Dogs are like turkeys in one important way: they love to gobble.

They gobble up stuff that they find on walks. They gobble up stuff that they thieve from the cupboard. And we all end up dropping stuff that our dogs consider imprudently gobble-worthy, too. Sometimes the things we drop are dangerous, like medication. Sometimes, we drop (and they gobble) something they have a criminal history with, like sunglasses, a remote control, dirty laundry... You know what I'm talking about. In the face of dogs' superior speed and imperviousness to unpalatability, it makes sense to train a dog to "leave it."

Imagine this: you'll simply say "leave it!" when you accidentally drop something forbidden. Your dog, to the surprised oohs and aahs of your family and friends, will pause and look at you (often adoringly) instead of charging over to eat, steal, shake, bury, play keep-away, or otherwise act, well, like a dog. What a useful trick, and so deliciously easy to train over just a few days.

Here's how...

Step One: Put a really good treat in a tightly closed fist and hold it out to your dog. He will likely chew, paw, and lick your hand—just ignore him. Stay as still as a statue until your dog backs off or looks away for just a single tiny split second. As soon as that happens, say "take it" and open your hand, allowing him to eat the food. Do this ten or twenty times, then move on.

Step Two: It's time to up the ante. Get ready to move fast—your dog will, and you can't let him win. Ask your dog to "Leave it!", and offer your dog a treat on an open, flat palm, about a foot from his nose. The instant he starts to move towards your hand, smoothly and quickly close your hand and lift it up and away. Your dog will see that heading towards the treat causes it to run away. Try again, and be ready to snatch it away again. After five or ten times, your dog will likely give you something new: a brief pause. (It's as though they are saying: "this isn't working. What else can I try?") As soon as you see that pause, say "take it!", and give him the treat. Repeat until your dog won't go for the treat at all. Then, hold the treat out for three seconds before he is allowed to "take it."

Step Three: We're starting to get closer to real life scenarios now. Cue "Leave It," and then place the treat on the floor about a foot from the dog. Cover it briskly as soon as he starts to come towards it, and then try again. After a few attempts, he'll likely go back to pausing. Reward this with a treat, now from your pocket rather than the goodie on the floor. When he's done five in a row without going for the treat, leave it down for three seconds, and then five seconds.

Step Four: Stand near your dog, and gently drop a treat. The same rules apply: be ready to cover the treat if your dog makes a break for it! Your dog is likely wise to the game now, though, and after a few thwarted attempts to zoom in he should be back to pausing politely. Reward the pause from your pocket (in fact, you'll need to continue to reward this behavior frequently. This is work, and work earns a paycheque. If you stop paying, your dog will—quite reasonably—stop working.) Once your dog has paused politely five times in a row, try dropping a couple of treats. Then more interesting forbidden stuff, like leftovers (but note that every time you up the ante, you'll need to be ready to both cover the forbidden goods and reinforce the desired behaviour. At this point, most dogs don't need more set-ups. They are ready for the real world. Have some treats with you as you head out on walks, so when you ask your dog to "leave it!" and they do, you can reinforce their politeness and keep this behaviour strong.

Final note: If you get bogged down, take a positive dog class that includes Leave It on the curriculum. Practicing all alone is no one's strong suit and the repetition and coaching in class will be a godsend. Best of luck taming your grabby gobbler!

This blog was originally published on http://4knines.com.

My first dog was perfect. She was sleek and black and poised and majestic. She had a big black head and tiny black ballerina twinkle toes. And she was well-trained, with no real work. She was everything. We were two hearts beating as one. She died two days before Christmas in 2009 and I have never been the same; something changed in my DNA that day.

Many many dogs have come through my home and heart since my first dog, and I have loved them all. I’m afraid, though, that on some days, and for some of their...let’s call them quirks? There was a distinct lack of perfection in what I saw. A lack of twinkle-toes, a lack of ballerina blocky-headedness.

I’ll admit it in retrospect: I was peering through rose-coloured spectacles.

Dog trainers are very familiar with rose-coloured specs, I’ll have you know. And that's because we don't typically meet all the good dogs out there. Most dogs really are just good dogs. Most dogs are sociable, most learn basic commands even with the rather lackadaisical training we toss in their directions, and most slot in just fine with their human family. So when a dog isn’t these things? When a dog guards bones, or bites strangers, or humps the kids or jumps on guests or dumps the garbage? Those are the times a dog trainer is called in. And those are the dogs who tend to get compared with the magic last dog. In fact, a dog trainer’s heart does a tiny heave-ho when a client bemoans “my last dog…”.

My first dog adapted to the western subarctic like a champ, after spending her first few years in the Mediterranean climate of Victoria.

Because here's the thing.

My first dog was not perfect. She had occasion to pick fights with other dogs, in particular very nice dogs, for reasons which have never been that clear to me. She charged up barking and scared guests. She didn’t share, even with her dear sister Wilma, who is fluffy and really deserves to be shared with. Rose-coloured spectacles have this tendency to warp things, you see. Maybe because when we remember our old dogs, the memory has to pass through our hearts first and it gets just a tiny bit distorted along the way.

And further, my later dogs were (to a one) just as deserving of all the love and all the exploding hearts that my first dog was. Dogs aren’t moral; dogs aren’t mean. Dogs are the exact thing they are meant to be, as once-wild wolves subjected to thousands of years of selective breeding by us, by humans. They aren’t jealous or greedy or manipulative: they’re mammals. They’re social carnivores. Their behaviour is lawful and predictable and we can change it, usually, with training and knowledge. The fact that one dog happens to be guardy and another has no problem when you take away their bone in no way confers any kind of betterness prize to the latter. It just means that in the genetic and socialization lottery that produces our dogs, one has “guarding” turned on, and the other has it turned off.

My first dog (front) after she had chased away a bear while we were camping in the Arctic. Those rose-coloured spectacles are feeling pretty rosy right now.

So if you’re casting your eye at your newest dog and your heart breaks even a little for your last dog, I’m going to ask you for a favour. Reach up and take off those spectacles. You can honour your last dog by remembering them as they were, with all their real quirks. And you can honour your new dog by seeing them as they are: they’re a dog, not a problem. And they probably love you, a whole big bunch. And they probably need some training, to get past whatever it is that sent you looking for dog training articles in the first place. You can train your guarding dog, your humpy dog, your jumpy dog, your dumpy dog; you can train most anything, I promise. And training, with its repetitions and cookies and regular time commitments and slow, steady progression towards a goal...training usually sets up a cascade of enjoyment, affiliation, and love on the part of us humans. Progress is intoxicating, and training is the ultimate shared journey. Soon, you’ll have a new-found and wide-eyed appreciation of your new dog. You’ll see the rock-solid sit-stay when guests arrive or the happy anticipation of treats when you pick up a previously-guarded bone. You won’t see the also-ran, and you won't feel the need to compare to your old dog.

But don’t worry: there is no economy of the heart. There's no replacement happening. There is plenty of room for both.

The details of the case are clear for the judge and jury. “COME!” you had bellowed, sweating and awkward, knowing that everyone else at the dog park was almost certainly watching. And what did your wee dog park delinquent do? Why, flaunted his freedom. Flouted the rules. Dare I say it?

Flounced away.

And this isn’t the first offence, if you catch my meaning. Your dog has far, far surpassed the three strikes rule.

What can we do with this cheerful criminal? Is it time to throw the book at him? Or even throw in the towel? Can a dog who seems to actually enjoy dancing away from mom at the park ever be reformed?

No need for the handcuffs, luckily. It’s simply time for the Santa Clause. Training your dog to come to you (even when freedom beckons) does require a plan, some effort, and a bit of time. But mostly? It requires generosity. You must think like Santa...with an extra heavy helping from the elves. Figure out what your dog loves best (cheese? steak? dried fish skins? cooked peas?) and use that—and a lot of it—to reinforce your dog for coming to you. Being Santa will work, over time, to teach your dog to turn on a dime and come running when they hear you calling, no matter what else is on offer.

Start easy: call your dog from across the room. Do this a few times a day, for a week. Then practice in the backyard, but only after your dog has finished sniffing around. Again, do this a few times a day for a week. For the next week's practice, stay in the backyard, but call your dog to you mid-sniff (soon after the door closes). Then practice close to the end of your walk, then at the start of the walk, then at the park but with no other dogs, and so on, and so forth.

1. Addendum 1 of the Santa Clause: always be generous, every single time you call. Organize yourself so you have a baggie of steak in the fridge, ready to grab for walk time.
2. Addendum 2 of the Santa Clause: every time you call your dog to you, make sure he comes over. You can happy talk, crouch, clap, make funny sounds, dance, whatever it takes, but get your dog to you!

You may also want to pick a whole new cue. Your dog has likely heard “come” as often as a Christmas shopper has heard a panflute rendition of Tchaikovsky's The Nutcracker: too many.¹ “Come” has lost its meaning. 

Interestingly, you’re not technically being generous by reinforcing recalls. You’re simply paying for services rendered. Recalls away from fun and exciting stuff are work to a dog. You’ll get what you pay for, and trust me, when you’re at the park you want a three-piece-of-steak recall, not a single-kibble recall. And further, consider this: if you snap on the leash after calling your dog to you, with no food treat at all? Well, that would be like you heading to the office just to see your boss rip up your paycheque. Over and over.

If you stick with a plan and be as generous as Santa, you will likely find your dog hopping, skipping, and jumping back to you when they hear you call. And no-one will have to know they’re a reform school graduate, I promise.

1. Note: according to addendum 14 of the Santa Clause, there is no such thing as too much Nutcracker.

Photo: Sparkmom | © Dreamstime Stock Photos & Stock Free Images

My dad was visiting a few weeks ago to help with some electrical and plumbing work on the farm (we call this Bensonning). Unsurprisingly, we talked about dogs quite a bit...mine is a dog-laden existence, after all. But something really caught my attention this time around: I heard him say the word mean over and over. He used it to describe doggy communication ("that dog sounds mean"), doggy personalities ("it was a mean dog"), and doggy behaviour ("he was being mean").

This interested me greatly, because dogs aren't mean. Ever.

The word mean, according to Random House Unabridged (the dictionary behind www.dictionary.com), conjures up some remarkable negativity: offensive, selfish, or unaccommodating; nasty; malicious; small-minded or ignoble; penurious, stingy, or miserly. Or how about inferior in grade, quality, or character.

Well. Ouch.

Dog cognition research has rightfully exploded in recent years, and is showing that dogs have complex cognitive abilities and interesting, alright frankly fascinating, brains. They're not "dumber wolves", as we used to think. But here's the important bit: they're not people, either. And if you look at all those words in that definition? Those are words that describe people, not pets.

A mean-sounding growl?

One of my dogs guards his bed from other dogs. When he's snuggled in, if another dog comes too close, he growls. "That's a mean growl" my dad said, moving away uncomfortably. But the growl is just a bit of doggy communication, saying "please, old chap, could you promenade a bit further to the left? Ta." There is certainly a time and place to ensure dogs feel comfortable when being approached. But this isn't, in my opinion, one of those times. My dogs have the glorious freedom to express minor grievances with each other in a species-typical way, as long as no one is getting hurt or scared. Is a dog who is using standard communication techniques and asking other dogs to give him room being ignoble? Or malicious?

My dad also said the M word when my dogs were playing. They play vociferously, and their play includes loud and proud play growling. Now, my regular readers will know that play is something I love to drone on about, so won't be surprised that my dogs play to their heart's content, in the style and manner they please, as long as there is consent. So if play growling, just like play fighting, is a normal part of healthy play, is it ...penurious? Or nasty?

A mean dog?

My dad also talked about another dog he'd met. A mean dog. I asked for details, and found that this dog was nice to the owner, but growled, snarled, and ran and hid if anyone new came around. My dad's description was pretty much "meaner than a junk-yard dog". My dad leaves this dog alone, which is smart, as aggression is a dog's way of asking for space. But is the motivation of this dog something selfish? How about small-minded? No, this dog is, through some sad recipe of nature and nurture, terrified of people he doesn't know. I repeat: dogs who are aggressive towards strangers are scared. Panicked. Terrified. They need help and they need care.

A whole new meaning

So I asked my dad to chop his "mean" category into two really different halves. On the one side goes dog play and normal, run-of-the-mill dog communication with other dogs. If no dogs are getting hurt, and no dogs are getting scared? (And no oldies are getting pestered by youthful exuberance, I'll add). Well then: we brought domesticated social predators into our homes. Let's pull out the popcorn and watch them act like domesticated social predators!

On the other side there are dogs who are aggressive and fearful. Here, we have dogs who bite when they're being patted, dogs who growl when kids hug them, and dogs who bark or bite, or maybe run away, from new people. While they're being no more mean than dogs who are play-growling, we really shouldn't let these dogs continue to experience this fear. Scared dogs need help, for their own welfare and ours.

No popcorn time for those dogs, I counselled my father sagely. For those dogs, it's time to act. And maybe one day, one day, when plutonium unicorns fly through the sky on rainbows made of cotton candy, my dad may actually listen to what I—a professional dog trainer—have to say about dogs.

Plumbing and electrical fix-its are neverending on a farm though, you know. And while we're Bensonning, my dad's a captive audience. I'll wear him down.

Photos: Schnauzer photo: Zhouzheng | © Dreamstime Stock Photos & Stock Free Images; Chow-chow photo: Yurriy | © Dreamstime Stock Photos & Stock Free Images

Have you ever heard of the phrase cognitive dissonance? It’s a bit of a tricky concept, but worthwhile to dive into, because it has important ramifications for our dogs’ welfare. Cognitive dissonance is part of what is happening when someone goes out of their way to convince themselves that they are right, even when it is remarkably clear to most everyone else that they are absolutely wrong.

Ever hear phrases like “smoking is actually good for me!”? Yeah. That.

Here’s the thing though: it is something that we all do. All of us, including me and you. In fact, it's just part of being a normal human. I think an example is the best way to to explain.

Say you and I both live in houses made of banana peels. My parents and grandparents all lived in banana peel houses, as did yours. It's just what people do. But one day you show me an article from the House Building Safety Department saying that banana peel houses are actually bad. They rot and become toxic, kids and adults alike can slip on them and fall, they smell bad, and they look terrible.  They are a huge waste of any family’s money. The article is well-researched and has tables and charts, financial projections, injury statistics, you name it. Banana peel houses are bad news. We both look at the references to the article and spend time at the library, alarmed. Over and over and over we read the same bland messaging. Banana peel houses are not good.

So. We are both typical humans. What do we do? Do we pick up the phone to call in a bulldozer to raze our current homes, and line up a construction crew to build something safer? I mean, that would be the most rational move. Like anyone else, we want to protect our families and ourselves.

But alas. Alack. Do we pick the rational course, here? Nope.

Instead (and this is very predictable, I’m afraid) we head over to our social media accounts. “HAVE YOU HEARD ABOUT THIS TERRIBLE AND WRONG ARTICLE?” we scream in all-caps. Our friends and family members all join in from their own banana peel houses. “Conspiracy! Big Timber is trying to slay the banana peel house building industry! It’s our tradition! How dare they!” We search for, and find, a lot of websites supporting the value of banana peel houses. Sure, these websites might look a bit funky and be pretty light on actual references or facts, but who cares? As soon as we get a few people on board with our tirade, we immediately feel better. We feel so much better, in fact, that both of us head to the banana plantation. We get a new truckload of banana peels and plan to build new additions on our houses. And we pay for five-year memberships in the Banana Peel House 4-Evah Association.

This “rallying the troops” behaviour is remarkably predictable. And I hope you’ll agree: predictably silly.  

So, if this doesn’t make any sense at all, why do we do it? Aren’t we supposed to be rational? The answer lays in a funny quirk of our human brains, and here’s where the cognitive dissonance thing comes in.

Our brains really dislike having conflicting bits of information: this is what “dissonance” means. When we take in new information that conflicts with previously-known stuff, our brains have a choice. Go with the new info? Or stick with the old? Usually, our brains stick with old, and the reason is mental and physical self-preservation. And generally, this process works just fine! It keeps us healthy and sane. But it doesn’t always work, and it can make us make some real doozy mistakes. In the case of the banana peel house situation, our brains sort of run a computer program, that looks like this:

Good people protect their families by building good houses.
Banana Peel houses are good houses.
I am a good person.
THEREFORE I build banana peel houses.

So a new bit of information comes up: hey, brain! This article says banana peel houses are unsafe and unsanitary. What’s a brain to do? It will run this program to test it out:

Good people protect their families by building good houses.
Banana peel houses are bad houses.
I build banana peel houses.
THEREFORE I am a bad person.

And you can guess what happens next. The brain says well either the statement banana peel houses are bad is wrong, or the statement I am a good person is wrong. They can’t both be right. So...out the window goes the new information. We are not bad people. We want to protect ourselves and our families, and our investment in our houses, and our friends and neighbours who come to visit, and heck even the kid down the street who bikes to school and might slip on a banana peel. It’s clear that we are not bad people. So in order to maintain a cognitive peace, our brains filter out information that doesn’t fit—and this happens without conscious input, so we can’t simply resolve to stop thinking this way.

Back to dogs and their welfare. This process happens all the time with new information about dogs. Here are a few examples from my own learning curve about dog behaviour:

Good people treat their dogs well.
Separating dog fights by yelling, manhandling, and grabbing collars is the safest, fastest, and most humane way to do it.
I am a good person.

Good people treat their dogs well.
Choke chains are safe and effective, and the only way to prevent a dog from pulling.
I am a good person.

But guess what? That’s not the best way to separate a fight. And choke chains are simply not the best way to prevent pulling. In actuality, manhandling and choke chains both harm dogs. So my brain, when I originally heard contrary information, said “well Kristi is a good person who doesn’t harm dogs. So that new information must be wrong. The only other option is that Kristi has harmed the dogs in her life, and good heavens, well, that’s just too much to bear. Lock that thought away forever.”

So my brain protected my self-regard and my memory of how I treated my dogs. But in doing so, it wasn’t really all that helpful for the welfare of the dogs currently in my life, even though it felt like it was. Now don’t get me wrong, this process is always running in the background making good decisions, too. A lot of the information I read about dogs is truly and worrisomely wrong, and harmful. So a quick comparison against my existing knowledge base allows me to filter out a lot of junk, too. But when the information came from a good, trusted, welfare-oriented and science-based source, and just happened to conflict with my old ideas? That’s the problem.

So here is my request. Let’s all take a page from the self-help movement, and practise forgiveness: forgiveness of our past selves. The next time you feel your back coming up and hear yourself saying “but, but, but”, take a step back. Or the next time you hear that something you are doing with your dogs might be harmful, take a step back. Or the next time you hear that there is simply just a better way, take a step back. Absorb the information, and question it, and if it conflicts with what you’ve been doing in the past but otherwise is legitimate and sound, try forgiving yourself as the way forward. That’s right: forgive yesterday’s you. You are a good person, you were a good person; you are, and were, operating with the best information at your fingertips. You loved your dog and your dog loved you. Doing things better now doesn’t make the you from yesterday a bad person: it just makes current you a better person. Say a heartfelt apology to both your dog and yourself and move on. Get that new and gentle no-pull harness, head to an all-positive dog class, and heck, snuggle with your dog on the couch if you want to. Put those banana peels into the idea compost where they belong.

Photo: Ioman | © Dreamstime Stock Photos & Stock Free Images

Do you have a dog who waits until you’re gone and then raids your kitchen, immediately and systematically, in a series of counter-top skirmishes? Nothing on the counter is safe: utensils, dirty dishes, whole loaves of bread, that cheese platter Aunt Tara brought to your birthday, a dish of gummy bears, the chips...and, for the love of Mike the dip, too. When you get home from work, your counter is clean and the dog bed littered with detritus. Fido is snoozing, delighted with his efforts, powdered sugar on his snout.

If this sounds familiar...there is good news, and there is bad news.

The good news first. If your dog is a counter-surfer, it really, really doesn’t mean he’s anxious, dominant, or angry at you for leaving; it doesn’t mean that he’s under-exercised, or over-exercised, or has thyroid issues, or has some deep-seated behavioural problem. It means he’s a dog, and has learned a behaviour by being rewarded for it.

Which is the bad news.

OK, OK, hold on. Let me back up a bit. To understand counter-surfing, we have to understand how dogs learn basic behaviours, including obedience behaviours like sit and come. When we train a dog to sit, for example, we get the dog into a sitting position and then give him a treat. Then, every time he sits, we give him a treat. After a while, our dog is very eager to sit. We keep him at the ready to sit whenever we want by giving him reinforcement (like delicious treats), which works in the same way that a paycheque does: it pays the dog for doing the work of sitting.

So just like how dogs will learn that they get a treat for sitting, a dog who counter-surfs has gotten a treat—all that delicious and fun stuff on the counter—for hopping up on the counter. The behaviour “getting up on the counter” goes up in frequency, as do all reinforced behaviours.

So dogs who hop up on the counter are not being bad any more than a dog who sits to get a cookie is being bad. They have just learned to do a behaviour in order to get a reward. And that’s a bit sad, I guess, because reinforced behaviours are like strong habits: tough to break. But grasp firmly to your britches. That’s not even the really sad part. The really sad part, my chips-and-dipless friends, is the cue. Just as the cue for “sit now to get a treat” is the word sit, the cue for “surf the counter now to get a smorgasbord of goodness” is my owner is gone. Let me explain.

The cue is you leaving the room

Although your dog will sit all the time when you have just trained him to sit, in that ever-eager-and-hopeful way that dogs have, in time she’ll figure out when she seems to get a treat for sitting—usually this is when you say the word “sit”, as a cue. And she’ll figure out when she won’t get a treat for sitting, too, and she’ll gradually stop sitting in those contexts.

So although it feels like a dog is being a titch Machiavellian when he waits for you to leave before starting the counter-party, he’s just learned that there is a cue for Counter Party. And that cue is Owner Gone. This feels calculating, but it's not. No-one suggests that I am a bad person or an angry person when I walk to the fridge and open it and take out some food and eat it. My “walking to fridge” behaviour has been rewarded with food over and over and over. Dogs approaching, acquiring, and eating a food item isn’t anything different.

What can I do about my counter-surfing dog?

That’s all good and fine, you may say. Thanks for the lesson on learning theory. Now what can I do about it? The answer is both simple, and painfully annoying, I’m afraid. You’ll have to keep your counters clean. Forevermore. Now sure, it will help if you make sure your dog has enough cardio-type exercise, and if she has a lot of fun food toys to drain some of her pent-up desire to scavenge. But that probably won’t be the whole answer. I’m afraid you’ll just have to get into the habit of keeping your counters perfectly tidy of stuff that a dog might take to eat or chew.

Does this seem too taxing or downright silly? An analogy may help here. Imagine a friend who tells you “my dog sits whenever I say sit. I want him to stop sitting when I say sit, so I’m giving him a treat each time he sits when I say sit.” There is a logical flaw in this protocol, you say gently. Urgently.

But leaving food out on your counter and expecting your dog to stop counter-surfing is the exact same thing.

Here is what has worked for me (I have a professional counter surfer. Or two. Or ten.):

1. I place any food up onto a shelf which has been designated for that purpose, and which isn’t reachable by dogs. We are in the habit of putting food on that shelf: hot food from the oven that needs to cool, a plate of cookies, you name it.
2. We think ahead and thaw food in the fridge, not on the counter. Or if we don’t think ahead, thawing food goes on that special shelf.
3. I buy about twenty wooden spoons and silicone stirrers/flippers at a time. These are expendable. That way when one gets chewed up (and we live in a ridiculously tiny farmhouse with ten large dogs, so I’ll be frank: this happens with some frequency) I don’t feel angry or upset, I just laugh a bit, toss it, and pull out a new one. It’s more fun when they’re different colours and shapes. “Something new and shiny for my kitchen!”
4. I close off the kitchen when none of those options will work. We have a giant expandable baby gate thing and just shut the dogs out when we’re in the “just ate thanksgiving dinner and can’t move to clean up all the fooooooood” zone.

Counter-surfing is annoying and frustrating, but it’s not diabolical or indicative of stress. It’s just a behaviour that dogs do; a behaviour that they’ve learned to do. So don’t fret, just make a plan. And there is a tiny silver lining here, my counter-surfed comrades: it’s actually kind of nice having tidy counters! Just don't forget to wipe up those little footprints. You missed one, there, out of hot sauce. Or is that jam. Cranberry sauce? Beet pickle juice. 

Photo: Chalabala | © Dreamstime Stock Photos & Stock Free Images

Of course I love my easy dogs. They are bright, fun to train, and sociable. They don’t make me sad, they don’t make me mad, they snuggle in when I’m watching a movie and they seem to have an inborn understanding of how to look cute for the camera. They’re just plum dreamy.

But I love my problem dogs, too. It’s not quite the same as with my easy dogs...it’s certainly not better or stronger, but it is not worse or lesser, either. After working with a number of problem dogs on my own and with my dog training clients, I’ve come to understand that working through some problems with a problem dog can cement a wonderful, unique relationship that is every bit as worthwhile.

Over the years, my own problem dogs have been fearful of strangers, tricky to housetrain (a falsely tidy statement if there ever was one), and scrappy as heck. And my clients' dogs have been every imaginable combination of fighty, bitey, scared, or out of control. In almost every case, though, we’ve worked through a plan, moderated our expectations, trained like crazy, and come out on the other side. My own Timber can now pass Datson in the doorway without immediately brawling. Sitka regularly uses the great big toilet outdoors. Datson doesn’t jump up and bite our friends’ backs; Mischa doesn’t chase the cat; Sugar…ok, Sugar still buries mittens under my pillow but come on that’s just plain cute. My clients’ dogs can sit on the couch and enjoy being patted, they can meet strangers without cowering or snarling, they can be approached when they have a bone, and, well, I don’t want to brag but there are fewer Grandmas being jumped on in a one hundred mile radius than there was five years ago.

For some of my clients with problem dogs, it was not immediately clear that a bond would, or even could, form. In some cases the problem dog arrived as a beautiful bouncy puppy, and it is almost impossible not to love a puppy. But when adult behaviour pops up, and adult behaviour sometimes includes aggression or fearfulness, there can be a sense of loss (where did my beautiful puppy go?) on top everything else (I'm not sure I like this dog. I might even be a bit scared of him).

But despite all this—despite the snarling, the messes, the apologies to friends and Grandmas alike—after the training starts, a bond usually forms. It’s not immediate. It is forged, bit by bit, by stuffing Kongs and training “sit” even in really hard places and tracking successes on a scrap piece of paper and watching carefully for a thump-thump-thumping tail and putting up baby gates and setting up careful introductions and all this stuff we do to train problem dogs. The bond grows slowly like a stalagmite but in the end, when you look at your dog happily approaching previously-feared guests or showing off a trick for a previously-feared youngster or bounding towards you instead of scrapping at the dog park, you realize, much to your surprise, that it’s stalagmite strong.

It’s not always true that you “get the dog you need”. I didn’t need a scrapper, and my clients certainly don’t need or deserve dogs who are aggressive or fearful. But we do have the dog in front of us. And most of the time, with some elbow grease and time, a special bond can grow. It’s not better that the bond you’ll have with your easy dogs, it’s not worse, but it is a beautiful thing.

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Many dogs love to play, and it's glorious to let them bound around with playmates of their own choosing. Considering that they're a social species, it is unsurprising that most dogs play just fine with each other. They wrestle, chase, bow, and bounce, with what looks like abandon but is actually a well-choreographed dance governed by intricate dog-dog communication.

"Does not play well with others"

Walter played just fine with some dogs. Others? Not so much.

So. I did say most dogs play just fine. As any dog trainer will tell you, some dogs who enjoy play also seem to be...well, kind of bad at it. They may sometimes play well (much to their owner's joy and relief). But at other times, or with other dogs, they seem to go into hyperdrive, or head off to la-la-land: they can't seem to pick up on signals from their playmates that things are too rough, they frequently end up in a snark-off or real squabble, and (alarmingly, from the human perspective) they just don't seem to learn any lessons from the other dogs who try, with varying levels of ferocity, to tell them to back off, pleaseandthankyou.

If this sounds like your dog, don't despair. (And don't sequester them away, woeful that you will never see a play-bow again). Push up your sleeves, call in a great dog trainer, and help your dog to find their inner play expert. It works, I promise: I have proof.

Datson held the unfortunate position of being Walter's favourite target to pester. Maybe Walter was jealous of Datson's beautiful and soulful eyes? 

The Walter Chronicles

Walter is a stunning sled dog, dark chocolate brown with perfect sleddie eyebrows. Like most sled dogs, he enjoys the company of other dogs, especially the doe-eyed Datson. However (up until a few months ago, at least), his version of "enjoy" meant much-too-rough body slamming, drive-by hazings, and play-biting of the unilateral onslaught variety. Unlike normal play, during which both dogs consent, Walter seemed to get a kick out of rough, glassy-eyed interactions that Datson clearly did not like. One doesn't have to be a canine mind-reader to see that Walter's "play mate" of choice wasn't having fun, either. Datson (and Walter's other targets) snarled at him, actively avoided him, and sometimes even bickered.

This may seem like a conundrum to a dog lover like me. I want Walter to have experiences he enjoys, and I recognize the value of play as a great source of exercise and enrichment. But I definitely do not want other dogs to be hazed, uncomfortable, and constantly having to snark to keep their (clearly annoying) younger brother in check. Furthermore, my large crew of dogs get daily loose hikes as their main source of exercise, so I couldn't simply leash him up and pretend nothing was amiss. What's a dog trainer to do?

There is a Way

Luckily, this is one of those scenarios well-covered by the old maxim of "when there's a will, there's a way." Since Datson's snarks were obviously not castigating enough to reduce Walter's undogsmanlike play, I knew I had to step in. Every time he went overboard, I gave him fair warning and then leashed him up, briefly turning a freedom-filled hike into a more constrained affair. In addition, when Walter pulled out his more sociable self, I reinforced this with a nice food treat. It's true that consenting play itself is reinforcing, but why not stack the deck?

Walter's play style 2.0: fun for everyone.

Soon enough, the drive-by harassment decreased, and then halted almost completely. Much to his own apparent delight, Walter found that social interactions with Datson such as mutually consenting play and co-sniffling were just as much fun as hazing, and (huge bonus perk, to his mind) didn't result in temporary loss of freedom. This technique is a bit tricky to implement well so is best carried out under the supervision of a trainer, but it works wonders.

How did I know there was a straightforward way to get from Harassment Lane to Playful Park? The science of animal behaviour change provided the map, of course. Just as it did with Datson.

Wait, Datson? Yes, you read that right: Datson, the doe-eyed, long-suffering, and beguiling target of Walter's unappealing affection was himself a rowdy pest when he was young. He learned to be a rowdy non-pest through the exact same protocol, and has had years of joyful play as a result.

Walter and Datson hike together every day.

As dog owners, we always want to do the best for our dogs. We want them to be safe, we want them to be happy, we want them to live an enriched life, and we want them to be healthy. Although we may not actively think about it, we end up having to make a lot of trade-offs when we choose what we allow (or not) our dogs to do. I think it's a worthwhile bit of personal exploration to consider these trade-offs every so often, to make sure that we aren't doing our dogs a disservice out of any unacknowledged influences. These typically include imagined danger, a random but salient single event in the past, urban legends, and pop literature about dogs. I find that the more I learn about dogs—we're lucky to live in times where the science of dog behaviour is such a hot topic, aren't we?—the further I refine my position on these, and the better, and more enriched, my dogs' lives become (I hope).

I'll spill the beans: in general, the more safety we provide our dogs, the less enriched their lives are.

I'm going to go out on a limb and indicate about where I fall on these continua for my own crew of dogs. Of course, there are certainly things we do for our dogs that are uniformly good (like training, provision of comfortable beds, etc.) and don't really involve trade-offs. I am hopeful, however, that as dog owners and dog lovers, we acknowledge that there are cases where we can't have it both ways. And in some cases, we might be making a call and falling strongly to one side or the other, without considering what we're giving up.

Chew toys and puzzle toys

I (sadly) fall closer to the "no chew toys" end of things. My dogs scrap and squabble over chew toys left out and are known "ingestors" of fabric and rope, so a rather low-value collection is all they see. To make up for it, I regularly give them consumable chewies that they can eat, and ensure they have a very enriched life otherwise.

No Chew Toys?

PRO: Having no chew toys around means no fights over them, no broken teeth, no intestinal blockages...so complete "safety".

CON: It also means a dog with no means to chew, an activity with key health and welfare benefits. These dogs may simply find something else to chew, which you yourself do not feel is technically a "chew toy", or may misbehave in other, even less desirable, ways.

MITIGATE lack of chew toys by providing a lot of other enrichment like training, play, dog-dog experiences, fetch, and ball. Consider inching yourself towards allowing chews by asking your vet what's appropriate for your dog.

Hundreds of Chew Toys?

PRO: Having lots of chew toys around means a dog with a lot of choice in how they meet their chewing needs. They can pick their favourite, and switch things up.

CON: Some chew toys may break up and form intestinal blockages, which can also be caused by fabric/rope. Some may break teeth. Some dogs squabble over chew toys. Some dogs also guard chew toys from dogs and people. 

MITIGATE the risks by supervising your dog when they are chewing (especially the first few times with any new item), providing toys which are tough enough for your dog's established chew level but not hard enough to break teeth, and if necessary, removing the toy when your dog is done with it. Separate dogs for chew hour in multi-dog homes if they do scrap over chews. If your dog guards chewies from you; give them their favourite chew in their crate and if you'd like them to refrain from guarding, hire a trainer. It's a very workable issue.

Off leash walks

My dogs are lucky enough to get off-leash walks every day, as I can wander around my farm with them. I have put a lot of training effort into training recalls (coming-when-called). They are at risk of running away, encountering wildlife, among other dangers.

Never unleashed?

PRO: Dogs are at essentially zero risk of being lost or encountering wildlife, of getting in scraps with other dogs, random injury from topography, and so on.

CON: For many dogs, leash walks are simply not sufficient exercise. Sometimes, a leashed-only existence can prompt leash reactivity and aggression, as the dog is frustrated from lack of access: leash walks do not offer the same opportunity for dogs to sniff and experience their worlds.

MITIGATE a lack of off-leash time through finding venues where they can be off-leash, like a tennis court or dog park. Set up play dates with dog friends in a yard. Head to a park and then switch your dog's regular leash for a long one (try 10 or 15 feet). Play fetch and tug. Enrich the dog's life otherwise, using chew toys, training, and so on. Consider hiring a trainer to train your dog to recall, so you can go on off-leash walks. If my sled dogs can do it, it's very likely that your dog can, too.

Lots of off-leash walks?

PRO: Excellent exercise, excellent enrichment.

CON: There may be dangers depending on your area. Mine include encountering wildlife, running too far and getting lost, injury, and going out on the road and getting hit by a car.

MITIGATE the dangers by training a good recall and continuing to reinforce it forever. Choose areas and times with less traffic or head away from roads. Research the wildlife in your area and make reasonable decisions about the time of day and time of year you should and should not hike. Use a GPS tracker on your dog's collar, and reflective materials on their collars/harnesses as well.

Dog play

My dogs play to their heart's content, as long as everyone consents (read more about consenting play here). Sometimes, they squabble if things get too heated, although for my crew, squabbles are no problem (read more about when squabbling is safe here). This section assumes that your adult dog is not fearful of all other dogs and does not have an injurious fight style.

No play?

PRO: your dog never has access to the (extremely rare, granted) dog who has an injurious fight style, in the rather unlikely event of a scrap during play. If your dog is fearful or anxious, they avoid fear-evoking events like bullying, as well.

CON: preventing a social species like dogs from playing is, for individuals who like play, a welfare concern. Their play skills will possibly degrade, making scraps more likely if they do finally get access to other dogs. Social dogs who never get play are at risk for leash reactivity and aggression due to a lack of access to normal greeting , as well.

MITIGATE a lack of play by making a plan to get your dog playing. Hire a trainer to attend a play session with you to provide comfort and to separate any scraps that might initially happen. Select dogs with known good play histories as play-mates. A trainer can reduce unwanted play-associated behaviour like hazing and bullying, as well, so that safe, normal play can proliferate. If your dog is one of the few who injures other dogs (i.e. the other dog needs stitches), then they may only have access to other dogs when muzzled. If your dog is fearful of or dislikes some dogs, set up play dates with dog friends they do like. If play is simply not possible, enrich your dogs life in other ways: fetch and tug, walks, games, puzzle toys, and training.

Lots of play?

PRO: Play is excellent exercise, and great enrichment for dogs. It is an easy way to boost your dog's welfare and tire them out, mentally and physically.

CON: Play sometimes results in scraps. Most scraps are non-injurious and non-fear-evoking, but in some cases a dog may end up scared (rare), injured (rare) or even dead (very rare). Sometimes anxious dogs may become scared during normal play, as well.

MITIGATE the dangers of play by supervising, learning how to safely separate scraps, interrupting dangerous play moments like two-on-one chase games or very small dogs and very large dogs playing, and allowing or prompting your dog to distance themselves from particular dogs they find anxiety-provoking. For anxious dogs, select appropriate play mates.

Other trade-offs?

There are literally hundreds of other trade-offs we make every day. Bringing a dog in the car to run errands means a fun excursion, and maybe even a special treat from the drive-through. But it exposes them to the possibility of vehicular accidents and heat stress. Walking your dog in the deep freeze of winter gives them exercise and enrichment, but they may get cold or even frostbite.

Not all enriching activities are unsafe, and not all unsafe activities are enriching, obviously. No trainer would suggest you allow your dog to play in traffic, chase tigers, chew on metal posts or swim in riptides. But not allowing them to run free, play with dogs, or gnaw on a good chewie does involve trade-offs. The more cognizant we are of these trade-offs and how our own decision-making processes influence our dog's lives, the better we can meet our own particular dog's needs, no matter where we fall on any continuum.