Recently I had the opportunity to speak at the annual conference of the Association of Pet Dog Trainers and, in one of those fits of inspiration that occur far too seldom when I seek to end a presentation just so, I remembered Lao-tzu’s words about teachers:
Good teachers are best when students barely know they exist
Not so good when students always obey and acclaim them
Worse when students despise them.
Of good teachers, when their work is done and their aims fulfilled,
The student will say, “I did this myself.”
In the past I’ve paraphrased this profound sentiment to address the relationship between veterinarians and their clients and I paraphrased it at this meeting to include the trainer-owner relationship. However, even as I said these words I realized that I’d overlooked a critical participant in any animal-related endeavor: the animals themselves. I want to correct that oversight now.
In retrospect, I should have said that when the aims of a good trainer (or behaviorist or veterinarian) are fulfilled, the owner will say, “My animal and I did this ourselves.” And the same holds true for owners teaching their pets new skills, too, because it’s not really about us doing something to an animal the way we, for example, fill the gas tank or change a windshield wiper blade on a car, is it? Animals are complex beings whose health, behavior and relationship with us constantly alter them even as their presence constantly alters us.
Even though all those experiments which placed animals in little boxes with keys to press for food rewards or electrical shocks claimed to prove how animals learn, in reality they told, and tell, us far more about how some humans believe animals should be taught. According to these folks, we need to eliminate the variables in order to reveal some scientific truth. Or, the more telling verb that’s often used, we need to control the variables.
The idea that physical and/or behavioral changes in domestic animals occur as the result of human control occurs repeatedly in the animal-related literature. In spite of the fact that most sick animals, like most sick people, will get better on their own with or without treatment, we automatically credit any treatment rather than the animal’s inherent healing ability if the animal recovers. Spontaneous remissions from serious diseases makes those in the medical community uneasy far more often than jubilant. At the opposite end of the spectrum, animals who respond less than we desire unnerved us as much as those who respond more. If our medical treatments don’t work, we give more drugs more often or longer or change to a different drug.
We see the same human responses to animal behavioral problems, too. If an animal masters a certain behavior we value, it’s always possible to find some person willing to accept credit for teaching the animal that skill. And while an individual owner might delight in the wonderful trick Slinky taught herself, such creative canine displays will lose her points with those who expect dogs only to respond when and how those humans want those animals to respond. If our approaches don’t work, once again our first inclination is to assume that there’s something wrong with the animal, not our approach. If we use punishment in training, we punish more; if we use food, we increase the number and palatability of the treats and may even starve animals with minimum interest in food to force them to accept this training process.
At some point it seems to me that we need to stand back and ask what the purpose of all this is: Do we really want healthy animals, do we really want them to learn, or do we only want those animals whose health and behavior we can control using various methods that appeal to us? If we see our purpose as achieving and preserving quality animal physical and mental health, then it seems to me that we should incorporate these animals and their needs into the process. Rather than feeling obligated to ignore or control all those variables that make an individual animal’s health, behavior, and relationship with us (be we owners or animal care-givers of one sort or another) so unique, maybe it’s time to expand our limited medical and training processes to give these variables the consideration they deserve.
Some of the most gratifying reports I get from clients say things like, “I was thinking about what you suggested and after thinking about it, I decided that this would work better for Dixie and me.” True, years ago in my ego-phase (all right, in my Little Goddess phase) the idea that someone would dare to tweak my proposed treatment would irritate me. Yes, I did use verbs like “suggest” or “recommend” during my discussion with these folks. However, I fully expected them to do what I wanted. With age and experience and, I like to think, the confidence that goes with this, the need for others—human or animal—to do things my way no longer seems important. It’s more important that owners and their pets recognize that the bulk of the power to heal lies within each one of them and their relationship with each other. Rather than seeing my job as one of control, I see it as creating an environment that allows this human-animal healing magic to occur.
I have no idea if any others in animal-related professions agree with this orientation. All in know is that I believe Lao-tzu would.
Recently I had the opportunity to speak at the annual conference of the Association of Pet Dog Trainers and, in one of those fits of inspiration that occur far too seldom when I seek to end a presentation just so, I remembered Lao-tzu’s words about teachers:
In the past I’ve paraphrased this profound sentiment to address the relationship between veterinarians and their clients and I paraphrased it at this meeting to include the trainer-owner relationship. However, even as I said these words I realized that I’d overlooked a critical participant in any animal-related endeavor: the animals themselves. I want to correct that oversight now.
In retrospect, I should have said that when the aims of a good trainer (or behaviorist or veterinarian) are fulfilled, the owner will say, “My animal and I did this ourselves.” And the same holds true for owners teaching their pets new skills, too, because it’s not really about us doing something to an animal the way we, for example, fill the gas tank or change a windshield wiper blade on a car, is it? Animals are complex beings whose health, behavior and relationship with us constantly alter them even as their presence constantly alters us.
Even though all those experiments which placed animals in little boxes with keys to press for food rewards or electrical shocks claimed to prove how animals learn, in reality they told, and tell, us far more about how some humans believe animals should be taught. According to these folks, we need to eliminate the variables in order to reveal some scientific truth. Or, the more telling verb that’s often used, we need to control the variables.
The idea that physical and/or behavioral changes in domestic animals occur as the result of human control occurs repeatedly in the animal-related literature. In spite of the fact that most sick animals, like most sick people, will get better on their own with or without treatment, we automatically credit any treatment rather than the animal’s inherent healing ability if the animal recovers. Spontaneous remissions from serious diseases makes those in the medical community uneasy far more often than jubilant. At the opposite end of the spectrum, animals who respond less than we desire unnerved us as much as those who respond more. If our medical treatments don’t work, we give more drugs more often or longer or change to a different drug.
We see the same human responses to animal behavioral problems, too. If an animal masters a certain behavior we value, it’s always possible to find some person willing to accept credit for teaching the animal that skill. And while an individual owner might delight in the wonderful trick Slinky taught herself, such creative canine displays will lose her points with those who expect dogs only to respond when and how those humans want those animals to respond. If our approaches don’t work, once again our first inclination is to assume that there’s something wrong with the animal, not our approach. If we use punishment in training, we punish more; if we use food, we increase the number and palatability of the treats and may even starve animals with minimum interest in food to force them to accept this training process.
At some point it seems to me that we need to stand back and ask what the purpose of all this is: Do we really want healthy animals, do we really want them to learn, or do we only want those animals whose health and behavior we can control using various methods that appeal to us? If we see our purpose as achieving and preserving quality animal physical and mental health, then it seems to me that we should incorporate these animals and their needs into the process. Rather than feeling obligated to ignore or control all those variables that make an individual animal’s health, behavior, and relationship with us (be we owners or animal care-givers of one sort or another) so unique, maybe it’s time to expand our limited medical and training processes to give these variables the consideration they deserve.
Some of the most gratifying reports I get from clients say things like, “I was thinking about what you suggested and after thinking about it, I decided that this would work better for Dixie and me.” True, years ago in my ego-phase (all right, in my Little Goddess phase) the idea that someone would dare to tweak my proposed treatment would irritate me. Yes, I did use verbs like “suggest” or “recommend” during my discussion with these folks. However, I fully expected them to do what I wanted. With age and experience and, I like to think, the confidence that goes with this, the need for others—human or animal—to do things my way no longer seems important. It’s more important that owners and their pets recognize that the bulk of the power to heal lies within each one of them and their relationship with each other. Rather than seeing my job as one of control, I see it as creating an environment that allows this human-animal healing magic to occur.
I have no idea if any others in animal-related professions agree with this orientation. All in know is that I believe Lao-tzu would.