Читать книгу The Dog Listener: Learning the Language of your Best Friend - Monty Roberts, Jan Fennell - Страница 12

In a few short months I had gained a greater insight than I would have imagined possible. By taking time to watch my dogs interacting with each other, by listening to what they were telling me, I had picked up on some powerful knowledge. Behaviour I had seen in the wild was being repeated on a daily basis in my own home by my own dogs. I had begun to see how they enforced their will on others, how they showed supremacy, how they showed dominance. And there was no shouting because dogs don’t shout, no smacking because dogs don’t hit.

From my dogs, I had isolated three clear occasions when interaction was going on between them: at times of perceived danger, when they were going for a walk and when they were reuniting. At each of these times, I saw certain dogs being put in their place, the leader asserting its authority and the subordinates accepting that authority. What I wanted to know now was, how could I take this a step further?

To my mind, the most inspirational aspect of Monty Roberts’ work was the way he was able to replicate the behaviour of a horse even though he was a human. I knew that I had to try to follow his example and reproduce the behaviour of my dogs. I wanted to see how much difference it would make if I took charge in the way that a leader would do in the wild. I also, crucially, wanted to find out if it was something that should be done. Would there be any side effects, how would it impinge on the dogs’ wellbeing and quality of life? With this in mind, I knew the most important challenge was to develop a way of leading the dogs to decisions they were making of their own free will. As Monty puts it, I wanted a situation where if there was a meeting, I would be elected chairman. It was a daunting task.

Before I started, I knew two elements were of paramount importance. I was soon calling them ‘the two Cs’. I had to be consistent and I also had to be calm. For generations we have been taught to instil obedience in our dogs by barking orders at them. Words like ‘sit, stay, beg, come’, we have all used them. I use them myself. Dogs do recognise them, but not because they understand the meaning of the words. They merely learn to make associations with the sounds if they are used repeatedly. As far as I am concerned, their effectiveness proves only the value of being consistent in providing information to your dog. In every other respect, shouting at the top of your voice is a surefire way of creating a neurotic dog.

As I got ready to take the next step, this feeling was reinforced all around me. In the park where I used to exercise my dogs, I remember a man who used to exercise his Doberman. Any dog approaching the Doberman was greeted with the owner shouting and shaking a walking stick. Almost as soon as he started doing this, his dog would start growling and snapping too. I noticed that, in contrast, people who were relaxed and happy with their dogs tended to be in charge of animals who were relaxed and happy at play. This got me thinking about the nature of the leadership I should be providing, and I quickly saw that calmness seemed to be a fundamental requirement for all sorts of reasons.

In both the human and the dog world, the greatest form of leadership is the silent, inspirational type. Think of the great men of history: Gandhi, Sitting Bull, Mandela – all hugely charismatic but quiet men. That famous phrase from Kipling’s poem ‘If always comes to mind when I think of the qualities of leadership:

‘If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs …’

It is obvious when you think about it. A leader that is upset or agitated is a leader that does not instil confidence, a leader that is less likely to be believed in. It is certainly a principle that is recognised within wolf packs where the Alpha wolves display a serenity that borders on the dismissive at times.

I knew if I was going to begin communicating in my dogs’ language and, more importantly, if I was going to be elected leader, I had to start behaving in a manner the dogs would associate with leadership. I am not by nature the strong, silent type, so it was necessary for me to adopt a slight change of personality in the dogs’ company. Compared to the transformation I was soon seeing, the change was minor.

My first attempts began on a wet weekday morning. I remember it was raining really hard, and thinking how easy it would be to wait for a sunny day to start this bright new beginning. But by now I was impatient to get on. And I had gone to bed the night before, determined to try something the next day. I must admit I was full of self-doubt. I had no idea if it was going to work. Part of me felt a bit silly. I thought to myself: ‘I hope no one comes around this morning.’ But as I came down the stairs I knew that I had nothing to lose.

People imagine that I have always had my dogs behaving exactly as I wanted. They couldn’t be further from the truth. At that time, my pack was quite a handful, and even worse, they had no manners. When I came home, they bounded around and jumped up just like any other dogs; it could be incredibly irritating. Sometimes I would have my arms full of shopping or I would be wearing a nice outfit and they would come careering at me. For this reason, the first situation I decided to tackle was the re-formation of the pack.

Planning it all in my mind the night before I began, I had decided to imitate the behaviour of the Alpha by ignoring them. This was not, of course, the easiest thing in the world to do. But I soon realised that I had more tools available than I had thought. Because we are verbal creatures, we use words too much. We forget that we know an awful lot of body language as well. If somebody turns away from you, for instance, you know what they mean. Equally if you walk into a crowded room and someone averts their eyes, you are getting a clear message straight away. Dogs use this same language too, eye contact in particular. I soon realised I could use this effectively. So when I came downstairs that morning and let the dogs into the kitchen, I started behaving differently. When they jumped up at me I didn’t say get down, when they misbehaved I didn’t tell them to go to their beds. For the first few minutes that day I made sure I didn’t even make any eye contact with them. I just ignored them.

It was, I confess, an unnatural feeling at first. I was cutting against an ingrained attitude that wanted to interact with dogs whenever possible. I’m not sure how long I would have been able to keep it up if I had not got almost immediate results. The impact was obvious within a day or two of my starting this new regime. To my astonishment they very quickly stopped jumping up and charging at me. As I repeated the procedure each time I arrived among them they became more and more respectful. As the week wore on, they began standing back and letting me come in unmolested.

I’m sure their acceptance was increased by the fact that there were immediate benefits to this. By giving me the body space I needed, they saw a distinct change in the atmosphere during the times I was with them: I was pleased to see them. The dogs learned that when I wanted to spend time, it was quality time. Behaviourism had taught me that you should ignore undesirable and excessive behaviour but be sure to praise the positive, so I underlined this by making a quiet, extra fuss of them when they did come to me. The dogs were soon coming to me only when I asked them to, and it didn’t take time: it happened within a week.

This first tentative step had proved so effective, I knew I was on to something. But I quickly realised that one thing alone was not going to give them the message. I decided to move on next to moments of perceived danger, and the arrival of strangers to the pack specifically. Like other dogs, mine used to bark incessantly when someone came to the door. When I let them in, the visitor would instantly be surrounded by a circle of dogs, jumping up at them and making a terrible fuss. I would shout: ‘Stop it, be quiet.’ But by now I realised that far from placating them, I was exacerbating the situation. Again I thought of Kipling; I knew I had to keep my head, be calm and consistent.

This time I decided to tell people to ignore the dogs when they came through the door. Those dogs that kept bounding up, I took into another room. Of course some people thought I was crazy. To them, it was the most natural thing in the world to acknowledge a dog, particularly if it’s a beautiful dog. My friends and family had certainly been in the habit of making a fuss of Sasha, Khan, Sandy and Kim. But I was determined to give this a chance and insisted they do as I ask.

The early signs were enough to convince me to stick at it. Within a few days again, things began to calm down. Soon the dogs were just barking rather than running up and milling around visitors. Once more the dogs picked up on what was being asked of them pretty quickly. Of course I couldn’t quite believe it was so simple; I put some of it down to the fact that both Sandy and Khan were getting old. I was sure there was significance in the fact that the dog that was giving me most in terms of response was Sasha, the youngest one in the pack and a German shepherd to boot. I never thought: ‘I’m right here, there has to be reasons why this is working’ – I was questioning things all the way along. Despite all this, however, I can’t deny it was a fantastic feeling. They were transformed, they seemed happier, calmer dogs, and it was a joy to behold.

The next thing I wanted to tackle was going for a walk. Walking time then was, in all honesty, little short of chaos. Whenever we went out, the dogs would all run around me, pulling on the leads. The situation summed up the fatal flaw in traditional training in many ways. I think I had instilled a lot of good habits into them through obedience training, but if I am honest with myself they were either robotic when we went out or doing their own thing – it was either everything or nothing. I didn’t want that, and felt there had to be a way of achieving a kind of co-operation, a situation where I could get them to comply when I wanted and they could enjoy the freedom to run where they liked when they were able to do so. I knew the best form of control was self-control. But how to instil it?

Instead of putting them on a lead and letting them bounce around like maniacs, I thought I’d calm it right down again. As I was doing more and more now, I stopped and thought about the wolf pack analogy. I saw how the Alpha pair allowed the subordinates to run around for a while but that eventually all calmed down and they was able to lead the hunt in an orderly fashion. So the first time I gathered the dogs together for a walk, I did not try to stop them getting excited: quite the opposite. Again thinking about the principles of the wolf pack, I realised dogs have got to get wound up because, to them, this is the prelude to a hunt and they have to get their adrenaline pumping. What I was trying to do was not fight their instinct but go with it.

The difference this time, however, was that after putting the leads on the dogs, I did nothing, I just stood there, impassively waiting, calmly and silently before heading out of the door. Again the calming leadership I was showing bore fruit, and the dogs calmed right down. I then found that, on the walk, I had to keep showing them my leadership credentials. Previously, like so many other dog owners, I would be taken for a drag down the road by the dogs, an experience I never particularly enjoyed. However, I found that if, whenever the obligatory pulling started, I waited, the results were remarkable. The dogs quickly realised they were getting nowhere fast, and one by one their leads all slackened as they gave up trying and turned round to look at me. This was the first time they had done so, and it gave me the encouragement I needed to continue in this vein. It had been a battle of wills, and I had won them over.

I then started to wonder if the same approach would work when they were off the lead. In the past, my dogs would scatter to the four winds and then display ‘selective hearing’: they would come back to me perfectly well on some occasions, but if distracted by a rabbit or another dog, my futile attempts to call them back would echo across fields. On other occasions, I have seen dogs go back eventually, only to be smacked by their frustrated owner. I always thought that this was a confusing signal for the dog – surely it would make a dog wary of returning if it knew it was going to get clobbered? And if anybody has tried to catch their dog to get it under control, they know they can sometimes be led a merry dance by the dog, who waits for the owner to get close, then runs off again.

Once more, looking to the wolf pack gave me my answer to the selective hearing problem. Knowing that the Alpha wolf leads the pack on the hunt, I looked at the situation from the dog’s point of view. If that dog believed it was Alpha, then it would think it was leading the hunt. Therefore, the owner’s job, as subordinate, would not be to call the dog back, but to follow as a pack member. Encouraged by the positive response I had got working on the leads, I decided to show my dogs that I led the hunt off the lead as well.

I was not keen to test out this theory in an open field, but luckily I had enough room in my garden to make a start. Calling the dogs to heel and rewarding them for doing so immediately took away the confusion that arises when owners punish their dogs for coming to them late. Again the dogs were quick to learn, all except Kim, the beagle. On one occasion, she was still not responding, preferring to nose around the garden. Frustrated, I turned away and headed for the back door, determined to leave her out there. As I reached the door and looked back, I saw Kim running flat out to get indoors. Inspiration struck. From then on, if Kim did not come when I asked, I turned round and walked back to the house, whereupon she would follow me. Dogs are, by nature, pack animals, and given the choice of going alone or returning to the pack, they choose the pack every time.

It was a huge leap forward. It was as if I held the dogs on invisible leads attached to them. The difference was astounding: within a week or so again, they were still enjoying their freedom, but now they were doing so in a way that meant they never strayed very far from me. And when I wanted the pack to re-form to return home, they accepted the minimal instruction I gave to them instantly. I was, I must admit, over the moon.

I wouldn’t want to create the impression that all this came easily, that everything fell into place instantly: it didn’t, I can assure you. As I tried to develop my ideas some things simply didn’t work. In particular I found that any attempt to combine my new practices with the old, obedience training stuff did more harm than good. But as I thought about incorporating things like discs, clickers and head braces I realised ‘this is simply confusing’. And if I was mixed up, what on earth would the dogs’ response be?

I realise now that I was being human, I was overcomplicating things. I kept thinking: ‘There has to be more to it than this, it can’t be this simple,’ and kept looking for other things. Slowly, however, it was dawning on me that in some ways it really was this simple. If I just concentrated on the dogs’ way rather than the human way, I was going to be far more successful; it was obvious really, when do you ever see one dog using collars or leads or clickers on another dog? From then on, I determined that I was going to try do this without resorting to any artificial man-made means.

By now I had been applying the principles with great success for two or three months but a part of me was still convinced I was not getting the full picture. My own dogs were providing me with information on a daily basis, and as they did so, I was able to make little refinements to the techniques I was developing – it really was a question of trial and error at times. But the next big breakthrough did not come via the dogs I had then. Once more, it was my memories of The Duchess, Donna, that provided the inspiration.

I have always believed in treating my dogs to a supply of fresh marrow bones once a week. When Donna was around, the moment I put the bones down on the ground marked the moment the same little ritual would begin. In her usual imperious way Donna would walk silently in and the others would immediately stand back. Donna would then slowly sniff out the bones she wanted, then walk away with them. Only then would the others take what they wanted. It was, I realised, the same principle of leadership with which I was now so familiar. The one who appeared to do nothing got everything it wanted. And it made me think about using feeding time as a way of re-establishing the leadership structure. This was not a new idea entirely. The importance of eating in front of a dog was something I had read while studying the behaviourists. They recognised it as a simple way of showing them you are the leader. Again this made sense to me having watched other animals, lions and – again – wolves in particular: it is always the Alpha that eats first in group feeders.

But while I agreed with the behaviourists’ idea, I disagreed with the method that flowed from this. The behaviourists’ approach was to impose a pecking order during the evening meal. Under this system, the human finished their meal in full view of the dog before allowing it to eat its meal afterwards. It was a procedure that undoubtedly produced results but there was a lot I was not happy about. Apart from anything else, people feed their dogs at different times of the day and night. Dogs in sanctuaries, for instance, are fed in the morning. I also thought the approach was too protracted. Again I thought about dogs in the wild, and couldn’t see how the pack would wait until the evening. A dog is an opportunist eater rather than only a gorge eater. It will catch a hare, a bird – any prey that will keep it going – it will not lounge around all day: getting food is the priority of the day.

On top of all this, it seemed an unkind thing to do. I put myself in the dog’s place. I thought: ‘If you’ve gone all day without food and then the human sits down to eat before you finally get yours, you are going to be ravenous.’ This might put the dogs in their place but it is not very nice. I knew feeding time had huge potential as a means of reinforcing the leadership signals, but I wasn’t going to eat a full breakfast or an evening meal in front of them, so I had to think of something else to get that information across. I had to come up with a new method.

I was beginning to realise that quick, instinctive information was the most useful, probably because a dog has no concept of the future at all. I had seen that sometimes the slightest gesture is capable of conveying a huge amount of information. The thought came to me one day. That evening, before I mixed their food, I put a cracker on a plate. Then I got out their bowls and mixed it up on a raised surface. What I then did was take the cracker out and eat it, making it look as if the food was coming out of their bowls. Again I was thinking of it in terms of the pack mentality. What do they see? They see you eating out of their bowl. What does that make you? The leader.

I was not tackling bad behaviour in this case. There were no particular problems at feeding time, quite the opposite in fact, it was a time when I knew I could get their undivided attention and their best behaviour too. I fed them in their individual bowls, each of them dotted around the kitchen and the hallway. They knew their spots and – apart from their habit of exploring each other’s empty bowls – behaved very well. In this case, my motivation was simply to underline the message I was getting across in the other areas.

They quickly sensed something was different. I can remember them looking at me rather strangely, trying to work out what I was up to. There was a little drama at first. There would be a little jumping and whining but soon they were used to the ritual and would wait patiently while I ate my cracker. They seemed to accept that I had to be satisfied before they too could eat. Then when I placed their bowls down they ate contentedly. The changes were not dramatic but on this occasion I had not expected them to be. It was simply another confirmation that I was their leader, another trick up my sleeve. And what pleased me most once more was that success had come by thinking of the nature of the dog.

By now I must admit I was feeling quite pleased with myself. Life always has a habit of cutting you down to size, however, and I was soon reeling from a terrible setback. I had already lost Sandy in the summer of 1992 but then in February 1994, I lost my beloved Khan. It was, I have to confess, a real blow to me. More than any other dog, Khan had been with me through good times and bad. I only had Sasha and the beagle, Kim, left. I missed the dogs I had lost terribly. It took the arrival of another dog to solidify all the ideas I had been working on.