Level 2 Test Videos (Part 1)

I have figured out how to use Betsy’s camera to make very short videos! On July 31, when my parents visited, I had them test me on six of the sixteen behaviors of Level Two in Sue Ailsby’s training levels (which I introduced when I tested myself on L1, delved into further in “Click, treat, repeat,” then provided another update on our progress, and just a couple of days ago, provided the brain-twisting theory behind it all).

Now, as promised, the first batch of L2 test videos!

I wasn’t sure how strictly to judge myself, so I retested them the next day, August 1. I’ll give a synopsis of the criteria we are testing ourselves against, but if you want the details, read them here at Training Level Two.

The first day of testing (which has not been recorded for posterity here), Barnum was very peppy. Probably a combination of cooler weather and the presence of visitors (Oh boy, oh boy!). The following day, in the videos below, he is very mellow. Well, that’s the two sides to the Bouvier des Flandres — bouncing around and athletic, or floor spud, and not much in between!

Here’s our handling test. Test requires handling all paws, ears, and tail, without the dog fussing. On day one, I did it with him standing (because he was hyper), but that’s not typically how I do handling. I feel like he did pass it — he let my dad pick him up (twice!) so he could hold him to weigh him. I thought that was pretty good for someone he’s only met about three or four times. (For the record, Barnum weighed 64 pounds.)

But I wanted to redo it the way we normally do.  Here’s the video-taped test, showing our usual style. Even though you can’t see it, I did do both hind feet (one I pulled a burr out between the toes) and his tail (what little of it there is got wagged, gently pulled, lifted, etc.). I didn’t caption it because my voice wasn’t working, so there’s no essentially no audio. I look like I’m speaking, but really I’m mostly mouthing and squeaking. Read the transcript/video description here.

Next is our “trick.” You can teach any trick you want. I chose ringing a bell to indicate he wants to go out. Barnum also knows various verbal and signed cues for ringing the bell. He did it better the previous day, but I felt that today’s was a pass, too. It’s closed-captioned. Read the transcript here.

This just in! August 10, 2010 —

Three times today, Barnum went to the bell, while I was in bed, and rang it to indicate he wanted to go out. Even better, each time I took him out, on lead, he PEED or POOPED immediately, and on cue! Woohoo! The “trick” is no longer just a trick — the connection has been made!

Now, back to the testing videos of 10 days ago. . . .

This is our Come Game test (captioned).

The dog has to come eagerly, straight to you from forty feet away.

When he did it yesterday, he ran faster/harder, but I still felt this was a pass. Read the transcript here.

This is our Zen (“Leave It”) test. Dog must stay off a treat in your hand for 10 seconds and off a treat on a couch or low table for five seconds. One cue only.

Barnum always does great with Zen. I wanted to make it clear I was not “guarding” the treat by being near it, which is why I moved it and moved far away from it and looked in another direction. That is raw beef heart he’s ignoring; even though he looks like he doesn’t care, it’s one of his favorite treats. I’m calling this a pass.

(It’s captioned, but not well. I did try my darndest; apologies.) Read the transcript here.

This is our targeting test — target sticks.

Dog must touch the end of a target stick.

I used the stick from the Alley-Oop (yellow tip), then the Manner’s Minder (love that one! — red tip), then the old-fashioned Karen Pryor stick (just metal, and mine is missing its tip).

I didn’t know I was holding some of them out of the range of the camera, but he actually did the very tip on the KPCT stick both times, which I was happy about, because it doesn’t even have its tip anymore, so it’s not as obvious as the other two. 

Note: I’m doing something wrong in this video, see if you catch it!

Apologies — I could not get the captions to work with this video. They ended up being so ill-timed I thought they’d be more distracting than useful. Read the transcript here.

After seeing the video above I realized I often move the stick away as he’s going to touch it! Need to work on that! Also, since it’s in my left hand, I asked for many more touches on the left. Need to work on that, too. I still consider it a pass. We will continue to work with the sticks, and I’ll be more careful with those two issues.

Finally, after retesting “Go to Mat,” I decided it’s a fail!

Both days, he did not run to the mat, like I’m looking for, even though it’s not technically in the criteria (which is the dog goes to a mat from five feet away, with two cues or less, all four paws on the mat). I want a more enthusiastic response to the cue.

Here’s the closed-captioned video, anyway, of where we are in our process.  See the transcript here.

Update: Some on the training levels list say he did pass this behavior, so I decided it’s technically a pass, but I’m going to keep working at it at this level anyway.

Thanks for watching! (And more videos on the way, as we have tested and passed three more behaviors, so far.) As ever, we welcome your comments!

-Sharon, Barnum, and the spirit of Gadget, who would’ve rocked the Levels, if he had but been given the chance!

Level 2 homework

If you’ve been reading my blog, by now you know that Barnum and I are hard at work on Sue Ailsby’s Training Levels. In addition to mastering a set of behaviors, the trainer/handler has a written homework assignment for each level. Here is Level Two’s question and my answer, which I have livened up with some Barnum photos. Shortly I hope to put up a page with short videos of Barnum and me getting tested on eight of the L2 behaviors. (There are 16 behaviors to master in L2.)

Handler describes, in writing, the four “legs” of operant conditioning, and the definition of “reinforcement” and “punishment.”

The first leg is positive reinforcement.

On the training and behaviorist lists, abbreviated “R+.” Positive reinforcement is giving something to the learner (adding something to the learner’s environment) that the learner needs or wants. A positive reinforcer makes the behavior more likely to happen again because the learner wants to get that reward again.

Note: ALL forms of reinforcements and punishments are intended to alter future behavior, however, their success varies depending on which “leg” is used and also on other factors, especially whether the reward or aversive is effective/relevant/appropriate to that particular dog/learner, and also whether the timing makes it clear what is being punished/rewarded.

For Barnum, R+ are food, play with other dogs, playing tug, being let outside, chasing a ball, praise, belly rubs when he is lying on his back, walks, being let off leash to run, or being allowed to dig in soft dirt or climb into the tub when it’s only partly full.

The nice thing about R+ is that there is no “fallout.” If you screw up and accidentally reward when you didn’t mean to, or miss an opportunity to reward, it might create or strengthen an undesirable behavior that will have to be extinguished, but it doesn’t tend to cause distress for the learner, inhibit further learning, damage trust, etc.

I will use the same three real-life examples of applying these forms of reinforcement or punishment (sometimes intentional, sometimes unintentional) with Barnum for each of the three legs.

Examples of Positive Reinforcement

Behavior: Jumping on my bed. (Undesirable)

R+ responses:

• Click/treat (c/t) for getting off the bed (four on the floor) with hand and/or voice cue or lure of food treat.
  
• C/t for standing, sitting, lying next to bed. C/t for going into kennel. C/t with stuffed Kong or meal for lying quietly in crate or next to bed for extended period instead of jumping on bed.
  
• Barnum jumps onto bed and won’t get off, so I get up and leave as an attempt at positive punishment, forgetting that I left chicken salad on bed; Barnum eats chicken and is positively reinforced for being on bed. (Oops!)
  
• Being on the bed seems to be both self-reinforcing as well as a means to an end: Getting on the bed brings attention (I stop eating or working at computer to get him off), food (see above), closeness to me, and also seems to be enjoyable in itself as a soft, high location. (Nevermind that he has four dog beds of his own, Barnum still wants to get on my bed or the couch, even when I’m not on them.)
• Since it’s impossible to launch a clicker session every time Barnum’s around my bed (that would be all the time except if we are out playing, training, or going for a walk), I try to notice when he seems like he is about to jump or wants to jump, and then I praise, play, or c/t him for having “four on the floor” and try to initiate a game or give him something (appropriate!) to chew.
  

Behavior: Walking on a loose leash. (Desirable.)

Why is pulling on leash undesirable? Exhibit A:

"There's Lucy! I want to play with her! I'm coming, Lucy!" CRACK! Ka-PING!

R+ techniques for getting a loose leash:

• C/t any time leash is loose.
  
• Praise when leash is loose.
  
• Walk toward desirable food or other source of pleasure (another dog) when leash is loose.
  
• Offer a walk or game as reward for loose leash.

Behavior: Letting himself out by jumping against the screen door. Desirability: It’s complicated.

While it was never my goal for Barnum to learn this neat trick (ahem), it was more desirable to have Barnum let himself out than for him to have accidents inside — when we were still doing toilet training — since I have not always been good at reading his (to me) often subtle indicators that he needs to go out.

However, now he has bladder/bowel control, and we have better communication, so it’s not necessary. It’s bad for the door and screen, especially now that he’s so big and strong and doing damage; it’s bad for our communication and working relationship (too much freedom without earning it); and when winter comes and he can’t let himself out that way, I don’t want him to have accidents inside again (although I don’t think he will because toileting outside has become so ingrained, and we have worked out other options).

This behavior was born when Barnum one day scratched on the door to indicate, “I want out,” and the door swung open. That was very reinforcing: the power! The control! He learned that if he exerts enough force (jumping up with both legs and really putting his weight into it works almost every time!), he didn’t need to wait for me. Having the ability to let himself out at will is a very powerful reinforcer, not just for offering bladder/bowel relief but for playing in the yard, greeting people coming in the gate, freedom, change of scene, etc. This behavior is self-reinforcing.

R+ I’m using to change the situation:

• Don’t allow him access to the screen door, thus cutting off the self-reinforcement of him being able to let himself out.
• C/t him for any behavior other than jumping/swiping at the screen door (when the screen door is available to him).
  

• Trained him to ring a bell (by targeting the bell with his nose and earning c/t for successively harder nudges till he is ringing it loudly enough to be heard) which I then hung by the door. Whenever he rings the bell, I ask him if he wants to go out (R+); I toss the treats outside for him to eat (R+); and I let him out (R+), even if I know he doesn’t need to eliminate. (At this point, I’m just working on communicating, “If you want to go out, slamming into the door won’t work, but ringing the bell will.”) It’s a long process because any time anyone (my four PCAs, my partner, or I), forget and allow him access to the screen door, there is the possibility of him letting himself out, thus putting that behavior on a variable schedule of reinforcement, making it über hard to extinguish.

The second leg is positive punishment.

I assume this is abbreviated P+, though I have not seen it on the lists. Positive punishment is adding something to the learner’s environment that s/he dislikes in order to stop an undesirable behavior. P+ might make behavior less likely to occur again because the learner wants to avoid the punisher.

Positive punishment has the most likelihood of causing fallout. Not only is it always unpleasant for the learner, it is often also unpleasant for the trainer (although, if people were honest about it, a lot of the time it is really just venting anger or frustration on the dog in the name of changing behavior, when it is actually more like revenge). The learner often associates the aversive experience with the trainer, which might teach the learner to avoid the trainer or to only do the behavior in the trainer’s absence, as opposed to extinguishing the behavior altogether. It’s also hard to time correctly, and an ill-timed punishment often creates more problems than it solves, as it can punish a desirable behavior that happens after the undesirable one has ceased.

Examples of Positive Punishment

Behavior: Jumping on my bed. (Undesirable.)

"I see no reason at all why I shouldn't be allowed on your bed whenever I want. What's the prob, dude?"

• Yell at him for jumping on bed. (Doesn’t work, he doesn’t care and is often glad of the attention. Potential fallout: Barnum learns to dislike being around me or learns to tune me out.)
• Try to push him off the bed. (Doesn’t work, he thinks it’s a game, like tug, and can therefore be R+ instead!)
• Get up and leaving the room. (Works if his goal in jumping up was being closer to me or getting attention; doesn’t work if he just wants to be on the bed to get a better view out the window or a change of pace or to get at my dinner.) He also doesn’t seem to learn from this.

Behavior: Walking on a loose leash. (Desirable.)

Positive punisher: Accidentally run over his toes when he is walking very close to the chair, giving me good eye contact, and we are both so focused on clicks and treats that we lose track of his paws and my wheels. (Aagh!) The result is that, until I counteract this mistake, he walks farther from my chair, hangs back instead of walking next to me, and enjoys himself less. Not intentional!

The traditional punisher for pulling on leash is using choke chains, prong collars, etc., when the dog pulls, but I don’t do that.

Behavior: Letting himself out by jumping against the screen door. (Undesirable.)

Positive punisher: Mildly scold (Eh!) him when he jumps on door. (Sometimes works if I catch his attention and he stops before he goes out, but usually I am too late — there’s that timing thing again!)

The third leg is negative reinforcement.

Abbreviated R-. Negative reinforcement is removing something from the environment that the learner dislikes (finds aversive) in order to make the event that comes with the removal more likely to occur again. Although negative reinforcement is not the same as punishment, using R- necessarily requires an aversive. In other words, until the aversive is removed to reward the change in behavior, whatever came before was being punished.

Examples of Negative Reinforcement

Behavior: Jumping on my bed. (Undesirable.)

• While Barnum is on my bed, I silently turn my back to him, giving no eye contact. When he gets off the bed, I shower him with praise, petting, c/t. (The aversive is me ignoring him, the removal of it = negative reinforcement/R-.)
• I make grumbling/growling noises when he’s on the bed. When he jumps off, I smile and stop grumbling. (Grumbling = aversive; stopping grumbling = R-.) This worked the first two times I tried, and then he realized I was silly and no actual threat, thought it was a great game; in other words, not effective because it did not alter the behavior and very briefly, was actually probably R+!)
• I get up and leave the room, shutting the door behind me. Barnum is alone in my bedroom. (He doesn’t like to be apart from me — or alone in general. Social isolation is usually a big punisher for dogs.) When he jumps off the bed, I come back into the room, smiling warmly, and give him eye contact. (Social isolation = aversive; ending social isolation = R-.)

Behavior: Walking on a loose leash. (Desirable.)

Why is pulling on lead undesirable? Exhibit B:

"I want to get to the pond NOW!" Pffft-BOING! "Ah, that's better!"

Any time Barnum pulls on lead, I walk backwards from whatever is desirable that he’s pulling toward (food, another dog, an interesting smell). When he comes back to my side, and the leash goes slack, I stop pulling him away from the desirable smell/object/dog and begin walking toward it again. (The aversive is having to retreat from desirable smell/dog/food; discontinuing the march backwards = R-.)

Behavior: Letting himself out by jumping against the screen door. (Undesirable.)

Don’t let him out when he flings himself against the door:

• Hold the door closed.
• Block the screen door with the winter door.
• Put him on a leash that’s too short for him to get outside even if he manages to open the door.)

All of these efforts are aversive because they are frustrating his desire to 1. have control over going out, 2. go out and play, and/or 3. relieve himself. When he stops trying to slam the screen door and/or rings the bell instead, I give him access to the outdoors. (The aversive is inability go out; the removal of that restriction is R-.)

The fourth leg is negative punishment.

Again, I presume this is abbreviated P-, although I don’t know if I’ve ever seen it discussed outside of theoretical discussions. (Since I’m on R+ lists and read R+ blogs, that’s mostly what I hear about.) Negative punishment is taking away something the learner wants/needs in order to reinforce the opposite of that behavior.

Behavior: Jumping on my bed. (Undesirable.)

P- responses:

• Turning my back/looking away/ignoring him when he is on the bed. (This actually does work, though slowly, in combination with R+ when his feet hit the floor.)
• Can’t think of anything else except maybe moving any food away from him so he doesn’t get to sniff and/or eat it, but I try not to let that happen in the first place.

Behavior: Walking on a loose leash. (Desirable.)

Any time Barnum pulls on the leash, I back away from our focal point, which is something he wants: A bowl of pungent food, another dog, something he wants to sniff. This is slow going, but combined with R+ of c/t when leash is slack and of eventually getting to the object of his desire, it’s effective.

Behavior: Letting himself out by jumping against the screen door. (Undesirable.)

Eliminating access to the yard has been an effective P-, in combination with R+ for ringing the bell to indicate he wants to go out instead of slamming into the door.

"Lying in the grass feels soooo good! Why wouldn't I want to get out here and enjoy it whenever the whim strikes me?"

* * *

Oy! That felt like I was back in psychology class, taking an exam! My brain hurts! Also, a lot of these overlap so much that some of it seems to be engaging in a bit of (as my college academic advisor once shocked me by saying), “mental masturbation.”

This cognitively impaired, hard-trainin’ chick needs a rest!

However, we have tested and passed and videotaped(!) several of the L2 behaviors. I just need to do the closed captioning and transcripts, and I will post those, too. Then you can see the practice, and not read so much theory.

Happy Birthday, Gadget

It just wouldn’t be an After Gadget post if I didn’t start with an “On the one hand happy, on the other hand sad” sentiment, would it? Thus, in order not to disappoint. . . .

On one hand, Barnum and I having been rockin’ it. I’ve been at my pinnacle of functionality since Lyme hit in 2007, and I’ve squeezed out every bit of strength, energy, and mental focus to train and play as hard as I’m able. As a result, lots of skills are coming together. Most are Levels work — perfecting some of the skills from Level One (L1) that I was not satisfied with, as well as making great progress or even exceeding criteria for L2. But I’ve also been establishing a solid play retrieve, which I’ll want for exercising him in bad weather; continuing to hone his elimination on cue (got him to pee with one foot on a brick yesterday!); getting him more clicker savvy and “operant” (thinking for himself and offering behaviors instead of looking to me for direction) by playing the muffin tin game, the “101 things to do with a box” game, and free-shaping him to figure out on his own how to nudge doors open to get what he wants behind them.

In fact, he is now demanding to train, getting restless, bored, and adolescently tantrummy if we don’t train a few times a day. If we’re on a roll, and I keep the excitement and success level high, rotating behaviors, we can do sessions of 45 minutes or an hour, which is pretty darn good for a seven-month-old pup!

In short, we’re loving each other and thriving on our teamwork. It is truly a joy to work and play with him now, and even his forays into teenage prankishness — ruining the zipper on my extremely expensive and new organic barrier cloth, getting his sandy paws on my bed, slamming into the Plexiglas shield on our screen door so hard that he has severely cracked it (“Let me in NOW!”) — I pretty much laugh off. (The fact that he hasn’t had an accident in the house since June 20, which I blogged happened right after he passed his L1 test, has really been lovely, as well!)

I thought I was getting away with pushing myself too hard; then my body sent me a strongly worded memo. More of a “cease-and-desist order,” actually. I crashed in a serious way this past week. Gradually my voice went away, and my pain got worse, but I kept pushing until I was immobilized by pain and exhaustion, completely nonverbal, and largely unable to move my limbs. (With all the lovely nausea, brain fog, dizziness, etcetera, that goes with it.) Okay, body, got the message, thank you.

The silver lining is that I was able to not freak out (well, maybe just a smidge), and to remember that this was an opportunity for latent learning to kick in for my star pupil. And when I was able, it gave us a chance to practice training from me lying down and nonverbal, unable to get out of bed, which will likely be conditions Barnum will need to work under at times in the future.

On the other hand — you knew it was coming — Gadget has been on my mind even more than usual. In fact, I think one of the factors that has made training with Barnum so challenging and compelling is how different his process and personality are from Gadget’s. It really forces me to stay in my head and become a better trainer because I can’t rely on just doing what I did with Gadg. I have to flex my creative muscles.

But this time of year is heavy with memory for me.

Last year, Betsy and I started our vacation on the weekend of July 25 with a birthday party for Gadget. We don’t know for sure when his birthday was, but I thought it was probably in July, based on my having adopted him from rescue in July 2000, when he was just about one year old. Officially, we were celebrating his ninth birthday, but really we were celebrating him. Celebrating that we’d made it this far, that he was happy and healthy — in complete remission from the beast of lymphoma.

It was such an excellent party. I had never organized a dog birthday party before, and I was worried I would feel silly and awkward, overly sentimental. But it was wonderful. Gadget had the BEST time. I was so glad I did it.

Two of his dog friends came, and he played with them. It was a really hot day, so he was uncharacteristically playful in the kiddie pool my parents had brought just for him for the party. He kept trying to lie down in the pool to cool off. However, it was too small for him, making his butt bump against the side. So he’d just sort of hover, letting his chest get wet, but no further. Quintessentially Gadget! (After the party, seeing how much he liked the pool, we bought him a bigger one, which he almost never used — of course.)

Bobbing for Biscuits never felt so refreshing!

I broke the cancer-diet low-carbs rule and baked liver biscuits and a dog cake, and all the dogs loved them.

The dogs were wild for these liver biscuits. Apparently, homemade really does taste better!

 

Who doesn't love peanut-butter-and-carrot cake with cottage-cheese icing?

We introduced our canine guests to some light agility . . .

Even a low jump is high for Bug!

. . . and, of course, everyone wanted to play “bobbing for biscuits.”

Tessa supervises, as Gadget bobs for biscuits.

The human guests were also totally into it and so kind. It was not weird at all; it was actually one of the most fun parties I’ve ever had! Our guests brought really sweet, thoughtful gifts; I had not expected people to bring gifts at all. Carol, my PCA who absolutely doted on Gadget, made him the “party hat” he’s wearing below. It looked so festive, and he didn’t even mind wearing it.

 

The party animal in full regalia.

Carol’s other gift was rather poignant: She gave him a terrific fleece vest for winter, which he never had the chance to wear. Like me, she didn’t entertain the possibility he wouldn’t be with us when the snow fell.

Everyone just loved him up. He really seemed to know it was his special day. Some of my favorite pictures of Gadget, in this post, are from that day — thanks to my Dad, who brought his camera, and my Mom, who kept saying, “Manny! Manny! Get a picture of this!”

With Gadget in complete remission, we were able to just celebrate him and feel GOOD. I thought it would keep going on like that. I tried not to think too far ahead, but I couldn’t help imagining his next party, a year later, for his tenth birthday. By October, that hope had slipped away, as mast cell cancer began taking over.

I miss him so much.

Such a good boy. He didn't even drool on the icing.

Still, for one glorious day in the sun, we were all happy, living in the moment, letting him eat cake.

As always, we welcome your comments.

-Sharon, the muse of Gadget (birthday boy in spirit), and Barnum (puppy-in-training)

The Puppy Ate My Keyboard

[Barnum arrived February 27. I started this post on March 2. I added to it and revised it many times throughout the month of March but never published it because, well, you’ll find out when you read it that I was a mess and couldn’t keep track of anything, which also included that I forgot I wrote it and just came across it. Thus, please keep in mind that these were my thoughts when Barnum was between nine and twelve weeks’ old. He’s now four-and-a-half months’ old and a much different dog!]

I wasn’t going to write a blog today because I can hardly form a thought, let alone a sentence. Typing these fragments had barely occurred to me. In fact, I am moving my lips as I type this (I just realized) because apparently some part of my brain has regressed to a first-grade level.

I’d tell you how long it’s been since I’ve had anything remotely resembling a normal night’s sleep (which, given my multiple forms of insomnia and sleep disturbance, is not so normal to begin with), but I have no idea what day it is or when Barnum arrived and the toileting accidents and his heart-rending yelping of being crated without litter mates and dog mama has occurred and at what frequency and which days, except I have lost all sense of time. And I’m not even going to attempt to edit or proof this, and I know I’m creating appalling run-on sentences, but you’ll just have to put up with that for a while.  Maybe a year or two.

As an example, while I was typing the above sentence, I reached for my “lunch-time pills,” and it is now 6:54PM, although I did — thank you so much, my PCA Gloria! — actually eat lunch around half an hour ago. But of course I forgot to take the pills with the food, as I’m supposed to. So, I had the cup with the dog kibble, and my fingers digging into it, halfway up to my mouth before I thought, “Wait a minute. Why . . . am . . . I . . . eating . . . kibble?” I waited for that thought to gently float to the part of my brain that could handle it, and realized that I was trying to swallow a handful of other small, round objects. “Pills! Yes! . . . Wait a minute, these are not my pills.”

I have a nice, swollen purple bruise on my right hand where some puppy chewing got a little out of hand, next to a scratch that I’m assuming must also be puppy-play related, but I have no idea when I acquired it.

I am fighting off an incipient migraine and have over-exerted at every level far beyond anything I’ve done in at least a year. The floors are covered in mud (because, of course, I would get a new puppy whom I have to take out practically every ten minutes during mud season), because that my p-chair tires are completely caked with mud, which eventually dries and falls off all over the house.

I’m exhausted and grouchy and babbling. I’m ridiculously happy. I sing goofy made up songs — using real songs but with made-up lyrics. Example (to the tune of the Human League’s “Don’t You Want Me?“):

“Don’t you want it Barnum?
Don’t you want the squirrel?
Don’t you want the hedgehog?
Let’s give them a whirl.

I was looking for a puppy out in Iowa
when I found you.
We picked you up and flew you here and gave you a bath,
cuz of your smelly shampoo.

Don’t, don’t you want it?
You know I can’t believe it when you don’t want your chew toys!
Don’t? Don’t you want it?
You know I can’t believe it when you push aside your Kong toys!”

Our main focus has been on house breaking. That is such an understatement. We keep a log of dates, times and locations of output (and which type), indicators that he needs to go, and results once he’s gone. Someone in the house is always announcing, when they bring him in from outside, “He peed! But he didn’t poop,” or “He pooped! He pooped!” We are obsessed with it.

It’s been a very humbling experience! Foolish, foolish, egotistical me — I thought because I’d trained long behavior chains like, “Take note; run 1/4 mile to landlord; bark; down when landlord opens door; stay till landlord takes note; run straight home,” that I would be able to teach a puppy to poop and pee outside and not just randomly on the floor the split second I look away for one moment when he is out of the crate even though he just pooped and peed five minutes before.

I actually wrote the first part of this blog a few days ago. And now several more days have passed since I wrote a few more sentences, then a few more days, a few more sentences. Don’t ask me which days — that’s just cruel. I had Barnum up on my bed for a brief spell because he was an empty puppy — oh yes, the holy grail of house breaking — a puppy who has just peed and pooped and is therefore (theoretically) safe to be out of his crate and playing, snuggling, training, etc. He immediately started chewing my keyboard buttons. When I moved that out of reach, he attacked the telephone headset, then chewed on the mouse wire. Then it was time for puppy to go back in his crate for a nice stuffed chew toy he might or might not figure out how to chew.

Random thoughts that flit in and out of my mind:

– How can this tiny puppy ever be a service dog? I’m still teaching him that if he nudges a Kong or Biscuit Ball, kibble falls out. I didn’t think this would require actual clicker training to teach, but it has: look at ball, click/treat; move toward ball, c/t; nose ball, c/t; eat kibble that pours out of ball, c/t…. I had thought that the mere fact that kibble falls right out of the ball if you even breathe on it would be a good hint, but no.

– What was Gadget like as a puppy? Was he like this? He couldn’t possibly have been. I bet he figured out toilet training in one day. (I’m sure he didn’t, but still, I miss him. I want Gadget back. I want him here to show Barnum how it’s done.)

– Does anyone want a really cute, snuggly, adorable, pee- and poop-filled puppy?

– It’s weird to go to a door and have a dog next to me who has no earthly idea that he could learn to open it or even gets confused about how to get out of the way when it opens. In fact, one of the hardest parts of the toilet training has been getting Barnum and myself in or out the door — involving opening and shutting it, each time — before Barnum has an accident. If we pause for any reason that’s when disaster (in the form of a small, easy-to-clean-up, but oh-so-frustrating puddle) strikes.

– If I drop something, not only does Barnum not retrieve it for me, he will — if I’m lucky — not be able to find it (because, apparently, even if you drop something directly in front of their noses, puppies often can’t see it it). If he does find it, he will chew it, especially if it’s something fragile or expensive or dangerous to him, or all of the above. [Note: Eventually, I learned from reading a website what none of the many puppy-rearing books I’d read had bothered to mention — new puppies can’t see! At eight or nine weeks, their eyes are still maturing. In fact, Barnum’s were still blueish at the beginning. His eyes are now brown, and he is perfectly capable of seeing or sniffing out treats on the floor. The amount that I didn’t know about puppies was astounding. I know so much more now, and I still feel completely ignorant!]

– God, he’s so adorable, it’s practically indecent.

See what I mean? Beyond, beyond cute.

– It was weird to go for my annual physical and leave a dog behind and be there without a dog and then come home to a dog who is not Gadget (and who then pooped on the floor).

– It also felt like a blissful relief to get away from him for a couple of hours and leave someone else in charge of him. Gloria, who was driving me to the doctor, said that’s how she felt when her son was really little — that going to work felt like a vacation. That’s how I felt: getting a pap smear was a vacation!

– All the women in my life who have kids keep saying everything I’m going through is typical of being a new mom: the anxiety that I’m ruining him for life with every mistake, the guilt that I sometimes just want someone to take him away for 12 hours (or perhaps forever) so I can sleep, the complete inability to think, the zombie-like facial expression, the relentless pursuit of following all the instructions in all the puppy raising books that tell you your puppy will become a horrible, out-of-control, dangerous, miserable wreck if you don’t accomplish all eight million absolutely necessary training, bonding, and socialization efforts in the first four weeks you have him; examining every single behavior or nuance as a predictor of the glorious/tragic path that lies ahead; my overwhelming feelings of inadequacy. Gloria keeps telling me I have “milk brain” because I can’t think worth a damn. Maybe this is the oxytocin connection??

– I think I’ve smiled and laughed more in the last two weeks than I have in the previous five years, combined. I also think I have cried — or been too exhausted to cry, and just laid there, crying in my mind — than I have in the past year, too.

– Will all this overexerting build up my strength or tear it down in a huge crash?

– I am so not up to this task. I was a fool. I had taken leave of my senses (which I no longer possess, at all) when I decided to get a puppy.

– I love when he sticks his whole head into the snow, so all you can see is fuzzy puppy butt, back and legs.

Barnum loses his head.

– I love when he pounces and leaps.

A bouncing baby Bouvier.

– I love when he kisses me and curls up in my lap.

Kisses!

– I love when he is sleeping, lying on his back with his paws in the air and his little white chin poking up.

One very relaxed puppy!

– I love when he is tired and lies down with his back legs sprawled out behind him. We call this “Superman,” because he looks like he is flying — front and rear legs extended, very streamlined. (Don’t yet have a picture of it, or I’d show you.) He also does “frog leg,” where one leg is extended behind and the other is pulled up.

– I love that I am having to force myself to invite over every single person and dog who might remotely be willing (and even those who are not) to meet, treat, or play with him. I have socialized more in the past two weeks than in the previous few years combined.

– I hate having to deal with all these people — the exhaustion, the noise, the sensory overload, the exposures, exposures, exposures.

– I will never again take for granted a dog who is able to pee and poo outside and not inside, and to indicate when they have to go before relieving themselves on the floor, or who can “hold it” for more than two hours — or five to ten minutes or 30 seconds, depending on the circumstance.

* * * *

Guess what? I now have such a dog! (His name is Barnum.) We still have the occasional accident, but it is the exception, not the rule. He will even eliminate on cue — in our yard, that is. Elsewhere in the world he gets too distracted to pee or poo, so he holds it till we get home. Seriously

Barnum is also able to sleep through the night and is adjusting to my Vampire Girl schedule. (It’s a CFIDS/MCS/Lyme thing.)

I have only almost eaten kibble — thinking it was my pills — once or twice in the last couple of weeks.

He still attacks the headset, mouse, and keyboard when he gets on the bed. In fact, here is Barnum’s first After Gadget contribution:0000-                                                           32.

Now I just have to put his typing on cue.

As always, we welcome your comments.

-Sharon and the muse of Gadget (and Barnum, puppy-in-training)

P.S. Commenters of the previous post, I have not forgotten you! Responses forthcoming.

The Experts Are Full of It (and the Puppy Is, too)

You might have noticed there have been no After Gadget blogs in a month, which — not coincidentally — is when I got my new puppy. That’s because things like, um, sleeping, thinking, not weeping with frustration, were hard to come by for a while.

I was sobbing on the phone to my therapist (with whom I’ve been speaking much more often lately) and to my grief support list, “I hate the puppy! I hate the puppy!” Some people were just an eensy bit judgmental about this.

Even more obnoxious are all the people who have been saying to Betsy and me, “Oh, isn’t it wonderful to have a puppy? Isn’t it so much fun?” We just look at them with very, very tired eyes and mumble, “Yes, he’s adorable and sweet, but, um, it’s a lot of work.” The people who have survived raised puppies themselves tend to switch into sympathy mode.

Betsy and I each asked friends whose dogs are less than two years’ old, “How long did it take you to toilet train?” We hoped, on one hand, that they would say something like, “Six weeks,” because we’re entering week five now, so that would mean there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. On the other hand, we hoped they’d say, “Six months,” because this definitely would mean we are not failures because we are already at about 75 percent toilet trained.

However, what both people said was, “I don’t remember. I must have blocked that time out.” Practically verbatim.

Worse than this was when Betsy asked her employer (when our puppy had already had about 17 accidents in his first four days), how many their goldendoodle had during housebreaking.

“One,” she said. We both cried. I think they should have lied.

I tried to convince Betsy we were Not Failures. “We’ve gone 24 hours without an accident! We didn’t know what we were doing at first! We’re doing so much better now!”

I believed myself, too, until the next (inevitable) accident. About an hour later.

But despite sobbing, “I hate the puppy! I hate the puppy!” the first two weeks, to anyone who had ever showed me any kindness, I really do love him, as you can see in these two pictures of us bonding on his first day home:

Isn't he a snuggly little bear?

Looking lovingly into each other’s eyes on his first day home.

Honestly, I promise, I don’t hate him. I just hate the pee and poo that appear on floors throughout the house, even when he has not been in that vicinity that we know of and he has either been in his crate or under supervision 99.96 percent of the time. (It’s that 0.04 percent that gets you.) It’s not even that I hate the pee or poo, because I’ve become rather resigned to that by now (even as the puddles/piles get bigger). It’s more the constant vigilance we’ve had to maintain for over five weeks.

This is primarily because I read — and forced Betsy to read — a book by a world-renowned dog behaviorist, veterinarian, and expert in puppy training who writes over and over how you can achieve “errorless housetraining and chew-toy training.” Errorless. His exact words. He also calls any accident “a potential disaster” and says that “you can start ruining a perfectly good puppy in one day.” So, no pressure.

The errorless chew-toy- and crate-training are to be achieved with Kongs and hollow bones stuffed with kibble and the occasional treat, such as freeze-dried liver, “the Ferrari of dog treats,” he says. No need to use anything other than kibble because puppies are “food-seeking missiles.”

Well, great idea, except if your new baby is so stressed by his life’s biggest upheaval that he refuses to eat in the beginning, and then has barely any interest in kibble, and doesn’t even LIKE freeze-dried liver, and has no idea how to get kibble out of a bone or Kong, even when there is nothing blocking the Kong, so that kibble just falls out if you breathe on it. It’s taken a month of clicker training to teach him how to get the biscuit balls and Kongs to give up their goodies by nudging them around. This has not made him, as the author promised, a “chewtoyaholic.” He would so much rather chew everything else — our flesh, our clothes, our furniture, his leash, ANY electrical cords — than his chew toys.

His favorite toy — thank God for it — is a bucket. Not a full-sized bucket. Ironically, it’s a big plastic tub, about half the size of a real bucket, that freeze-dried liver came in — for Gadget. Gadget, a dog who LOVED liver. A dog who, if you accidentally spilled a big pile of liver dust and bits on the floor next to his crate, would not have left it there for two days until you resigned yourself to vacuuming it up! Anyway, we punched holes in the bottom of this plastic bucket last year and used it as a planter. Barnum found it under the snow and fell in loooove. (Yes, his name is Barnum. I’ll have to write a second blog on how he got his name. Right now, there are more important things to focus on, obviously.) Because it was distracting him from his excretory duties, I brought it inside, and now we use it a lot as a toy.

Before Barnum arrived, I bought a bunch of organic, nontoxic, fair-trade dog toys for him — and he prefers to chew a plastic (and therefore, toxic) bucket. All I can say to that is, “Get your bucket!!! Where’s your bucket??? Git it gitit gitit!!!”

I have so much more sympathy now for parents who take their kids to McDonalds or plunk them in front of the TV.

The puppy-raising book also says that the first twelve weeks are the puppy’s socialization window, and after that, everything you do will be playing catch-up (and with rather poor results) so that you have to make sure your puppy meets 100 people in his first four weeks at home! And that the puppy should not leave your home, and all guests must remove their shoes, because they could track in a dog disease. (For the record, Barnum has met about 75 people so far, though they were not all people in our homes with their shoes off, and it was not all done by the moment of 12 weeks. Horrors!)

I was fool enough to believe all this bilge! So, you can imagine, what with the massive sleep debt, and the impossible expectations, there has been a lot of stress! Stress! Stress! AUGH!!!!

I’m able to type what you’ve read so far because I pleaded with Betsy Betsy offered to watch the puppy for the night, so I got 11 hours of sleep. The last time she puppy sat, I got 13 hours of sleep. This is because a new puppy is not only a great cure for sleep, but also for insomnia. I’m hoping this lasts. I’m hoping now for the rest of my life, whenever I want to go to sleep, all I have to do is become slightly horizontal, and I will instantaneously drop like a rock into slumberland. Yes, all the sleep disturbances caused by my many chronic illnesses that include insomnia, hallucinations, nightmares, early wakening, etc., as symptoms, might be cured just by puppy motherhood! Wouldn’t that be awesome?

I have taken up the saying my friend Julie introduced me to in high school: When all else fails, lower your expectations. We have done a lot of lowering. Now, if the accident is near the door, we rejoice, because it seems to indicate he knows he should try to head in that direction when the urge hits. Or, if we catch him in the act and interrupt him, so that he does half the poo inside the house and half outside the house, we are thrilled that we were able to indicate that pooping in the house is not what we want (poor guy looks so confused as everyone in the vicinity converges on him and says, “OUTSIDE, OUTSIDE, OUTSIDE!”) and even better, that we are able to reward him for doing the second half of the poo outside. Isn’t that terrific?!?!

Another thing to feel good about is if I’m thinking, “I should take him out right now,” or asking someone to take him out (if I can’t), or if I am actually bringing him to the door, and we’re delayed because I have get to the door, grab the pull cord, then back up to open the door but very carefully so as not to roll over him (more about that another time), and when I turn to check that it’s safe for me to back up, he is peeing! So, I was correct that I did need to take him out right then; that counts for something, doesn’t it?

So, in the spirit of lowering my expectations, I have also decided to try to get blogs out when I can. If they are not beautifully written and poignant and error-free, well, neither is life, right? It is messy and dirty and full of mistakes, but we still have to find meaning in it and love it despite its faults. Hopefully you feel some of this love and forgiveness toward this blog, even with the long gaps and the mistakes and the lack of beautiful, deep, thoughtful writing, but most especially, because of the pee and the poo.

More about Barnum, his name, pictures, etc., the next time I have a full night of sleep (or two or three or eight).

As always, we welcome your comments.

-Sharon and the muse of Gadget

P.S. Please, please, please do not post any housebreaking advice! We really do know all the theory and the things we should be doing. It’s just that sometimes life happens, and then you step in it.