How Shock Collar Training Hurts Us All

 

Michael Baugh CDBC CPDT-KSA CSAT

TL;DR A personal post about shock collar training and how it tragically impacts not only our dogs but us as human beings.

I’m writing you because I care about you; I like you. From the start I was interested in your wellbeing. I wished a peaceful and joyful life not just for your dog but for you. Some of what I have to say might hurt, though. So, let’s agree now that this is not about you, not you as an individual, not just you, but you in great numbers, an amalgam of you the many.

You called me when your dog was two. She had bitten three people on walks, two of them runners. One of them threatened to file a report. She said she’d have your dog put down. You were crying. I was quiet. I listened. If you remember this call let me say again, this is not about you. You’re an amalgam, which means you call me this way about once a month, sometimes more, sometimes less. You are crying because you love  your dog and I’m listening because I care about you as a fellow human being. You mention the shock collar training you did. I don’t say anything. I think about it, but let you dry your tears instead.

When your dog was a puppy you used to laugh when she tried to pick up a ball half her size. She’d run a few steps and stumble. You laughed and picked her up and offered her a smaller toy and you played until she was exhausted and she cuddled on the sofa with you until you both fell asleep. When she got older your dog pulled on leash and barked at people. She got bigger, more gangly, stronger. You hired a trainer who taught you how to yank on her leash and then how to yank on her leash with a prong collar. You trusted the trainer and did what she said. It was a neighbor who told you about the shock collar. No, it was a friend. But, she called it an e-collar. No, it was your aunt. Someone told you. It was someone. They used the shock collar or sent their dog off to a trainer who used it. Their dog was perfect, they said. And, that sounded perfect to you.

You called to tell me your dog wouldn’t leave the back patio. You have a huge yard with an invisible fence. Your dog can see the woods and the wildlife and she has so much space, but she won’t budge. Why will she only poop and pee on the patio? You called to tell me your dog barks and snarls at men who come into your home. Your trainer used a shock collar to teach her this was wrong. Yesterday your dog bit someone coming in. You called to tell me your dog is afraid to go on walks. It’s cool and sunny out but she won’t walk past the driveway, even when you take the shock collar off. You carry her for the first block and even then she keeps pulling to go back, head low, panting the whole time.

When your dog was a puppy she came to you, face bright and tongue flapping out the side of her mouth. You called her your bouncing pom pom, the way she ran to you. You played and she licked your face and you thought you were the luckiest person in the world, which you were. Your friends loved her. She was beautiful. Even at 8 and 9 months when other dogs start to look awkward in their own bodies, she was beautiful. But she jumped a lot and knocked things over. She wanted to play all the time. She just wouldn’t settle down. So your neighbor-friend-realative told you about a place you could send her. Their dog went there for 3 weeks and was perfect. Perfect sounded good and you sent her away. She was thin and seemed a bit shy when she came back home. She was more subdued, slept more, hung out by your side and didn’t cause much trouble. When the barking started and the chewing, you sent her back again. If once was good, twice would be better.

I know this hurts, I tell you when you call. When we meet I tell you how shock collars work. That’s hard.

I know this hurts, I tell you when you call. We meet for weeks and I never tell you what the shock collar did to your dog. It would break your heart.

I know this hurts, I tell you when you call. You don’t hire me. We never meet. I have an extra cocktail with dinner. I forget that has anything to do with our call and forgetting feels good.

I know this hurts, I tell you when you call. And, it doesn’t matter. Your dog is shattered. You already know how this is going to end. I do too. I don’t sleep well that night.

Here’s the short version. Punishment is the introduction of a stimulus that decreases a target behavior. Example: if a dog experiences a shock to the neck when she approaches the boundary of your property, she will be less likely to go there in the future (she may stay on the patio).

You are explaining yourself to me. “It’s only the beep, she only got shocked once and now all we need is the beep.” You don’t want me to think bad things about you; you’re a good person; you are kind. I don’t think you’re a bad person. I like you. I feel bad for you. I want to help. This is what I wake up in the morning to do – to help you. I work hard at it. Sometimes it’s enough. Sometimes.

If I’m sloppy as a positive reinforcement dog trainer we end up with a dog who begs for food or stares at the treat bag. I’m not sloppy. I teach you how to not be a sloppy trainer, too. If someone is haphazard with a shock collar your dog never knows when the shock is coming, or from where (other than it attacks her neck from nowhere), or why. Why? Painful attempts to punish behavior always have side effects. Always. Your dog tries to escape the pain or the fear. She locks up on walks or runs away when you call. Your dog avoids situations altogether. She won’t leave the patio or her room or the driveway. Or, your dog lashes out. The pain out of nowhere with no escape – or the threat of it – is too much to bear. She growls, snarls, and bites. That’s usually when you call, when she’s had enough and lashes out.

You’re calling me because your dog, though physically healthy, is psychologically damaged. She paces the house, can’t seem to settle down. The vet put her on three medications that don’t seem to be helping. She cornered your husband in the kitchen. Your husband, the one who used to roll the too-big ball to her so he could see her tackle it and fall over. You both laughed so hard then. She was having fun, too. Now, she growls at your husband and at you. You’re afraid of her, your bouncing pom pom. Sometimes she lies by you, exhausted. But you haven’t been able to cuddle her in months. Not really. Not anymore.

I’m sorry. You’ve called twice today already and four times this week. Not you, but you in numbers, dozens over the past few months, scores of you over the last two decades. It gets to me sometimes and sometimes I am not strong; I am not calm. I shouldn’t let this stuff get to me. I definitely shouldn’t lash out at you. But, I tell you that the beep is like a man pulling his fist back. “You only need to get punched once to know the terror of what that means,” I say. I know my words are sharp and when I get off the phone I hate myself for saying it that way. I don’t know you yet. I don’t know what you’ve experienced, if anyone has ever raised a fist to you. I’m an asshole for going there. But, I also don’t know how to tell you that no this is not your fault but yes you caused this – because it’s not your fault (you were given shitty information) and because your choices did cause it. I know that hurts. It hurts me, too.

You call me and I can tell by your voice what this is about. We’ve worked together for months. There’s a veterinary behaviorist involved, a team of experts.

You’ve been wonderful and things have improved, you say. But, there was an incident.

You’ve been wonderful and things have improved, you say. But, it feels hopeless. That young vibrant dog you once had is long gone. You don’t think she will ever be the same again.

You’ve been wonderful and things have improved, you say. But, you are done. You don’t have any more emotional energy.

You’ve been wonderful and things have improved, you say. But, not enough. You’ve already called the vet. She’ll be euthanized in the morning.

I’m trained for these calls. And, as many times as you’ve called with this news I’ve never cracked. I hold steady. I care about you more than anything and I stand by your side. This is your decision, not mine. My role is to support you. When I cry it’s after the call. I cry for  you most of all. As my wise friend says, you were doing the best you could with the information you had at the time. I believe that. I cry for your dog, too. This should have gone differently from the start. But, it didn’t and here we are.

It hasn’t always gone this way for us, of course. You and I have had our high-fives and victory laps together and it’s felt great. You did it. You pulled your dog back from the brink. Your dog, for her part, recovered, healed well from the terror of the past. She made it. You made it. I am so happy for you, for her, for us. We’ve been through a lot, you and I, you big wonderful collective you. I’ve written too much already, I know, but I could write more. I could go on and on about you because I care about you. I like you.

I’ll end here with one small request. And, this part is for you, specifically you, reader. Will you be a voice for our dogs? You are someone’s neighbor. You are someone’s friend, someone’s family member. When someone asks you about training, about shock collar training, will you be the one individual who speaks up? They may not know any better yet, this someone you know, this someone you care about. You know better, though. Did you know shock collars are against the law in some countries? It’s because shock collar training hurts our dogs; it can damage them psychologically. In too many cases the fallout from this frightening and painful training hurts us as well, damaging our relationship with our dogs, endangering our dogs’ lives. Be the voice who speaks this truth. If this is your story, then tell it. Your neighbors and friends and family deserve to know better. Their dogs deserve a voice who will speak for them.

 

Michael Baugh is a dog trainer in Houston, TX. He specializes in aggressive dog training including helping dogs who are survivors of shock collar training.

Dog Training and the Dominance Question

 

Michael Baugh CDBC CPDT-KSA CSAT

A whole lot of dogs lovers are carrying around a heavy burden. I want to take a moment to lift it off our shoulders. Well-meaning friends, family, even some of my fellow trainers set it on us. It’s just words really, but those words weigh us down and too often we end up dragging them around like shame. The most common variations of this verbal yoke sound a bit like this: You need to be your dog’s pack leader. You aren’t dominant enough. You need to show your dog who is boss. Like all words, these are illusory until we assign them meaning. What do they mean to you and how hard must they be to carry around? This kind of  “advice” (and really it’s just cheap reprobation) is a huge disservice to our dogs. The implication is that we need to assert ourselves over them with violence (Cut their airways; Pin them; Shock them). It’s also a disservice and an insult to our own human intelligence and accomplishment.

We humans split the atom. We turned the ancient remnants of dinosaurs into fuel and made cars and airplanes and leaf blowers. We learned to roast coffee beans, grind them and press them in hot water. And, we discovered how to ferment the press of grapes. We invented jazz. Humans created spoken and written language, more than 7-thousand of them. There is no place on earth to which humans have not laid claim. Most of it we’ve cleared, burned, paved over, built out, and lit up. That is dominance. We have, for better or worse, clearly won the evolutionary race.

Street Dog in Saigon

We have nothing to prove to our dogs. We are all that and more, and we have been since the beginning of dogs. Most dogs are not really “owned” by humans. All around the world street dogs simply live near us, but depend on us nonetheless. They survive on our wasted food and our generosity, taking shelter under our lean-tos and outside our doors. Dogs in the U.S., for the most part, live in our homes, eat from bowls in our kitchens, pass their days in comfort and good health. But, they do so only if we see to it.

They die, too, at our discretion. It’s usually because of behavior we deem unfit for dogs or unacceptable to us. They die by the needle, by the gun, by the knife, by our hand. They die, too, abandoned and alone. They die from convenience and inconvenience. They die and live, just as we decide. There is, in fact, no dominance battle between us and dogs. It was over before it started. We win. Always. No matter what.

Stewie Enoying a Private Concert

That leaves us with a question that spans much wider than our life with dogs. What do we do with all this power? That’s a big philosophical ask for evening chats drinking wine or coffee. Maybe the more immediate question is how do we responsibly use this power to help our dogs, who are so much farther down the evolutionary ladder? How do we help them fit in to our complex and often dysfunctional human lives? How can we give them what they need from us and still get what we want from them?

Here’s my answer. Lead with compassion and intelligence. We don’t have to be rocket scientists or nuclear physicists. And most of us have the compassion part at least started (We love dogs, after all). But, there is a science of dog training that is grounded in kindness. There have been volumes written on this and the data dates back a century or more. This is the bottom line. We can use our superior intelligence (Think: dominant species) to 1) teach our dogs what we want them to do without frightening or hurting them and 2) teach them to enjoy learning – to love learning – dare I say, to do our bidding with enthusiasm and joy. It works. It’s measurable and reliable. It works with easy dogs and with hard dogs. Intelligent human-driven training works with aggressive dogs, too. In fact it works especially well with them. And, it works with more than just dogs.

If that’s the case (and it is), then why are we so hung up on dominating our dogs? Why do we turn to harsh dog training methods when easier more effective ones have been available all this time? I have some ideas (and some links for deeper dives). 1) Punishment is reinforcing for the punisher; our brains fool us into thinking it’s the best choice. 2) Celebrity dog trainers lie to us (Real dog training is rarely as glitzy or simplistic as a well-edited TV show). 3) We humans are fixated on dominating (wait for it) each other. Humans, like many primates, have a hierarchical social structure. We are all about power, who has it, where we can get it, and how we can keep it. And, a big part of dominance for us in our broader lives is fueled by punishment. The scientific term is coercion. We conquer; We take; We oppress. Underlying all that is fear, pain, and the threat of death. How ironic that we so often use the phrase, “it’s a dog eat dog world,” when the reality has nothing to do with dogs at all. We are describing ourselves.

We humans are carrying around this heavy burden and really I just want to lift it off our collective shoulders, ease our suffering. It’s too big to do all at once. So, let’s start where we can. Learn what coercion is and then forget about ever using it again. Even better, seek out inspiration for ourselves, for each other, and for our dogs. Teach the way we already know we love to learn – joyfully, patiently, intelligently. Cast this burden to the side and leave the reprobates behind.

Let us all, together, boldly reclaim what it really means to be the dominant species on the planet. Be smart enough to be kind. Be powerful enough to care deeply. Let’s make our evolutionary victory lap a celebration of healing. And, let’s begin with our dogs.

Michael Baugh is a human being in Houston, TX. He specializes in aggressive dog training and other behavior related to fear and anxiety.

Do I Need a Dog Behaviorist?

 

Michael Baugh CDBC CPDT-KSA CSAT

Do you need a dog behaviorist? I’ll get directly to the point with a somewhat vague answer. It depends.

The answer is “No, you do not need a dog behaviorist”  if:

  • You’re interested in teaching your dog manners and tricks. Dog trainers are excellent at this work
  • Your dog is a puppy who has typical developmental (and annoying) behavior. Again, qualified and certified dog trainers are the experts you need.
  • If your dog has some interesting or quirky behavior that is not a problem to you, is not a cause of or sign of suffering, and is not a danger to himself or others. Every dog has is own behaviors that make him or her special. Don’t let anyone dog shame you.

The answer is “Yes, you do need a dog behaviorist” if:

  • There is a particular behavior or pattern of behavior that you want to change. This is especially the case if your dog is suffering (for example with separation anxiety) or if you dog is a danger to himself or others (for example if he has aggressive dog behavior toward other dogs or humans).
  • But, this also depends on what the definition of dog behaviorist is (see below). At Michael’s Dogs we are Certified Dog Behavior Consultants who specialize in behavior-change. In other words, we teach training techniques and lifestyle adjustments aimed at changing patters of unwanted, emotionally painful, or dangerous behavior. Some people use the label dog behaviorist for us. Others use behavioralist, dog behavior expert, trainer, or even aggressive dog trainer. We are, in fact, behavior consultants and dog trainers who focus on this one aspect of dog behavior:  its propensity to change and the specific interventions available to influence that change for the better.

So, what is a dog behaviorist? That also depends on whom you ask. Board Certified Veterinary Behaviorists lay claim to the legal title. They have state licenses to practice veterinary medicine and board certification to specialize in animal behavior. Most also have extensive hands-on experience with dogs as well as training acumen. (Think: book knowledge and street cred). Others may appropriate the title without any significant training experience or clinical background (Think PhD researcher). As a rule, while Certified Dog Behavior Consultants and Certified Professional Dog Trainers are sometimes referred to as dog behaviorists we do not use that misnomer when referring to ourselves.

Michael Baugh is a Certified Professional Dog Trainer and a Certified Dog Behavior Consultant. He and his team teach dog behavior and dog training in Humble Texas, Kingwood, Houston, and Katy.