed to be all out of synch with her head and back. Once she felt herself a little more connected at the halt, she was able to move off into a more comfortable walk.

We worked for maybe 10 or 15 minutes, and then I let her go again. I think she sort of liked it and that she is so very clueless that any amount of work we do together will make a big difference. Right now, the idea that I'm communicating with her and making helpful suggestions is a totally novel concept to her. Hopefully as she becomes more accustomed to working, she'll start out with the expectation of a conversation.

The bitless does feel like rather a blunt instrument, but on the other hand, I can afford to be hamfisted and blunt, as I can't cause nearly as much discomfort as I could with a bit. Once Rose is tuned in more, I think it'll be possible to be quite delicate with the bitless bridle. The only other problem with the bitless is that you have to have a noseband, and I can see that, even loose, it constrains the movement of the jaw.

After untacking Rose, I left the saddle hanging on the gate. Bridget came over and knocked at it with her nose. So I put it on her, and then realized - hey presto! - I'd saddled her at liberty, which was something I'd been berating myself for not doing yesterday. It fell off again before I got the girth on, and I didn't bother putting it back, but Bridget and I worked (with treats) on backing, turning, and standing still while I move away from her head.

Then it was George's turn, as my daughter got him to take the foreign exchange student for a ride. Or I should say tried to get him, as he wouldn't be caught - most unlike him. She finally asked for my help, and I went over to him with my arms spread wide, halter dangling in one hand, saying, "George! This is your lucky day! You get to take the girls out!" He came right up and dropped his nose for the halter. Go figure.

He then adopted a rather resigned, martyred, but gentlemanly demeanor, and my daughter got the foreign exchange student situated on his back, and off they went for a nice long walk, nice for the girls at least.

And later, in the beautiful golden evening, I went out to visit with all the horses.

Brutus the Bear

Borders is going out of business, and my oldest daughter is turning 25. What do you think she's getting for her birthday?

I bought three books for her today -

The Pig Who Sang to the Moon, by Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson;

Wild Horses of the World, by Moira C. Harris (foreward, if you please, by HRH The Princess Royal, and containing a section about the Banker Horses which she and I just saw);

and ... The Story of Brutus, by Casey Anderson.

The Story of Brutus concerns one man's friendship with a grizzly bear. I haven't read it, and won't have time, as the Date draws nigh and the package must be mailed, but I came across a passage which resonates:

Every time we are together, there is an opportunity to get to know each other better. It is an ever-evolving relationship. Figuratively, sometimes I want to go right, and he thinks I mean left, and we walk right into each other. There we stand, face-to-face, realizing we need to try again. We will both take a deep breath and try again, this time with a little hesitation, not in fear, but with respect for one another. When the dots connect, we celebrate that juncture as a new "word" in our language. We have developed a diverse and complex language, one that is hard to explain. Outsiders see the ease of our relationship and often ask if they can work close to Brutus. I am always quick to tell them no. At this point it would be nearly impossible for someone to just step in. It has taken countless hours and days to create the bond Brutus and I share.

And I also had to order for her the following:

Suryia and Roscoe, the True Story of An Unlikely Friendship, by Dr. Bhagavan Antle and Barry Bland.

In the Orchard with Jill

On Monday, my oldest daughter texted me to say she was re-reading Jill's Gymkhana (presumably as an antidote to having had the recent misfortune to experience the movie Bridesmaids) and demanding to know why I hadn't named her Jill.

Jill has a special place in our hearts. As a young girl, I read and re-read the Jill series many times over, sometimes reaching the last page of a book and immediately turning back to page one. There is a treacle stain on my copy of Jill and the Perfect Pony, the vestige of a midnight sandwich eaten in bed while reading the book for about the 12th time. To this day phrases from Jill will often pop into my head, and her life remains for me a kind of Shangri-La of perfection, if Shangri-La is the proper term to use in connection with a life spent in pigtails and jodhpurs.

I read the books to my oldest when she was little, and often when Daddy was away on business and younger siblings safely asleep, she and I would load up a tray with a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits and get comfy in bed with a Jill book to read aloud in (as Jill would say) the Silent Watches of the Night. When my daughter graduated from college, my present to her was a complete set of Jill books, first-edition hardcovers with the proper illustrations, gleaned from several months' searching over the internet among British second-hand and antiquarian booksellers.

Everything you need to know about horses and about life is there in the Jill books. Always take care of your pony before you take care of yourself. Never be a pot hunter. Don't boast. Drink lots of tea and eat hearty. Don't complain. If something goes wrong, it's your fault, not the pony's.

Jill inhabits the come-back-all-is-forgiven version of 1950's England. The children are plucky and independent, the adults eccentric, stern, or kindly - and distant; the food is plentiful and wholesome (bread and dripping's good for you, right?); buses or trains take you anywhere you need to go if you can't get there by horseback; tall trees throw leafy shadows across long lanes in endless summer afternoons; and horses abound.

Inspired by my daughter's example, I picked up Jill's Riding Club to read in bed that night. In the very first chapter, I came upon the following paragraph:

In the end we went to our orchard and sprawled under the trees, and my ponies Black Boy and Rapide nuzzled us and tried to chew our hair, and it was all very pleasant, especially as Ann had brought some chocolate.

 And had I not earlier in the evening of the very same day posted an account and photos of our horses joining us under the trees as we partook of refreshment, and did they not also try to chew our hair?

I am so thankful - although I find myself in the real world more than 50 years on and thousands of miles away from Jill's fictional afternoon in the orchard - that Black Boy, Rapide, Bridget, George, Jill, and I all still inhabit the same universe.