Bones Would Rain from the Sky: Deepening Our Relationships with Dogs (34 page)

easily rest, able to dismiss her as a kook
or perhaps even a sad case more to be pitied than
censured. But Vicki Hearne was not in any way
an aberration, nor are people like her unusual. She was
an articulate, even elegant voice that raised
some provocative questions and posed some intriguing
notions of how it is we connect with dogs and other
animals. Her flights of poetic musings are
seductive, if we allow ourselves to be lulled by the
beautiful words and forget the living breathing dog who
is not a concept to be toyed with, an idea to be
played with in the rarefied air of thought. Always, we
must remember: See the dog.
Hearne was not a monster, simply an easy
example, and one of many who, though they may give
forth on the joys of a relationship between humans and
dogs, nonetheless bring their philosophy to life in
hurtful and often inhumane ways.
Though we might prefer to think that such incongruency
between pretty thoughts and not-so-pretty deeds would be
astoundingly evident, the truth is that this uneasy
(though often unremarked) gap between philosophy and
practice is all too common. In just a few
moments of browsing the selections available at a
bookstore, I encountered trainers who
assured me that a leash, a collar and a flyswatter
were all I really

needed to discover the "magic" of dog training;
encouraged me to jam my fingers down a puppy's
throat until he gagged on them and thus learned not
to indulge in normal puppyhood exploratory
biting; earnestly told me how to effectively
slap my dog under the chin or throw him to the ground in
an imitation (staggeringly inaccurate, I must add)
of an "alpha" wolf; how to inflict any of a
sad, long list of "training techniques." And each
of these titles also touched on the wonders of the love
and fellowship that were possible with a dog. Man's best
friend would do well to mutter, "With friends like these, who
needs enemies?"
Incredibly, such incoherence of philosophy and
practice is rarely questioned. Those who can weave a
cloak of beautiful thoughts about ugly actions may not
only be allowed to proceed without fear of protest, but
embraced as a shining light of wisdom. Add a
catchy phrase and a cute gimmick, and chances are
good no one will notice the dog's ears flattening on

his head in apprehension during training
sessions. Smile and chuckle while snapping the
dog's collar harshly, drop some celebrity names
and maybe quote a philosopher or two, and it's
a safe bet no one will notice the dog's tail
wagging anxiously between his thighs. Justify your
actions with conviction, and no one will appear to question why the
trust and joy we would include in our relationships
are sometimes little more than words and intent, not action and
deed, and certainly not evident in a dog's eyes.
The emperor not only has new clothes, he may
also be working on a new career as a dog trainer.
In our minds, we can pity Black Beauty, be
moved to tears by the poetry in a dog's soul, and
yet still ask the question, "How hard do you hit the dog?"
Coherence seems a rare thing, and the human mind is
sometimes quite careless about insisting on it. In the long
run, however, I think our lack of coherence eats
at us, undermines the sureness with which we know our own
minds, and thus blocks us from knowing our souls. We
may choose to glide unthinking on the surface of
our relationships, never asking how it is that we
actually practice the art of loving friendship. But
always, silently, our dogs remind us that our
intellectual honesty and spiritual integrity depend
upon our willingness to question and thus defend against
the inevitable cruelties small and large that
accompany a philosophy at odds with its
practice.

be nice to the doggy

Once upon a time, most of us reached with chubby toddler
hands for a dog and heard a cautionary, "Be nice
to the doggy." At a tender age, we learn to touch
animals softly, with respect, and not to pinch,
pull, prod, twist, poke, slap, punch or
bite them. No healthy, normal adult would
encourage a child to hurt an animal. Instead, part of
our education as children is a compassionate, gentle
approach that emphasizes the development of
empathy and respectful caretaking of the creatures
around us. In fact, research into the psychology of
criminal behavior and interpersonal violence has
proven a disturbing connection between animal abuse and
violent human behavior: cruelty to or abuse
of animals is seen quite rightfully as a warning sign
that something is very wrong. Children who abuse or
mistreat animals are not considered dog trainers in
the making but troubled people in need of therapy and
intervention.

But these warnings only seem to apply to children,
not to the adults who employ punitive, cruel
techniques in the name of training. Without risk of being
considered a psychologically disturbed individual,
you can "train" a dog using any number of
techniques: slap him; slam him; push, pull
or pinch him; choke him and drag him and so on. And
that's for the good dogs who aren't stupid enough to think about
fighting back.
Should a dog actually protest such treatment, he'll
encounter a whole new set of horrors, such as the
trainer willing to "string a dog up" so that the dog
dangles and chokes in midair at the end of the leash
until he's reached the appropriate state that
trainer Bill Koehler (whose techniques Hearne
unabashedly champions throughout
Adam's Task)
describes thus: "physically incapable of
expressing his resentment. . . ." Koehler does
note that "the sight of a dog lying, thick tongued,
on his side, is not pleasant, but do not let it
alarm you." Of course not. That the dog is vomiting
and staggering (as Koehler indicates he might) after
such training is to be expected, right? To be fair,
Koehler cautions that such training is not
appropriate for all dogs, just the dog
who is a "real hood"- the type of dog who has
the audacity to "express his resentment by biting."
It would seem fairly obvious that a philosophy
that would admit such techniques is not one that is
concerned with the relationship, or is at
best Machiavellian in its defense that the ends
justify the means. What is not so obvious is how
humane, caring people nonetheless end up employing such
techniques. Uncomfortable though it may be, our
growth as human beings requires that we examine the
ways in which we justify our sometimes inhumane
actions and our very human tendencies to accept an
authority beyond our own hearts. Unless we are
willing to learn to see cruelty in all its many
disguises, we cannot create a philosophy that
protects against it.
No apologies needed
How do we define cruelty? Cruelty may be a
good deal like obscenity tricky to define, and to some
extent, existing largely in the eyes (and heart]
of the beholder. One trainer may view certain
training techniques as nothing more than what Koehler
calls "the necessity of stern measures" while

another trainer may view those same
techniques as abusive and inhumane. How then
to define what is cruel? Frank Ascione, a
respected authority on the connection between animal
abuse and domestic violence, offers this definition of
cruelty: "socially unacceptable behavior that
intentionally causes unnecessary pain, suffering, or
distress to and/or death of an animal."
At first glance, this seems reasonable. Our eye
falls on the words
pain, suffering, distress, death,
and we readily agree anything that might cause such
would indeed constitute cruelty. But in this phrase-
socially unacceptable behavior
comandwith these two words-
intentionally and unnecessary
-Ascione leaves unspoken volumes for us
to wrestle with in our individual consciences and in our
larger collective conscience as a society.
Implied is the notion that there may exist socially
acceptable behavior that out of necessity, intentionally
causes pain, suffering, distress or even death. And
he is right.
It is socially acceptable behavior in our
neck of the woods for our local butcher to calmly
place a bullet deep in a cow's brain so that the
animal does not even blink or take another
breath before dying unaware, a last mouthful of grain still
held in its jaws, though my guests eagerly reaching
for another serving of pot roast do not like to think of this.
In most Western countries, it is socially acceptable
for a veterinarian to kill an animal in the name of
mercy (whether merciful relief from terminal illness
or simply being unwanted), or to perform
procedures that may cause pain or suffering but with the
goal of helping and healing. And though the tide is
slowly turning toward gentler techniques, it
remains socially acceptable behavior to use even
considerable force to train dogs, to employ
techniques that without question can and do cause both pain and
suffering.
When we take off our blinders and peer closely
at this line between acceptable behavior that causes an
animal pain or suffering and unacceptable behavior

that has the same effect, we see that it is
not a clear, hard line. We can see situations in which
compulsion might be well justified, and yet still others
where the use of force is inhumane. Though we might
like to try to fix this line firmly so that we know just what
to do or not to do if we wish to stand on the side of
fairness and humane treatment of others, the line
does not yield to such definition. If we tread in
the delicate territory close to the line, as we
almost cannot help doing if we try to be responsible
dog owners, we must be willing to question every step we
take and put a foot down only when we are sure
we know on which side of the line we will end up.
At one level, a commonsense rule of thumb may
be helpful. A humane approach rarely has
to be explained or defended to even the most uniformed
passerby. No apologies are needed for treating
anyone kindly, compassionately and fairly.
Cruelty and approaches that give the appearance of
cruelty often need to be defended. But the ground
covered between cruel and kind is vast, and it does not
yield to tidy delineation of which land belongs to which
camp. There are humane actions that may appear to the
uninitiated as cruel. On the other hand, it is
possible to be so "kind" as to be cruel,
ultimately creating the same effect as
outright and deliberate abuse. A more comprehensive
definition is needed.
In his book
Creating Love,
John Bradshaw offers a definition of violence
against another. Though he is discussing people, his words
hold a great deal of truth for animals as well:
"I consider anything that violates a person's
sense of self to be violence. Such actions may not
be directly physical . . . though it quite often
is. In my definition, violence occurs
when a more powerful and knowledgeable person destroys the
freedom of a less powerful person for whom he or
she is significant."
Bradshaw goes on to describe other,
less-obvious forms of violence toward children, many of which
are also found in our relationships with both animals and
other adults:
cause them to witness any form of physical
violence, not protect them from bullies, desert them
emotionally . . . refuse to set limits, use them
to supply your own need to be admired and respected,
use them to take away your own disappointment and

sadness by demanding that they perform, achieve, be
beautiful, be athletic, be smart, etc. . . .
use them as a scapegoat for your anger and shame,
refuse to resolve your own unresolved issues from
the past.
Bradshaw's list reveals a truth about cruelty
and violence-though it may be directed externally, its
roots lie within us. To the degree that we are aware
of and willing to chart the complex territories of our
souls, we will be able to safely navigate a path that
leads away from cruelty and violence. But this is not
easily done. Violence against others takes on many
guises, wrapped in the cloak of justification,
hitching a ride on habit. It is easy to talk
about being humane and kind; it is tiring work at times
to question, always, how and why you will choose to behave
regardless of the dog's response, regardless of who
tells you what you "ought" to do. And it is easy to be
kind and fair and gentle when all is going our way.
The test of who we are and where we are in our journey
toward humane relationships comes when the weather
turns stormy.
When an intimate connection is sought, we open the
doors to disagreement, conflict. By the very nature of the
dogsthuman relationship, we have created the need
to impose our will on the dog if for no other
reason than our moral obligation to keep the dog
safe from the realities of animal nature bouncing
against the confines of the often highly unnatural human
world. We may be guilty of a very great cruelty
(perhaps the ultimate cruelty since it is a
perversion and denial of our obligation] if we fail
to do what needs to be done to keep our dogs safe.
Yet if we use our obligation as moral
justification for resolving conflict by doing

possibility of cruelty, it is not synonymous with
it. It might be helpful to keep in mind that dogs
use coercion (both physical and
psychological) among themselves.
No matter how loving we may be, no matter how
humane we are in our treatment of our dogs, at
some time we will find ourselves with no option but coercion.
We cannot humanely offer dogs complete freedom
to do only as they please, no more than a loving parent
allows children to do only what they want to do. At some
point, in some way, we give the dog no option but
to do what we need or want him to do. In some way,
we will make it happen, whether by gently restraining the
dog for a veterinary procedure or by simply using a

leash and collar to hold him back from chasing
a squirrel or even by withdrawing our attention from him
in order to make our point that his behavior was
unacceptable. However gently we apply the force,
regardless of how much love and good intent
accompanies our limiting of another being's
freedom, our actions remain coercive.
There are times when the simple obligations of being a
dog's keeper and guardian brings us into conflict with the
dog's impulses, needs, desires and even his
instincts.
How we will handle the inevitable conflict between us and the dog,
how we will use coercion, is the question. And this is where
we tread on treacherous ground. Cruelty does not
rear its ugly head in moments of agreement; only
where conflict exists can cruelty germinate. A friend
of mine once noted that anger was not possible without a
goal. No goal, no possibility of anger.