Chaser (11 page)

A simple solution was available: confine Chaser to our fenced-in backyard with walks only on her leash. I quickly rejected that option. I wanted to enlarge Chaser's world, not shrink it.

I recalled reading that having someone in a moving car squirt water on a dog with a water-blasting toy, or throwing tin cans to clatter in front of the dog, can inhibit car chasing. However, the mental image of Chaser's cutting across a corner to head off the Jeep led me to reject both of these methods as too dangerous.

Somehow, some way, Chaser had to learn that chasing a ball or a Frisbee in the yard was different from chasing a squirrel, a car, a ball, a Frisbee, or anything else in the street. There were two means I could use to influence Chaser's behavior, positive reinforcement and negative reinforcement. All of my training thus far had emphasized positive reinforcement. But something inside me said that we needed to employ a few negative reinforcement procedures now in order to protect her fully and permanently from literally leaping into danger.

I've already said a little about positive and negative reinforcement. Negative reinforcement is certainly not punishment. The essence of punishment is that there is no way to escape or avoid it. By contrast, negative reinforcement motivates a learner to act in a way that escapes or avoids anything uncomfortable or dissatisfying, such as learning to carry an umbrella to avoid getting wet in the rain.

Sometimes positive reinforcement and negative reinforcement are both necessary to change a behavior. In the early 1970s negative reinforcement began my effort to stop smoking. Positive reinforcement completed the process, enabling me to stop smoking and never miss it.

I started smoking in my senior year at Abilene Christian College. The habit strengthened in graduate school at Princeton Theological Seminary to the point where I couldn't study without smoking. I couldn't concentrate without a cigarette in my hand.

Robin and Debbie hated my smoking and often complained that I smelled of tobacco even when I didn't have a cigarette going. When they were in elementary school they began to roll down the car windows in the middle of winter, no matter how cold it was, dramatically coughing and gagging at the unpleasant smell. To avoid the negative reinforcement of the blasts of cold air in the car and the girls' frequent distress and disapproval, I decided to stop smoking.

A month later I was drinking beer with some students in a local restaurant when one of them offered me a cigarette. I said I'd quit. The student asked me how long it had been, and I told him I'd gone a month without smoking. He laughed and said that he'd quit smoking several times, once for as long as six months, but he always wound up going back to it. I asked him if he ever got to the point where he didn't think about smoking. When he said no, I said, “Give me a cigarette.”

Robin and Debbie were persistent, and I decided to try to quit smoking again a few months later. I confess another form of negative reinforcement also motivated me: smoking was decreasing my physical endurance and cutting down on my kayaking and windsurfing fun. Still, I knew I also needed positive reinforcement to motivate me to stay with it and succeed. I had been reading about a new style of rubberized, inflatable canoe that was coming on the market. I couldn't justify spending money on something so selfish, rather than something for the family, but I told myself I could buy the canoe if I used money saved by not buying cigarettes.

Like a kid saving for a new bike, every morning I put the money for a day's cigarettes—I was smoking about a pack a day—into a jar on the kitchen table. Whenever I felt the urge to smoke during the day, I added a little more money to the kitty. In the evening I dumped all the coins out on the living room floor to count them. This always engaged Robin and Debbie, who eagerly helped me count the money and then cheered and did a little dance to encourage me to stay steady on my path. This became a daily after-dinner ritual for the whole family, and we were all looking forward to the new canoe together. My dream became our dream, which made it all the more motivating.

I also conditioned myself not to think about smoking. My initial goal was not to think about smoking for thirty minutes. If I managed to do that, I rewarded myself with five minutes of visualizing running rapids in my kayak. Slowly, I extended the time not thinking about smoking to forty-five minutes, an hour, and longer periods.

After a couple of months I got so good at not thinking about smoking that people could smoke in front of me and it didn't affect me at all. Smoking was traditionally allowed in the college. I had smoked frequently in class, and students did too. Coincidentally, the college at that time decided to ban smoking in classrooms, and the chairman of the Psychology Department told me, “Pilley, you've got to stop students from smoking in your class.”

“They're not smoking,” I said. When he insisted that they were, I realized I'd gotten to the point where I didn't even notice when people were smoking around me. To top it off, I could walk up multiple flights of stairs at Wofford without getting out of breath. Around the same time I had saved up so much cigarette money that I could buy the inflatable canoe. Lovingly dubbed the Rubber Ducky, it was virtually impossible to capsize and became a favorite of the entire family, especially the girls.

On the basis of my successful effort to quit smoking, I concluded that as I had to quit smoking, Chaser needed a little negative reinforcement, as well as lots of positive reinforcement, to quit chasing cars. Negative reinforcement, often in an implicit form, is usually part of healthy boundary setting. The question was exactly how to provide this.

The experience of negative reinforcement depends on an individual's temperament and personality. Some individuals are from birth thicker-skinned or more hardheaded than others. Trainers often talk about hard dogs and soft dogs. Yasha was a hard dog, and in his early obedience training he needed a fairly strong, but still gentle, hand. Grindle was a soft dog. Observation over the last month of Chaser's equally soft temperament suggested that a little negative reinforcement should go a long way with her.

Before she chased the Jeep, I had already started to use some very mild negative reinforcement by adding a firm “No!” just before she ran to the end of her leash while chasing something. The idea was to associate the “No!” with the unpleasantness of hitting the end of the leash, so that the word would eventually stop her from pulling and lunging on the leash, and also generalize to become a stop signal for other unwanted behavior. But unfortunately the jerks she was giving herself were not sufficiently aversive to give the “No!” real strength. Trainers often suggest that when dog creates a jerk on the leash, we should intensify it enough so that the dog
really
doesn't like it. Otherwise the dog will make a judgment such as, “If I lunge after the cat, I will get a tug. But it's really not that bad, and it's worth it because I love to see that cat run.”

I finally made the tough love decision that to enhance Chaser's immediate responses to my commands, I would take her into the front yard on a fifteen-foot line, two and a half times as long as her normal leash. The long line would let her build up more speed in chasing something she shouldn't, and she would then get more of a jerk when she ran to the end of the line. I also planned on adding a firm tug of my own to the long line to heighten the jerk.

When we went outside, however, I couldn't bring myself to take that step. It seemed too abrupt. Instead, I took her into the backyard to rehearse the major obedience commands with no possible distractions from passing cars—and using only positive reinforcement. I made sure Chaser knew that I had treats in my pocket. Without positioning her, I wandered around the yard. Every minute or two, I randomly gave one of the obedience commands—there, stand, drop, crawl, here—in combination with “Chaser!”

Every time she heard her new name, Chaser instantly looked at me and I paused only a second before giving an obedience command. I smiled as she eagerly responded to my words. I lavished yummy treats, praise, and pets upon her with enthusiasm, going through several repetitions for each of the obedience commands.

A few hours later, I again took Chaser into the backyard and ran through the same exercises, again using only positive reinforcement. At the end of the session, I switched over to the obedience herding game, using a tennis ball as a surrogate for a sheep. In the course of the game I gave Chaser the obedience commands relative to the tennis ball, hoping that the herding scenario would cause the obedience commands to take on even more positive value. The success of these training and play sessions made me think that maybe we could still avoid using negative reinforcement beyond “No!”

That evening Sally and I were sitting on the front porch with Chaser lying quietly between us when a car went by, not as fast as the Jeep but still moving quickly. Chaser instantly got to her feet and barked at the car. I grabbed her collar to prevent her from scrambling off the porch in pursuit, and we took her inside.

We had to do something more. But it had to be something that wouldn't throw her off stride in other ways. One firm jerk on the long line would surely be okay, given our good relationship with Chaser and her abundant confidence. But having to repeat that a lot worried me. Stroking Chaser, Sally said, “If the momma dog was here she'd probably get you to stop doing something she didn't like with one little shake on the scruff of your neck.”

“That's brilliant, Sally! That's what we'll do,” I said.

Puppies are biologically prepared to learn that a behavior is not allowed when the mother dog shakes them by the scruff of the neck. We knew from Wayne West that he relied on the mother dog's doing that to teach young puppies not to defecate and urinate in the kennel. Chaser had just turned twelve weeks old and was still at her most impressionable. If I did things right, one lesson about going into the street might be enough.

The next morning I took Chaser into the front yard on the long line. Luck was with me and it wasn't long before a car came by. Chaser immediately headed after it. As she was building up speed I said, “Chaser! Here!” She kept going. Just before she got to the end of the fifteen-foot line, I roared, “No!” When she hit the end of the line, I gave a firm tug back on it. And then I ran to her, picked her up by the scruff of the neck, and gave her one vigorous, mother-dog-like shake.

I gently put her down on the grass, moved a few feet away, and in a warm, soothing tone said, “Chaser! Here!” She came immediately to be comforted and given a treat.

Over the rest of the day's normal routine of play, obedience training, and walks, Sally and I found that the “No” was enough to stop Chaser in her tracks if she ran after a squirrel or headed into the road for any reason. By the end of the day the “No” did not even have to be shouted, although we always made sure it was firm and clear and loud enough to be heard.

There was just one more test we needed to complete Chaser's don't-go-into-the-road training. The following morning we all trooped into the front yard—with no long line or leash. I told Sally I wanted her to walk into the road, luring Chaser to follow her. Sally doubted that Chaser could be tempted from my side, but she obliged me and walked toward the road. Curious, Chaser followed her. As Chaser neared the edge of our yard I said, “Chaser, here!” She kept going, and worry rose up in my head. But just before she got to the road, I said, “No!” Chaser stopped instantly and looked back to me. I called out, “Chaser, here,” and she came to me without hesitation.

I gave her all the positive reinforcement I could muster, and Sally quickly joined us and did the same. A little later we switched roles, and I went into the road while Sally gave Chaser her commands. Again we found that “No” now stopped Chaser from going into the road.

That was the turning point. Over the following week, we strengthened the power of “No” through repetition. The word had now acquired aversive meaning for Chaser. And once “No” took on a quality Chaser didn't like, it became something she really didn't want to hear. With consistent use, the “No” would lose its negative emotional quality, but still remain effective as a command cue and a directive piece of information. We could even use “Yes” and “No” as substitutes for “Hot” and “Cold,” when I asked Chaser to find a hidden object.

An additional tactic we used to teach Chaser not to chase the wrong things was to positively reward a response that was incompatible with chasing. When we saw or heard a car coming during a walk, we pointed to the grass and said, “Car. Go to grass.” And then we ran with her to the grass, had her lie down, and showered her with praise and pets until the car passed. At that point we softly said, “No car” or “Okay,” and continued on our walk.

Within a few days, Chaser chose to leave the road and lie down in the grass whenever she heard a car coming, usually well before we did. We gave her lavish positive reinforcement the first times she did this. Soon our positive reinforcement could be more moderate without the behavior weakening. In fact, if we forgot to say, “Okay, Chaser, c'mon,” after a car passed, she remained lying in the grass until we did. Sally was the first to experience this. Lost in conversation with the Ya-Yas, Sally suddenly realized Chaser was not with her. Spinning around, Sally saw that our bright little puppy was still patiently lying in the grass at the side of the road, waiting for the “Okay” command.

Thanks to the combination of these techniques, Chaser would not go into the street even to follow her favorite ball, unless I went into the street and asked her to join me there. This learning held in relation to any road anywhere we took her after that, from Spartanburg and environs to visiting Debbie, Jay, and Aidan in Brooklyn.

Now I could concentrate on channeling Chaser's powerful social and herding instincts into her language learning. When it comes to harnessing the power of Border collies' instinctive drives, we can learn a lot by listening to the farmers and trainers who work with them every day.