Irresistible

This dreamboat is Chauncy, my current pal at the Oregon Humane Society. Would you believe that the photo doesn't really do him justice? This gray but balmy morning, I had him out on the path behind OHS: a lovely, steep descent to an honest to goodness duck pond (with honest to goodness ducks!). Our initial walks there were sweaty, staccato affairs, with Chauncy rarely managing more than two steps on a loose leash between forward lunges (his) and dead stops (mine) for the first three loops of five we'd make before returning up the hill. But he caught on very quickly to the fact that a click may mean chicken-liver deliciousness in his kennel and forward motion out of it. (Some trainers prefer to keep the clicker-food association pure, but to my mind what's critical is that the click should always predict some powerful primary reinforcement. If I'm in a situation where a dog cares less about a high value food treat than he does about moving toward a squirrel or shrub or flying disc -- or away from a scary human, lawn mower, or dog -- I have a clear indication as to which is the strongest available reinforcer, and I'll use it to back up the promise I make with the clicker. In that way, I maintain the power of the click both to reinforce and to inform.) He's made great progress toward good leash manners, so I'm not getting nearly as much of a workout, but we both get to enjoy the blooming spring. (Ah, fickle Portland skies! The wind just kicked up and started slinging hail against my window.)

Chauncy hasn't been out "on the floor" for a few weeks, owing to some separation anxiety and the consequent difficulties he's had staying calm when people walk by or enter and leave his kennel. But there, too, he's much improved. When I work with him back in Dog Isolation (which sounds like harsh punishment for miscreants but is in fact a lower-stimulus, lower-stress environment for sensitive types like Chauncy), I often do a modified version of Dr. Karen Overall's Relaxation Protocol, rewarding him for remaining in a down while I do various distracting and potentially anxiety-producing things like stepping away from him, rattling the kennel latch, turning my back, or waving my arms. The reward is twofold: I return to him (the "functional reward" for a dog with separation distress) and I give him a food treat (a "bonus reward" but also an aid to calming when not overwhelmingly delicious). He used to give desperate "hugs" when I left his kennel, but he's now able to keep all four feet on the floor and sometimes even to hold a sit when I go.

In the early, bouncy days, I tried the same thing with Chauncy that had worked with Loretta: rubbing his chest or shoulder for a few seconds, then clicking and treating him if he remained in a sit. It's an easy way to build the reinforcing power of touch, and in Chauncy's case it had the lovely unintended consequence of prompting him to gaze oh so soulfully into my eyes. If I wanted to put this behavior on cue, I'd call it "adopt me now!" but its spontaneity is a big part of its charm.