For eleven weeks I was privileged to watch one of my dogs, Frica, imparting those lessons she considered critical to the survival of her three pups. What I learned from her further increased my conviction that we need to reevaluate the way teach animals. It also taught me how little we humans actually know about the animals over who we claim stewardship.
Among the many elements of this process that fascinated me was the difference between how Frica taught her pups and what is commonly viewed as canine learning theory among animal-care professionals. The body of scientific studies that comprise the latter primarily describes how animals learn human-defined tasks using a process and in an environment designed by humans based on human beliefs and perceptions. This is comparable to testing people’s knowledge of a subject that has no relevancy to them, using a testing method that may or may not be user-friendly for that particular individual. An example of this might be asking a person with excellent verbal skills, but poor math ones, to solve 10 math problems in 10 minutes. No one who has experienced such “learning” horror shows would argue that this process represents sound understanding of how they learn and the best way to teach them.
Watching Frica’s real-life teaching-learning interactions with her puppies was a different experience altogether. Some of the things she did took me a while to get used to and I freely admit it was difficult not to impose my will on the process. The big one was that, from the beginning, she felt no obligation to be with and constantly fuss over her young. The first week I was a wreck because she would tend to their needs, then jump out of the pen in which I’d placed the maternity suite (i.e., a tastefully appointed crate) and then seek me out wherever I was, including in bed in the next room. I’d carry her back and she’d jump out again. I even went so far as to sleep on the floor in the room with the pups, but she would still sleep by me rather than with them.
Being a slow human, it took me a while to grasp that she left them, not because there was something wrong with her, but because they were fine. She’d fed and cleaned them and they were warm and comfy. As time went on, I realized that there were periods every day in which she was with them and those when she was not. By the time the last puppy left a week after his brother, all of them knew how to amuse and be comfortable by themselves. Only then did I realize that she had taught them to succeed in the human environments that give so many over-indulged pets problems, those in which the owners’ work or other activities necessitate the animal being left alone.
When Frica was with her pups, she was a model of energy-efficiency. For the first month, she spent all of her time in the pen staying one step ahead of them, showing them how to properly play and interact with her. Not only that, she taught each of her offspring according to his needs. One of the pups was bigger and developmentally older and more rambunctious than the other two, and she spent a great deal of time teaching him patience and gentleness. Simultaneously, she encouraged the other two to be more adventuresome and playful. By the time she was finished with them, instead of the bigger pup beating up on the other two, they constantly switched roles with the pinner becoming the pinned in games that left me exhausted just watching them.
In the next phase, Frica perched on the ottoman I’d placed next to the pen and observed their interactions from above. As soon as anyone got out of line, she gave the miscreant “The Look.” If the misbehavior continued, she was in the pen to discipline the miscreant swiftly and unemotionally. Similarly, if the puppies became distressed for some reason (they were forever going between the back of the crate and one side of the pen and deciding they were stuck), she immediately jumped into the pen and offered problem-solving encouragement. Compare that to my human inclination which was to immediately “rescue” them.
As the pups grew, she moved to the floor outside the pen and carefully observed them while they played and explored their increasingly complex world as I added to objects and toys to it every day. Based on what I observed, it appeared that she was now giving them longer to figure things out for themselves, whether that be a tiff with a sibling or getting a toy beyond their reach. After a week of that, she would sleep beside the pen, then further and further way in that seemingly oblivious but awake-in-an-instant way of good parents of all species.
Every night while I read before going to bed and every morning while I did my yoga, Frica would jump into the pen with her puppies for a half hour to 45 minutes. At first, she would be nursing them. However, as time went on, I would check on her and she and the pups would be lined up like furry sphinxes beside each other. I knew they were communicating, but I had no idea what. And once again I realized how paltry human sensory perception and communication were when compared to that of animals.
I could and maybe at some future point will write about the changes in their relationship once the pups got old enough to go outside. Suffice it to say, Frica’s teaching methods were always so subtle and energy-efficient that I often didn’t even realize she was in her teaching mode. Or rather, it finally dawned on me that, unlike us humans and the teaching and learning methods we impose on animals, she was always in her teaching mode and her pups were always learning. It wasn’t a process for any of them. It was a way of life.
One final image I want to share because it sticks so clearly in my mind. I kept the last puppy, Duffy, for his owners until he was eleven weeks old. Although he was good about relieving himself outdoors, if I was out there with him he was too distracted by my presence. Because of this, I’d put him in an exercise pen and go inside and watch him through the window. Within a matter of minutes, he’d relieve himself, I’d spring him, and he and Frica and I would play.
One gray and rainy day, I put him in the pen as usual. This time, however, he decided he wanted out nowand started to make a fuss as soon as I came indoors. Then the most amazing thing happened. Frica walked to within 3 feet of the pen and then stood there like a statue looking at him. At first, he barked and whined at her. Then he dug at the grass at the base of the pen. Still she stood there staring at him without moving a muscle. Soon it began to rain harder and he made more of a fuss. Inside, I was torn. Frica looked like a frozen, dripping hairball and Duffy like an animated wet one. Still, her utter stillness intrigued me. What was going on between the two of them?
I’ll never know. However, I do know the result. Duffy suddenly settled, peed and pooped, and his mom went over to him wagging her tail.
The evening and morning after Duffy left, Frica ran up the stairs to the office where I kept the pen as usual. She whined and scratched at the newly laundered fleece mat that had been in the pen and which was now back in the dog bed in the corner. Then she raced downstairs again and jumped into my arms and studied me intently.
“They’re gone,” I said, failing miserably in my attempts not to cry.
She licked me: I know.
It took us a few more days until we both accepted it, but thanks to her, they’ll be fine.
And so will we.
If you have any comments regarding subject matter, favorite links, or anything you’d like to see discussed on or added to this site, please let me know at mm@mmilani.com.
For eleven weeks I was privileged to watch one of my dogs, Frica, imparting those lessons she considered critical to the survival of her three pups. What I learned from her further increased my conviction that we need to reevaluate the way teach animals. It also taught me how little we humans actually know about the animals over who we claim stewardship.
Watching Frica’s real-life teaching-learning interactions with her puppies was a different experience altogether. Some of the things she did took me a while to get used to and I freely admit it was difficult not to impose my will on the process. The big one was that, from the beginning, she felt no obligation to be with and constantly fuss over her young. The first week I was a wreck because she would tend to their needs, then jump out of the pen in which I’d placed the maternity suite (i.e., a tastefully appointed crate) and then seek me out wherever I was, including in bed in the next room. I’d carry her back and she’d jump out again. I even went so far as to sleep on the floor in the room with the pups, but she would still sleep by me rather than with them.
Being a slow human, it took me a while to grasp that she left them, not because there was something wrong with her, but because they were fine. She’d fed and cleaned them and they were warm and comfy. As time went on, I realized that there were periods every day in which she was with them and those when she was not. By the time the last puppy left a week after his brother, all of them knew how to amuse and be comfortable by themselves. Only then did I realize that she had taught them to succeed in the human environments that give so many over-indulged pets problems, those in which the owners’ work or other activities necessitate the animal being left alone.
When Frica was with her pups, she was a model of energy-efficiency. For the first month, she spent all of her time in the pen staying one step ahead of them, showing them how to properly play and interact with her. Not only that, she taught each of her offspring according to his needs. One of the pups was bigger and developmentally older and more rambunctious than the other two, and she spent a great deal of time teaching him patience and gentleness. Simultaneously, she encouraged the other two to be more adventuresome and playful. By the time she was finished with them, instead of the bigger pup beating up on the other two, they constantly switched roles with the pinner becoming the pinned in games that left me exhausted just watching them.
As the pups grew, she moved to the floor outside the pen and carefully observed them while they played and explored their increasingly complex world as I added to objects and toys to it every day. Based on what I observed, it appeared that she was now giving them longer to figure things out for themselves, whether that be a tiff with a sibling or getting a toy beyond their reach. After a week of that, she would sleep beside the pen, then further and further way in that seemingly oblivious but awake-in-an-instant way of good parents of all species.
Every night while I read before going to bed and every morning while I did my yoga, Frica would jump into the pen with her puppies for a half hour to 45 minutes. At first, she would be nursing them. However, as time went on, I would check on her and she and the pups would be lined up like furry sphinxes beside each other. I knew they were communicating, but I had no idea what. And once again I realized how paltry human sensory perception and communication were when compared to that of animals.
I could and maybe at some future point will write about the changes in their relationship once the pups got old enough to go outside. Suffice it to say, Frica’s teaching methods were always so subtle and energy-efficient that I often didn’t even realize she was in her teaching mode. Or rather, it finally dawned on me that, unlike us humans and the teaching and learning methods we impose on animals, she was always in her teaching mode and her pups were always learning. It wasn’t a process for any of them. It was a way of life.
One final image I want to share because it sticks so clearly in my mind. I kept the last puppy, Duffy, for his owners until he was eleven weeks old. Although he was good about relieving himself outdoors, if I was out there with him he was too distracted by my presence. Because of this, I’d put him in an exercise pen and go inside and watch him through the window. Within a matter of minutes, he’d relieve himself, I’d spring him, and he and Frica and I would play.
One gray and rainy day, I put him in the pen as usual. This time, however, he decided he wanted out nowand started to make a fuss as soon as I came indoors. Then the most amazing thing happened. Frica walked to within 3 feet of the pen and then stood there like a statue looking at him. At first, he barked and whined at her. Then he dug at the grass at the base of the pen. Still she stood there staring at him without moving a muscle. Soon it began to rain harder and he made more of a fuss. Inside, I was torn. Frica looked like a frozen, dripping hairball and Duffy like an animated wet one. Still, her utter stillness intrigued me. What was going on between the two of them?
I’ll never know. However, I do know the result. Duffy suddenly settled, peed and pooped, and his mom went over to him wagging her tail.
The evening and morning after Duffy left, Frica ran up the stairs to the office where I kept the pen as usual. She whined and scratched at the newly laundered fleece mat that had been in the pen and which was now back in the dog bed in the corner. Then she raced downstairs again and jumped into my arms and studied me intently.
“They’re gone,” I said, failing miserably in my attempts not to cry.
She licked me: I know.
It took us a few more days until we both accepted it, but thanks to her, they’ll be fine.
And so will we.
If you have any comments regarding subject matter, favorite links, or anything you’d like to see discussed on or added to this site, please let me know at mm@mmilani.com.