28 November, 2011

Polishing a Service Dog repertoire

Speaking of training Sid, Saturday afternoon I declared we were going out for dinner. The problem with that was that I was having Enhanced Dizziness with Bonus Wobbling, which meant that my cane would have been a bad idea. Siddy had been at home and bored all day, which at his age is not really the BEST set-up for taking him somewhere like a restaurant, but I like living dangerously, so I stuck some cheddar popcorn in a baggie in my purse and off we went.

Training your own service dog, I find, is a process of constant evaluation — what are we doing right? What needs work? What do I need to scrap entirely? The answers in this case being 1) Sid’s entries and exits from the car are brilliant; he’s responding to the cue “Wait” and politely waiting for me to disentangle myself from his leash and then hopping right in when I tell him OK, even when some huge dork of another driver has parked close to us and I can’t get the back door open as wide as I’d like. 2) What needs work? Placing him in a down to get him out of traffic patterns. He prefers to lie down perpendicular to me so he can stare hopefully at me, both watching for me to wobble and waiting for his cheesy popcorn. This puts him right in traffic paths, most of the time, so we need to work on him lying down where I put him, or at least work on making him prefer lying down parallel to my chair, which in most cases would be effective for getting him out of the way. We achieved it at the restaurant with some repeated luring, eventually. 3) As for scrapping things entirely, well, I need to work with him at home on not popping up to grab my sweatshirt sleeve when I put it on. At home it’s a harmless and charming (if boisterous) expression of excitement that we’re about to go outside. I suspect that people in public would have a less benign interpretation of my dog grabbing my sleeve, though, and at the restaurant as we prepared to leave I barely managed to interrupt his intention to BOING! at me with a quick stern look.

Bonus Tasks I’d Like To Work On With Him: more for his sake than mine, I need to put helping with coat-removal on cue. He loves to play tug so teaching him to pull on sleeve-ends has been no trouble at all, and he really likes active tasks. I think putting it on cue and using it more often would actually function as a reward for him in some circumstances (tuggy is just THAT MUCH FUN).

27 November, 2011

Speaking of Dog Training…

I was going through the Enormous Pile of Crap on my desk this weekend and found Sid’s Volhard Puppy Aptitude Test scores.

Let me say from the beginning that I rather think the test does not measure what it claims to measure, because it claims to measure how “dominant” the puppy is on a variety of fronts and that is…laughable. I think that rather than “dominant” what they meant to say was “strength of will” because the idea that a seven week old puppy is out to dominate human beings is deeply hilarious. As Bradshaw points out in Dog Sense, dogs have been with us for roughly 20,000 years and in that time the selection pressure would have been away from dogs who were out to be hairy tyrants who wanted to control human beings through force.

Ahem. Bit of a digression there. But really, when you see an interpretation of the test that says “this dog is dominant and can be provoked to bite” I begin to giggle a little hysterically at the egregious misuse of the word “dominant” and also the fact that the test doesn’t recognize that any dog can be provoked to bite, it’s just a matter of where the bitey threshold is vice the “run away!” or “put on a defensive display” thresholds are.

TO GET MYSELF BACK ON TRACK. I do think some reactions are interesting, and the test is right about one thing: research has suggested that a puppy who will play fetch with you from a young age has a high probability of succeeding as a service dog. On the “Fetch Test,” the notes say that Sid scored a 3: “Chases object and returns with object to tester.” Which is exactly what you want.

Otherwise he scored mostly 2s, the interpretation of which is “This dog is dominant and can be provoked to bite. Responds well to firm, consistent, fair handling in an adult household, and is likely to be a loyal pet once it respects its human leader. Often has bouncy, outgoing temperament: may be too active for elderly, and too dominant for small children.”

This is essentially meaningless as an overall interpretation. Is there a dog who does NOT respond well to consistent, fair handling? The Volhards also advocate using their special “motivational collar” for training which is just a choke chain by another name, so they are deeply concerned with the ability to make a dog react to pain, noting that scoring a 1 or a 2 in “Touch sensitivity” means that this “will be a difficult dog to train.” I think a lack of reaction to pain is not really a liability in a dog who is trained with a clicker and a variety of yummy snacks. Sid had no reaction to the pinch test for “touch sensitivity” and rather than considering this something that makes him difficult to train (because I don’t use pain on him in training) I consider his very high pain threshold to be a huge asset in his life as a service dog, where odds are at some point someone is going to accidentally kick him or step on his tail. I would very much like him to not turn around at that point and bite the hell out of the person.

At any rate, I think the VPAT is mostly interesting for where it has remained consistent with Sid. For instance, if you throw something for him these days he will go and grab it, but generally does not bring it back to you, preferring to try and lure you into chasing him for it. He is however still pretty insensible to momentary pain, and will let Daniel pick him up without making a fuss. He still investigates loud noises with a curious, bright-eyed interest, and if you drag a rag or towel in front of him you had better be prepared for an 80lb Shedder to land on that towel like a bolt from above. He LOVES to chase a tug toy and then engage in a vigorous game of tug.

Training has made him less likely to actually get underfoot when following his person, but he still comes readily when called and follows close at my side, all “Where we goin, Mom?” Rolled onto his back, he no longer panics and flails but he does dork out, especially if you are willing to rub his tummy. In general I’d give him more 3s on the VPAT these days than he got as a pup, but that’s all down to training.

And I do still have to deeply wonder about the Volhards, and how they manage to live with dogs given their evident paranoia that young puppies are out to take over the house. My biggest problem (aside from the fact that it is wrongity-wrong-o) with the whole “DOGS ARE OUT TO DOMINATE YOU!!!!one!” model is that it sets you up to live in antagonistic competition with your dog from Day 1 and turns your house into a primal battleground filled with struggle.

I find it’s a lot easier to just manipulate my dogs with cheese and have a little faith that they’re not lying awake nights trying to figure out how to grow opposible thumbs and dethrone me from my position as Alpha Bitch.

And anyway, everyone who lives here knows that it’s actually Tink who is the Alpha Bitch.

26 November, 2011

On the inevitable self-comparisons of dog training

So I’m having a lot of guilty feelings surrounding Sid lately, mostly because I have a lot of really fantastic dogblogs in my feed reader, like Katie at Save the Pit Bull, Save the World and the Food Lady over at Wootube.

Why does this cause me guilty feelings about Sid? These people are fantastic trainers, and have worked their dogs in agility, obedience, flyball — they have dogs with TITLES. Like Katie’s eeevil red dog, who is ARCHX Siren’s Eleusinian Mystery CD CD-H RA RL3 RLV RL2X RL1X CGC TT.

Meanwhile, Siddy, despite being brilliant and brave and willing, is just Blackthorn’s Obsidian.

This is, I realize, totally irrational. Siddy doesn’t care if he never gets the entire alphabet after his name, what he cares about is whether he gets to go places with his person and take care of her. But I keep feeling that I am letting him down, because if I was a more systematic and dedicated trainer, he definitely could have a pile of titles. He is smart, willing, and has heart and courage in spades (along with a large helping of goofy sense of humor and general good nature). In the hands of a trainer who would, say, work through the Levels with him in an organized fashion, he could be out there in the rally obedience ring no problem. Well, small problem in that his handler would have to use her cane and some speed changes would be impossible for us — does rally require anything faster than a quick-step gimp? I have no idea but if so, it’s a no-go — but no problem in the dog’s ability or capacity.

The problem is that I have this deep and weird aversion to competing in things like obedience, and that systematically working behaviors in the backyard here at home is also not the most thrilling thing ever for me. I put Sid’s public access foundations on him here at home, but as soon as he was cleared to work and I was 95% certain of his ability to not be a total dork in public, we took our show on the road. It was more interesting for both of us, that way.

And I don’t know why I feel like we ought to be doing structured competition obedience and the like. I mean, both competition trainers and I put hundreds of hours of work into teaching our dogs, but for, say, a rally obedience dog all that work culminates in an event in the rally ring that takes, what, 10 minutes? 15? Whereas the pinnacle of Sid’s achievements thus far was working for four hours straight at the state fair, in crowds of people, amid fascinating smells, new noises, with occasional livestock. He worked for two hours at the National Museum of the Marine Corps on Veteran’s Day, where he handled immersive videos featuring machine gun fire and screaming, several new floors that were cold and metal and wobbled and made noise under foot, drastic temperature changes between rooms (the Chosin Valley room is heavily air conditioned, the Viet Nam room is heated), people using wheelchairs, people using canes, and a taxidermy German Shepherd (that one really weirded him out but he didn’t make a fuss).

It makes me sad that he will never get official recognition for these things, that because of my aversion to the competition field, no one will ever give Sid a big bright ribbon or a shiny trophy. There are no organizations that officially sanction the titling of service dogs in the work they do, although if there were he’d surely have his PA (Public Access) and SDN (Service Dog Novice) and be well on his way to SDA (Service Dog Advanced) with an eye to his SDE (Service Dog Excellent) before the end of 2012. Or maybe, given the wide variety of tasks that service dogs do, we’d have to break up the titles to specify the work he does, and so take the “S” off and replace it with an “M” for Mobility. Which would then give us the opportunity to, say, work on him getting his Wheel Dog titles if I decide to use a wheelchair.

I don’t actually know where I’m going with this, except to say that I recognize that it’s irrational to simultaneously want applause for Sid’s good work and also people to ignore him when we’re out in public. But it sure would be nice to get a big bright ribbon to recognize all our hard work, you know?

25 November, 2011

Tink nearly had an epic Thanksgiving.

The Best Parents Ever came up for T-day, and once again Daniel managed to pull off an amazing meal. I did make the cranberry sauce – I am a cranberry sauce purist, using sugar, water, and cranberries. None of your exotic spices for this lady, thanks.

Anyway, we all ate until we were stuffed and everyone who wanted some turkey got some, although in Tink’s case she apparently felt we were being much too slow in delivering the goods because while the human contingent was RIGHT THERE stuffing its faces, Tinks reached up onto the counter, grabbed the nearest bit of turkey carcass, and tried to make off with it.

Rapid intervention by the consternated monkeys meant that she did no more than dump the accumulated Turkey juice all over the cabinet and floor, which we in our magnanimity allowed her to clean up. Well, really, why WOULD I have dogs if I wanted to clean that kind of thing up myself? It’s much easier to just wipe up the dog spit afterward. After our meal, the dogs got turkey, roasted potatoes, mashed sweet potatoes, roasted carrots, and cranberry sauce in their bowls. They all thought that was pretty good except Sid, who did NOT like the cranberry sauce. In fact he moved his roasted potato out of his bowl to eat it so he didn’t have to risk his tongue touching the cranberry sauce after his first experimental lick of it.

Today the chickens will get their own feasting in the form of all the vegetable discards, while the rest of us eat turkey and trimmings until we are sick of them. Not that dogs ever get sick of turkey, thank goodness, otherwise we’d never dispose of it all. I feel like I should be doing something productive but I’m not going anywhere NEAR the shopping areas today and I’ve exhausted myself giving Tink and Beo a bath, so I think I’ll just continue to lounge about indolently and enjoy the second of my four days off from work.

14 November, 2011

Actual Conversations That Happen In This House

Me: Honey, do you want to come help me get pawprints from the dogs, or do you want to help me clean up later after the dogs have gotten fingerpaint all over the house?

Daniel: Um. The first one?

10 November, 2011

More Sad News

Daniel found One dead yesterday — our young rooster, who was the first chicken to ever hatch at the Manor. Like Bebelina’s death, this one was sudden, mysterious, and totally unexpected. There was not a mark on him, and no previous signs of illness.

We’re sincerely hoping this is the end of it. The pen, house, feeders, and waterers have gotten an unscheduled cleaning, and if we lose a third bird I’ll be calling the state veterinary office about a free necropsy.

Oh and then I got home from work and the handle broke on the toilet.

This week is fired.

9 November, 2011

Answering Googled Questions

Q: Is Daniel a noodle head?

A: No. Noodlehead is one of our cats. She is tabby and white and looks skeptical a lot, like this:
Full-face portrait of a tabby and white cat.  Her chin, whisker pads, and chest are all white, and the rest of her bits are tabby; but there is a loop of white that outlines her nose.

Daniel is 6’4″, not tabby at all, and also not a cat. Sometimes, he has a chicken on his head:
Daniel with his eyes closed and a Mona Lisa smile on his face.  There is a small stripey adolescent chicken standing on his head.

You can see it’s not terribly difficult to tell the two apart.

8 November, 2011

Actual Death Experience

Yesterday was a sad day at the Manor, as our Welsummer hen Bebelina died suddenly. She was just over a year old and up until this fall’s molt she was a faithful layer of dark brown eggs. We’ll miss her.

The babies in the house continue to do well, and Baal is looking more grown-up by the moment. I’m thinking that when Melchior is healed-up enough to go back outside, I will pair her with Baal so that he has a buddy in the integration process, although it will mean integrating Melchior with the banty flock rather than the Big Chickens. On the other hand, Melchior is a tiny thing, so I think Bantytown is a more appropriate home for her.

5 November, 2011

Near Death Experience

Daniel and I went out to feed and water the chickens this morning and also move the three adolescents who were living in the shed into an integration pen in the Pen for Big Chickens. We thought we’d closed their crate after grabbing their waterer but apparently not, because while we were out at the Pen for Big Chickens getting their new home ready, Melchior the Little Blue Vulture got out and got tackled by dogs.

Luckily we were close enough to intervene and Melchior has one small slash where left wing meets the body. She is now in the house recovering in the same dog crate that held Zombirella after she got the back of her head pecked off.

I’m not angry at the dogs, who were just doing what large predators do when a small prey animal goes flapping by, but I’m pretty mightily irritated with myself for not making sure the crate was firmly closed and latched. Here’s hoping that Melchior has a swift and uneventful recovery!