Not the way I want to remember Ollie
No sooner did I finish Never Have Your Dog Stuffed, a memoir written by Alan Alda, than I began thinking about how experiences with companion animals may carry over into other parts of our lives. For young, only child Alda, a black cocker spaniel made the isolation, boredom and pain of polio bearable. When the dog died unexpectedly, he became so distraught that his father took the body to a taxidermist in hopes of lessening the loss. I won’t give away what happened except to say that the result was not what they expected, much worse than Ollie’s camera-phobic expression in this picture.
For Alda, this experience served as a life-long reminder of the need to let go and move on. I share this philosophy in general and also specifically as it relates to interactions with animals throughout their and our lives. Ironically even though domestication physiologically and behaviorally primes domestic animals to depend on us, many people consciously or subconsciously perceive significant animals in their lives as reference points. Within that context, our beliefs about those animals or their care may function as reference points too.
But just as we change throughout our lives, so do our animals and our relationships with them. If all goes well, the puppy or kitten becomes an adolescent, then an adult, then middle-aged, followed by the senior years that eventually end in death following a long and rewarding life and lots of good memories to ease the loss. But how they and we make these transitions often is influenced by our beliefs. And like some scientists, sometimes we become so attached to our beliefs that we hate to let them go. They haunt our lives like stuffed animals wearing fixed expressions that never change regardless of the changes in their surroundings.
Over the years several of these creations have haunted the collective animal medical and behavioral psyche. Let’s look at a few examples.
The Antibiotic Apparition
When antibiotics first became available many believed their arrival signaled the end of bacterial diseases. And initially these medications did live up to their “miracle drug” billing. As this belief grew stronger though, practitioners and animal-owners became sloppy. Because multiple bacterial species succumbed to these drugs, concern about pinning down the exact species by getting a thorough history, doing a thorough physical examination, and running any necessary diagnostic tests decreased. Soon antibiotics were dispensed even for viral infections against which they had no effect. Even worse, they were dispensed to compensate for any breaches of cleanliness and sterility in the surgical or hospitalization process.
On the owner side, as our lives became more complex we increasingly wanted the veterinary process to progress as quickly and inexpensively as possible. If antibiotics worked the last time the dog coughed or the cat peed in the tub, we wanted them again. If the veterinarian said the dog had a virus that would run its course, we didn’t want to hear that. Nor did we want to hear that the cat’s peeing this time more likely was behavioral than bacterial.
As the data continues to roll in showing increased antibiotic resistance worldwide and an increase is serious bacterial infections for which few, if any, effective treatments exist, we now face a choice. The science, hype, and placebo effect that sustained the old belief is gone: Do we want to stuff it and pretend it’s still alive and well? Or do we want to let it go and replace it with something more viable given what’s known today?
Note: Another variation on this same theme currently unfolding is the use of human antidepressants to treat a wide range of animal behavioral problems.
The Socialization Spirit
The need to socialize young animals was based on experiments done decades ago under what many today would consider inhumane conditions. As happened with antibiotics, the concept fell prey to the belief that if a little was good, more would be even better. Eventually this reached its current peak (or low point) in which adopters of animals from stimulus-deprived relative to the average pet household, but otherwise highly stressful backgrounds are being urged to socialize their pups as much and as fast as possible.
However given what we now know about neurophysiology and learning, it makes no sense to subject an already stressed animal with a low stimulus threshold to a barrage of stimulation. These animals need a time to acclimate to their environments and people to the point these become reliable reference point the animal can trust. They need the confidence that comes from knowing this for optimum mental and emotional development.
Exposing these animals to lots of novel stimuli doesn’t permit this. Some of these young animals may overload immediately. Others may survive this barrage, but then begin to show signs of aggression or separation anxiety later.
And speaking of separation anxiety, there is nothing about socialization that teaches a young animal to be comfortable when alone. On the contrary, it makes being alone more difficult for two reasons.
1. It provides few opportunities for the development of the self-control and self-reinforcement that sustain animals when alone.
2. The socialization process often assigns the owner(s) and other people a more reactive role that increases the probability that the animal will experience stress when left alone.
Given how many pet-owners work or spend a fair amount of time away from home, it may be time to decide whether this belief remains viable.
The All-Positive Phantom
The idea of an all-positive anything is attractive but unrealistic. As the old bumper sticker reminds us, “Shit happens.” How much of it and how long it lasts depends on the human or nonhuman animal’s ability to cope. Learning by experience is critically important to animal survival. Quality animal parents or parental surrogates teach by examples that allow the young a certain amount of choice regarding their responses. While adults will attempt to save the lives of impulsive or non-thinking youngsters if possible, they won’t shield them from all negative consequences. These adults don’t do this because they don’t care. They do it because they want the young to learn about the dangers of real life and the proper response to them.
I’m not sure when and how the all-positive belief arrived on the scene. The most likely source seems to be behaviorism which only offers 2 teaching options: reward or punishment. Perhaps it occurs when people define the ultimate reward as some sort of Garden of Eden or other paradise for their animals. However traditionally these are after-death states and attempts to create and sustain them on this earth inevitably have succumbed to real world problems of one sort or another.
Another aspect of the all-positive belief is rarely discussed: the negative emotions it generates when it fails. When her dog snaps at Mary when she tells him to move over on the couch so she can sit down, like most of us she intuitively recognizes that rewarding the dog for doing this isn’t a smart thing to do. At that point she may become afraid of her own dog and opt to sit in the uncomfortable chair instead. But no one likes to feel afraid and the effect of that fear on the bond Mary has with her dog isn’t the least bit positive.
Or suppose Mary disciplines her dog but then feels guilty or even like failure, two other common responses in these situations. Or maybe she can accept that discipline was the correct response, but she continues to preach the all-positive philosophy to others. Over time the hypocrisy of that double standard can take its toll too.
Although you may have strong feelings about which belief is the right one in these examples, the take-home point is that even the best belief may outlive its usefulness as we gain more knowledge and experience. Sometimes we may be able to adapt it to fit. But other times the best choice for us and our animals may be to let it go.
Not the way I want to remember Ollie
No sooner did I finish Never Have Your Dog Stuffed, a memoir written by Alan Alda, than I began thinking about how experiences with companion animals may carry over into other parts of our lives. For young, only child Alda, a black cocker spaniel made the isolation, boredom and pain of polio bearable. When the dog died unexpectedly, he became so distraught that his father took the body to a taxidermist in hopes of lessening the loss. I won’t give away what happened except to say that the result was not what they expected, much worse than Ollie’s camera-phobic expression in this picture.
For Alda, this experience served as a life-long reminder of the need to let go and move on. I share this philosophy in general and also specifically as it relates to interactions with animals throughout their and our lives. Ironically even though domestication physiologically and behaviorally primes domestic animals to depend on us, many people consciously or subconsciously perceive significant animals in their lives as reference points. Within that context, our beliefs about those animals or their care may function as reference points too.
But just as we change throughout our lives, so do our animals and our relationships with them. If all goes well, the puppy or kitten becomes an adolescent, then an adult, then middle-aged, followed by the senior years that eventually end in death following a long and rewarding life and lots of good memories to ease the loss. But how they and we make these transitions often is influenced by our beliefs. And like some scientists, sometimes we become so attached to our beliefs that we hate to let them go. They haunt our lives like stuffed animals wearing fixed expressions that never change regardless of the changes in their surroundings.
Over the years several of these creations have haunted the collective animal medical and behavioral psyche. Let’s look at a few examples.
The Antibiotic Apparition
When antibiotics first became available many believed their arrival signaled the end of bacterial diseases. And initially these medications did live up to their “miracle drug” billing. As this belief grew stronger though, practitioners and animal-owners became sloppy. Because multiple bacterial species succumbed to these drugs, concern about pinning down the exact species by getting a thorough history, doing a thorough physical examination, and running any necessary diagnostic tests decreased. Soon antibiotics were dispensed even for viral infections against which they had no effect. Even worse, they were dispensed to compensate for any breaches of cleanliness and sterility in the surgical or hospitalization process.
On the owner side, as our lives became more complex we increasingly wanted the veterinary process to progress as quickly and inexpensively as possible. If antibiotics worked the last time the dog coughed or the cat peed in the tub, we wanted them again. If the veterinarian said the dog had a virus that would run its course, we didn’t want to hear that. Nor did we want to hear that the cat’s peeing this time more likely was behavioral than bacterial.
As the data continues to roll in showing increased antibiotic resistance worldwide and an increase is serious bacterial infections for which few, if any, effective treatments exist, we now face a choice. The science, hype, and placebo effect that sustained the old belief is gone: Do we want to stuff it and pretend it’s still alive and well? Or do we want to let it go and replace it with something more viable given what’s known today?
Note: Another variation on this same theme currently unfolding is the use of human antidepressants to treat a wide range of animal behavioral problems.
The Socialization Spirit
The need to socialize young animals was based on experiments done decades ago under what many today would consider inhumane conditions. As happened with antibiotics, the concept fell prey to the belief that if a little was good, more would be even better. Eventually this reached its current peak (or low point) in which adopters of animals from stimulus-deprived relative to the average pet household, but otherwise highly stressful backgrounds are being urged to socialize their pups as much and as fast as possible.
However given what we now know about neurophysiology and learning, it makes no sense to subject an already stressed animal with a low stimulus threshold to a barrage of stimulation. These animals need a time to acclimate to their environments and people to the point these become reliable reference point the animal can trust. They need the confidence that comes from knowing this for optimum mental and emotional development.
Exposing these animals to lots of novel stimuli doesn’t permit this. Some of these young animals may overload immediately. Others may survive this barrage, but then begin to show signs of aggression or separation anxiety later.
And speaking of separation anxiety, there is nothing about socialization that teaches a young animal to be comfortable when alone. On the contrary, it makes being alone more difficult for two reasons.
1. It provides few opportunities for the development of the self-control and self-reinforcement that sustain animals when alone.
2. The socialization process often assigns the owner(s) and other people a more reactive role that increases the probability that the animal will experience stress when left alone.
Given how many pet-owners work or spend a fair amount of time away from home, it may be time to decide whether this belief remains viable.
The All-Positive Phantom
The idea of an all-positive anything is attractive but unrealistic. As the old bumper sticker reminds us, “Shit happens.” How much of it and how long it lasts depends on the human or nonhuman animal’s ability to cope. Learning by experience is critically important to animal survival. Quality animal parents or parental surrogates teach by examples that allow the young a certain amount of choice regarding their responses. While adults will attempt to save the lives of impulsive or non-thinking youngsters if possible, they won’t shield them from all negative consequences. These adults don’t do this because they don’t care. They do it because they want the young to learn about the dangers of real life and the proper response to them.
I’m not sure when and how the all-positive belief arrived on the scene. The most likely source seems to be behaviorism which only offers 2 teaching options: reward or punishment. Perhaps it occurs when people define the ultimate reward as some sort of Garden of Eden or other paradise for their animals. However traditionally these are after-death states and attempts to create and sustain them on this earth inevitably have succumbed to real world problems of one sort or another.
Another aspect of the all-positive belief is rarely discussed: the negative emotions it generates when it fails. When her dog snaps at Mary when she tells him to move over on the couch so she can sit down, like most of us she intuitively recognizes that rewarding the dog for doing this isn’t a smart thing to do. At that point she may become afraid of her own dog and opt to sit in the uncomfortable chair instead. But no one likes to feel afraid and the effect of that fear on the bond Mary has with her dog isn’t the least bit positive.
Or suppose Mary disciplines her dog but then feels guilty or even like failure, two other common responses in these situations. Or maybe she can accept that discipline was the correct response, but she continues to preach the all-positive philosophy to others. Over time the hypocrisy of that double standard can take its toll too.
Although you may have strong feelings about which belief is the right one in these examples, the take-home point is that even the best belief may outlive its usefulness as we gain more knowledge and experience. Sometimes we may be able to adapt it to fit. But other times the best choice for us and our animals may be to let it go.