Bones Would Rain from the Sky: Deepening Our Relationships with Dogs Read online

  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.

  in the guise of "for your own good! we have not excluded possible cruelty but practically assured its inclusion. We have two basic choices when trying to resolve any conflict within a relationship: persuasion or coercion. Persuasion is possible only where freedom exists. If I am willing to accept whatever choice you may make, I am able to use persuasion and nothing more in my attempt to get you to do what I'd like you to do. Persuasion contains no elements of cruelty-by its very nature, persuasion contains the freedoms of both involved, and within that freedom lies profound respect even if disagreement exists. If the dog is truly free to say "No, thanks" and we are truly willing to accept that answer, then we are engaged in persuasion. Often while out walking, I'll tell Bee, "Gimme that!" Whatever her response-giving me the toy so I can throw it or keeping it herself-is fine with me; she is truly free to do as she likes in that situation. "Gimme that" is not a command but a suggestion, an attempt to persuade her to let me have the toy. I have to be very clear in my own mind what is a suggestion and what is a command and maintain absolute consistence on the distinction. But persuasion has limits, and especially within the

  context of our role as guardians and caretakers, persu
asion may fail. In some situations, compulsion or coercion may be justified, especially if the consequences of a failure to respond or act in a certain way can be dangerous or even deadly. Few of us would choose persuasion to deal with a child about to stick a fork into an electrical outlet or walk into traffic; most of us would simply forcefully compel the child to stop. The moment we begin to limit the dog's options, when "no" is not an acceptable response, we are no longer persuading but coercing. Webster's New Collegiate Dictionary defines coerce as 1.ffrestrain or dominate by nullifying individual will 2.!-pel to an act or choice 3.ffenforce or bring about by force or threat Coercion covers the full gamut from mild restraint (physical or psychological] to outright physical assault, but it always involves denying another complete freedom in some way. Though coercion contains the I thought about this a long time and realized that no matter how modest or unimportant the goal, the moment I have something I want, an outcome I desire more than other possible outcomes, there arises the possibility for anger, and further along that spectrum, the possibility of cruelty if I am willing to pursue my goal at any cost, even at the expense of another living being. We may not take the achievement of a goal to Machiavellian extremes. But simply shaping a goal and focusing on it has the additional effect of narrowing our perspective; aimed at our goal, we may forget the dog beside us. I essential and nonessential Despite an unpleasantly substantial knowledge of how animals are abused in the name of training, I remain fascinated with what is possible between a human and an animal. I know what it is to set off in pursuit of a goal with an animal as my partner, and I know how easy it is to gaze in desirous unblinking thrall at the goal and lose sight of the very real animal at my side. And yet, the pursuit of excellence is a good and noble cause, one that asks, What might be? What is

  possible? How far can we go? When we ask these questions of ourselves, we are bound only by the effects of our actions on those around us and are relatively free to push ourselves quite hard in pursuit of a goal. But a far more problematic question arises when we select an animal as our partner. How far can we ask animals to go with us without crossing the line into inhumane? After all, what is it that allows an animal to shine, bringing his utmost to a task, displaying his talents with confidence and joy? In the best of all possible worlds it is simply this: the relationship between the animal and a human. If within a healthy and mutually joyful relationship, the dogsthuman team strives for the highest performance of which they as a team are capable, then that is gilding on an already lovely gem. To the best of my knowledge, no dog has ever leapt on to his owner's bed with a dog magazine in his teeth and announced, "You've got to read this! They're now offering a new title! If I can just learn to do x, y and z, and do it in less than fifty-three seconds without any mistakes, then I could be Champion Oh My Goodness Gracious!" And this is the little notion that somehow is overlooked at one time or another by even the best, most loving dog owners: The dogs aren't volunteers. They are drafted. I have no problems with "drafting" a dog to learn new skills and hone his God-given talents. To a large extent, dogs and other animals who are highly trained often lead interesting lives with a degree of stimulation simply not found in the backyard or pasture. I've seen the eagerness in the eyes of a dog who is asked to work at that which he loves best, whether it is herding sheep or hunting birds or prancing at heel in precise harmony with his handler or providing gentle, loving company as a therapy dog. Deprived of the natural stimulation of life in a pack, dogs what Timmy never Dm to lassie

  are highly intelligent beings who welcome the opportunity to use their minds in new ways. So, in theory, educating an animal is a good thing. In practice, however, something else often happens. There are many approaches to training, all promising to help you turn your dog into a well-mannered canine citizen, a goal that at first blush seems laudable indeed. Though the end result may be a good thing, not all ways of getting to that end are; not all of them are fair and humane. Though the goal of a

  well-mannered canine citizen is a good one, we must be careful about what we are willing to do in order to achieve that goal. We need to make the distinction between essential life skills and nonessential life skills. Such a distinction helps us to clearly define the relative importance of what is being taught. Without such a distinction, how do we choose what might be most appropriate for our dogs, our lifestyles, the kind of relationships we hope to have? The emphasis we place on the importance of teaching a dog x, y or z says a great deal about us, and about the relationship between us and our dogs. Care should be taken that we are clear in our own minds about what we consider important enough to achieve at almost any cost and what we will not do. It's far too easy to get caught up in niceties that have nothing to do with cooperation and good manners from the dog. Common sense would tell us that when essential life skills are involved, there may be some convincing rationale for working persistently to make sure the skills are mastered, regardless of whether a dog or person actually enjoys the process, though I think we have an ethical obligation to do our level best to make learning as pleasant as possible. Humane training is possible when we are very clear about what we are trying to teach, and how we are going to teach it, and also why we are convinced that it is important that our dog know a particular something. The importance we assign any particular goal will dictate our willingness to accept even distasteful ways of achieving that goal. Whenever we forget that we are dealing with draftees and not volunteers, when we mistake willingness and enthusiasm for informed consent, we begin a dangerous movement away from the dog as our friend, our partner and toward the dog as an object to be shaped-however necessary-to suit our needs and expectations. Essential life skills are the skills and behaviors that a dog needs to learn so that he has maximum freedom and minimal risk and stress in his world. For each dog, this means something different. There is no book that will outline behaviors and neatly assign them a category: essential or

  nonessential. It's not even possible to pick a single behavior and say it is essential for all dogs. The set of life skills that each dog needs to have varies tremendously from dog to dog and is uniquely shaped by his life. For example, I could ask my dogs to heel precisely on the way to the barn, but I don't need them to do that. Since we live far from any road, there is a lot of flexibility in how we and our dogs move together through the farm. In their life, precise heeling does not constitute an essential life skill. What I do consider an essential life skill is a willingness to lie down quickly when asked, and to stay where dropped until released. Such action may save their lives or keep them from harm's way, and so I do insist on a fairly high degree of precision on this score. Because I consider this an essential life skill for my dogs, I am willing to use some degree of force to assure their compliance. But I have to be critically honest about my expectations and a dog's understanding. To the extent that I bring my time, attention and investment of myself to the practice of this essential skill, they comply largely without need for anything but the mildest compulsion-a mildly scolding "ehVery or a light hand of reminder on a neck. When I let quick drops and steady stays slip, they let it slip as well not because they are lazy or resistant dogs but because it does not matter to them. It only matters to me, and thus it is my responsibility to maintain a high level of awareness about this, and my obligation to remain invested in maintenance of the behavior. If I am unaware of my responsibility and blame the dogs, who do not understand the importance of the behavior as one way to keep them safe in their world, then I might slip over the edge and justify using force, placing the blame on the dogs and not on myself where it belongs. when the answer Is No It would be nice if a checklist existed that neatly pointed us to what was naughty and what was nice in terms of our response to a particular sit- were i uation or behavior. But nothing is as clear-cut as we might like, and within the context of a relationship, we have to do the work of making choices for our own behavior

  in every situation. In a situation where I am going to compel, not persuade, I do my level best to
use the absolute minimum of compulsion that will be effective. This is an ongoing challenge, because there is no set limit of what is or is not effective with any particular dog at any particular moment. The situation, the respective moods of the dog and myself, the weather, what happened a moment before or a week before, what we had for breakfast or lunch-because all this combines to create a unique moment, there's not a way to predict or recommend the level of compulsion that constitutes an effective communication in that moment. Fine points must be considered and taken into account. If, for example, I say that a dog refused to lie down on command, that is insufficient information on which any humane trainer could make a recommendation as to how this should be handled. "My dog will not lie down on command" is nothing more than the first line in a possible lengthy discussion and examination of why this might be so and therefore what is to be done. To the extent that we are willing to thoroughly engage ourselves in this discussion, sincerely interested in the possibly answer, we are working in a humane and loving way. When we are no longer curious, when we no longer care what the explanation might be, we have opened the door to cruelty. There is nothing humane or fair in a refusal to acknowledge another being's legitimate reason for doing something other than what we wanted or expected. Why didn't the dog lie down? The simplest answer-the one we allow for in our human relationships but rarely in our relationships with animals comis that the answer is no for whatever reason. Far too often when communicating with dogs, we are not really interested in communication or a dialogue; we are interested in finding ways to tell the dog what we want him to do (or not do). And this is where communication ceases to exist, and dictatorship, no matter how benevolent, begins. If someone we loved or at least deeply respected said no to us, a healthy and respectful response would be "why not?"-asked with the sincere intention to understand the other's point of view. If we can get past the flare of annoyance or even anger at their refusal, if we are sincerely interested and open ourselves to listening, we can