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 dog/human 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 anything and everything 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, persuasion 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. To restrain or dominate by nullifying individual will
2. To compel to an act or choice
3. To enforce 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 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. 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.
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 dog/human 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 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 ind
eed. 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 “eh!” 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 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—is 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 learn perhaps that while they might like to respond to us, they can’t for any variety of reasons. Before we can choose a humane and fair response, we need to hear the full message that the dog is sending. Is the dog saying “No, I don’t understand how to do that” or “No, I’m confused” or something else? Perhaps they are physically unable, or they find the act frightening (never ask my mother to hold a horse, even briefly!) or they have something else they’d rather do. They may be bored or uninterested. We may have hurt them or confused them, making them reluctant to work with us again. They may have other priorities. They may have no respect for us—this is a possibility that should be carefully examined when we have gone past the point of friendly conversation and request and are now in the demand/command stage of insisting. If we love them, if the relationship is important to us, we will listen for the rationale behind the refusal or resistance, and our hearts will be guided by the trust that even if it cannot be fully understood or articulated, they have a good reason for saying no.
This does not mean when a dog or anyone says no we simply give up and wander off in search of someone more compliant. It is possible to honor the reason behind a dog’s refusal and still decide how you will insist on compliance. My experience is that very often, an animal needs an acknowledgment of the motivation behind his resistance more than he needs us to simply withdraw our request. Though it sounds terribly simple, I am endlessly amazed by what happens when I assure an animal that I do understand why he finds something unpleasant or scary, and I believe that like all people I know, animals also need to be heard. It may be only that the animals are responding to the shift in me when I work with them in such moments, offering my sympathy, which in turn shapes and
informs my very actions. But this limited explanation does not explain the look I have seen in the eyes of creatures too many and too varied to list—a look of gratitude for having been acknowledged. Whatever the truth behind this phenomenon may be, I don’t care; it is enough for me to know what can happen when I respectfully acknowledge another being’s resistance as something as fully justified and real as my insistence on another path.
If you understand what lies behind no, if you understand why you have placed a particular value on compliance, if you know your own heart, then you are clear to make a choice to compel and to do so as fairly as your knowledge and skill allow. If you understand what lies behind the refusal, you are also given the gift of understanding that perhaps changing course is necessary, or that in the future, when you come again to a crossroads, you’ll do better to choose another route.
While we may be uncomfortable thinking about coercion as part of a relationship, it is something we need to consider in our pursuit of humane, loving treatment of a creature in our care. At times, we may have no option but to coerce the dog’s compliance. But even in those moments where we cannot fully honor another being’s complete freedom, we do need to honor his refusal as a valuable communication that will be taken into consideration and may influence our own actions. If we are going to use coercion—however gently—then let us do so with awareness, lest it become both justified and comfortable for us, perhaps leading to a complacency we ought not to feel. Complacent, we may stop seeking—always, relentlessly, in the name of love—for ways to engage a dog’s voluntary cooperation without the need for force; such ways often do exist, though they may require a far greater investment of ourselves. If we are unwilling to invest ourselves to achieve a more humane end, we need to be honest with ourselves about this, not rationalize our behavior as necessary. Coercion is a slippery slope, and in whatever varying degrees we bring it to bear, it permits (though does not guarantee) the existence of cruelty. So we need to tread very carefully and be very clear about which side of the fence we are on: Are we persuading or coercing? Coercion may be inevitable and a part of life, but it need not equal cruelty, especially if we are willing to keep our eyes clear so that we can truly see the dog.
Bones Would Rain from the Sky Page 28