Ah, Progress

Whisper hurt his leg on Saturday. He doesn’t advertise his injury on his face; that smile seldom dims. Instead, while inside the house, he walks around on three legs, carrying his beloved tennis ball in hopes that someone with opposable thumbs will throw it for him. In that event, he will bite the proverbial bullet, put his sore leg to the ground, and chase the ball, using the sore leg at least until he retrieves his ball. Then, limping even more obviously, back he comes, ball in his mouth, hopefully dropping it at the human’s feet.

So, today, off to the vet.   The verdict for his leg is that, most likely, one of those hairpin turns strained or sprained his hip, and he needs to rest. So, pain meds, anti-inflammatory meds, and a mild medicine for sedative purposes. Gotta try to keep the pup calm for several days to let that leg heal up some. (This is the dog that had OCD surgery on his shoulder when he was six months old; try keeping a six-month old border collie calm for SIX weeks!)

None of that is particularly surprising and not a cause for comment necessarily.

But……

The last time Whisper was at the vet he could not even enter the building till he had a muzzle on his pretty snout. He had lunged at a dog quietly entering the building, snarling and snapping from roughly fifteen feet. Then when the technician came to get us, he turned into Cujo with her. After we were in, they took him from me, and he calmed down some, peeing voraciously, shaking, and scaring himself and me. But they got an exam in. That was the incident that sent us to the Vet School Behavior Clinic and the start of our puppy Prozac regimen and behavior modification sessions.  That was May.

Today we took our muzzle with us. My husband and I both tried to get the thing on Whisper. We are both college educated professional people, both having worked with technology for decades. I can sew and knit; Mike can build furniture, for Pete’s sake. As we struggled with the muzzle for the fifth (or so) time, Whisper would shake his head, turn, and remove the muzzle. That bumper sticker that says “My border collie is smarter than your honor student” may not be appropriate in our case, but one saying, “My border collie is smarter than his owners” rings true.

So, we just thought we’d see how well this puppy Prozac works (along with the clicker training I am doing, of course), and as they called us, we looked down at that handsome white face and said, “Come on, Whisper!”

My sweet boy, so afraid of new places, no nervous of strange dogs and people, trotted in like he owned the building. We sailed through the waiting room like he lived there. Then, the dreaded SCALE. And, yet, he hopped up, did take a couple times to sit long enough for the weight numbers to settle, but eventually did (he’s lost seven pounds!), and trotted after the tech into the examination room. He was smiling, wagging his tail, looking around.

Who is this dog?

He never growled, he never snapped. One time, as the doctor grabbed his leg and rotated it—not pleasant for any dog, even if the leg did not hurt—he peed a little. That was the only indication that he was veering toward fear. Mike and I both were helping hold him, of course.  And, when it was over, he was happy again, wiggling, and greeting the vet like he has always been this normal, happy dog.

I wanted to weep from relief and the joy of it.

The vet told us the plan of treatment (see above), and we also discussed his behavior issues and treatment plan. I mentioned how sad I had been for him when the fear aggression had started:  “After all, I’ve had Mac and Millie.” 

Her response was the universal response when Millie’s name is mentioned. “Ah-h-h, Millie. What a sweet, wonderful dog she was.” Indeed.

But, today I was so proud and grateful for my little, puppy boy—well, not so little. Even seven pounds lighter is almost 54 pounds, not a light border collie. We will keep working, of course. Today was wonderful, but not the end. But it showed me that Whisper really can be okay; not necessarily that I can ever be as sure of his behavior as I was with, oh, say Millie. J But that with continued treatment and work, he and I can interact with other dogs and people and have fun and people can know the beautiful, sweet dog he is.

We’re not there, but, thank you, God, we are not at the start of the road anymore, either.

I cannot begin to say how grateful I am.

Here a Click, There a Click, Everywhere a Click, Click

Our homework from our first training session at the behavior modification sessions at the Veterinary School’s Behavior Clinic is to work on getting Whisper comfortable--using behavior modification with the clicker, shaping his behavior with the muzzle--getting him ready to be more comfortable with it. Like most dogs, he is not terribly comfortable  having a muzzle shoved on his nose and strapped on his head. The purpose of a muzzle, of course, is the safety of everyone should he get anxious or afraid and strike out or nip or worse. The muzzle is a good, rubber basket style; he can open his mouth with it, it doesn’t keep him from panting, and rubber doesn’t rub his head like some metal or even mesh sometimes do.

But, even so, most dogs don’t think, “Whoopee, a muzzle! I can’t wait to wear this around!” Hence, shaping behavior with clicker training.

We started, as I described earlier, while at our first training session at the clinic. Shaping behavior begins by just waiting till the dog makes any move that sort of looks like it might be the beginning of that behavior. In this instance, the muzzle lay on the floor, and Whisper lay sort of close to it. Then, whenever he turned his head in the general direction of the muzzle, the trainer clicked and treated. Before long, she waited till he turned more toward the muzzle before rewarding the behavior.  Then she waited till he looked at the muzzle.

All of this took several minutes, of course, and was not exactly step-by-step.  But Whisper is a smart dog (border collies are known for their trainability, and I have worked with him with clicker training), and he figured out pretty quickly how to get the treat. I then worked with him for a few minutes, making him get a little more specific in his reaction to the muzzle before getting a treat.  Eventually a command is put with the click.

He prefers my instruction, of course, than that of a stranger, and he is definitely more comfortable with me.  While he took direction from the behaviorist trainer, he kept glancing at me, checking in, sort of.  He also checked on the two observers in the room, but always, those eyes came back to me for security and approval.  After we practiced for a few minutes, I gave him a “That’ll do!” and he knew we were done.

“Just practice five or ten minutes a couple of times a day,” we were told. “You want him to put his nose in the muzzle on the floor, but don’t try to put the straps on him till you come back here.  Probably you should have an appointment again in a couple of weeks.”

Okay.

So, yesterday I got on the floor, got the cheese (our treat of choice), the clicker, and the muzzle.  Whisper lay in front of me, looking at the muzzle I lay there. Jenni sat on the other side of me. She knows she gets cheese just because Whisper is working, and she is cute. I tossed her a piece, which she chased down. Whisper, watching me, pointed his nose at the muzzle, I clicked, and gave him his treat.

By which time Jenni was back, and we repeated the process.

At the end of our short time, Whisper had started physically poking the muzzle for a treat, and Jenni had a tummy full of cheese. It seemed like a good place to stop for the morning, and, it turned out, for the day.

Today we began again. No one, I believe, is happier that Whisper is getting special help than Jenni, who has started to about climb into my lap to get me to start tossing her a treat before Whisper even starts work. Before the three of us finished our short session today, Whisper was putting his nose into the muzzle for a treat—not every time, but most of the time. This is the point where we were supposed to be before returning for our second session. 

To build on the method of training, we worked on the “touch” command, me holding a yard stick (the only thing I had that would work) and Whisper touching it with his nose on the end, me clicking, saying “touch” and giving him a treat. Before long I could hold it to either side, up, down, and he was poking his nose like a chicken pecking for dinner. That skill needs refining as well, but it was a good start.

We will continue to practice on the muzzle, and maybe work on Jenni backing up a little before getting a treat of her own (can I train two border collies at one time?), and maybe refine other tricks (he is so cute saying his prayers it makes you want to say “Amen!”)  

Growth and improvement comes one step at a time; for us, a click here, a click there are steps to becoming a safe and happy dog.

Shaping Behavior One Click at a Time

Doesn't he look innocent?

Today Whisper and I went for our first “Behavior Modification” lesson at the vet school.  He has been on the puppy Prozac for over two months now, and there seems to be a positive result from that. He is not particularly mellow, being, after all, a young border collie. But he is not so quick to lose his mind, so to speak, and he does seem a tad less anxious around the house.   My husband had told me that Whisper got a little aggressive towards a woman who came up to the car at the grocery store the other day; probably he was being protective of the car--his daddy's car, but it was the first time Mike had seen that Cujo attitude come out. His reaction? “Don’t you have a muzzle?” I believe it frightened him a little….I don’t know that he had really believed me before that Whisper could get so scary.

When we arrived at the vet school a large, hairy German Shepherd Dog walked past us, about twenty feet from where we walked. I have seen the time when Whisper would have lunged at him, no matter how far the distance from us. Today he was definitely anxious, he whimpered, he whined, he trotted on his tip-toes, but he also looked at me instead of zeroing in on the other dog. I clicked and treated for all I was worth, giving him a “Good Boy!” as often as I could and gave him enough cheese (his treat of choice) for a medium pizza as we made it past the other dog and entered the building, Whisper continuing to watch me for guidance, me continuing to click and treat and “Watch me”-ing, and “Good Boy!”-ing, and the other folks keeping control of their dog as well. I was over the top proud of him; he knew he had done well, I think, because he certainly had done himself proud.

In the waiting room, people passed us, and he would move to greet them—really greet them in a friendly way. I would call him back to me and treat him before he could remember that he, on occasion, tried to eat people. He must have been friendly to ten people today, both before, during, and after our lesson.  He never completely relaxed, but he never lost control, either.

In the lesson, the trainer brought a vet student and an assistant who was, I believe, studying to be a trainer as well. Today’s lesson was working on getting Whisper to accept the basket muzzle willingly. She set the muzzle on the floor and did classic clicker shaping with him:  at first as he made any move that could slightly be interpreted as showing an interest in the muzzle, she clicked and gave him a treat. If he sort of looked at it, click, treat. Eventually, of course, he kind of got the idea and looked at it more frequently to get a treat.  Then I was given the chance to practice with him and the muzzle. I am not unfamiliar with clicker training, so she was trying to hone my timing and make sure I understood the point. Because we know that the dog can play me like a fiddle, it is good to have someone watch as I try to train him and make sure I am the one training him, and not vice versa, at least about this issue. The idea is to make him comfortable enough with the muzzle that if a situation arises where anyone is worried about his behavior—like when he semi-attacked the vet tech during his annual vet visit—we can put the muzzle on and he will be happy about it because he associates it with happy things, people around him will be happy because they will not think he will bite them since he is wearing a muzzle, and everyone will be more relaxed.

Our homework is to practice a couple of times a day clicking and treating with the muzzle—not putting it on, but getting him happy to look at it, perhaps touch it, and get his treat. In a couple of weeks, we will come back and hopefully progress to the next step. We should also continue our basic training.

Not one time today did I see any sign of aggression. He was anxious, but it was a new situation. Even Millie, my therapy/service dog who went everywhere with me, would have been a little nervous for awhile, I believe. Whisper was such a good boy today. The trainer said to me, “He really does look to you.” That does seem to be the majority opinion. Yes, he is my dog.  And today gave me hope for more progress in the future. There is much work yet to do, but I feel optimistic that Whisper can learn he can trust me, that other people can be trusted as well, and that he need not be so anxious all the time about everything. 

Baby steps.