Begin with Wonder

Michael Baugh CDBC

Life with our dogs can be confusing sometimes. Life can be confusing. It’s true. The world is crazy. Our dog seems crazy. Maybe I’m going crazy. He’s growling. I’m yelling. We just want the bad stuff to stop. But where do we begin?

I suggest we begin with wonder. We know sometimes our dog is at his best. There are places in which he is neither troubled nor troublesome. We know those times and places. Let’s find them. Be still. Be with our dog. Just be.

Let’s start right here, in wonder of all that our dog is. Author Richard Rohr refers to wonder as “standing in awe before something.” Can we really do that with our dog? Be right there for a moment, a short while, aware and in awe.

Our dog thinks. But what exactly? Let the question roll over you. Rohr also writes about wondering as “standing in the question itself.” We will never know our dog’s thoughts. But we can wonder. That alone could keep me here, contemplating not what my dog is thinking, but that he is.

Our dog feels. Researcher Jaak Panksepp opened that door for us, uncovering the emotional lives of animals. We can watch our dog, whatever he is doing right now, and we can settle in with the truth that he has feelings. We can imagine those feeling, because we are emotional creatures too. Our dogs seek things that feel good and avoid things that feel bad. We can relate. We empathize.

Our dog moves. He is a living being in motion here with us, right now, at this time, in this place. He makes choices and puts those choices in motion (or in stillness). It happens in this space with us fully present. Aware. In Awe.

Charlie sniffs the late-season wild grass. He smells I don’t know what. He is living. Thinking. Feeling. His ball is on the ground just behind him, a choice for playing a moment ago and perhaps in the moment ahead. But now, in this moment, Charlie is present in the sun and the sound of the wind and the moving leaves and the dappling of light. What is that scent? What moves him to this stillness?

Begin with wonder every day, every new start. We engage with dogs in ways not open to us with most other animals. We can learn to communicate with them. Spend a moment with that idea. It is wonderful, this connection we have, this chance to learn how they interact with us, the chance to teach them our words and phrases. Can we see the cooperation, the mutual learning? Who cares that I am human, and he is a dog?

Where else to begin now that we know, now that we notice? There is only wonder. They come to us, our dogs, and ask us: Play? Rest? Touch? Eat? They comfort us and turn to us for comfort when they are afraid, or anxious, or sad. They turn to us. Us.

And they are a wonder, these animals who live with us and think their private thoughts. Their feelings, like ours, must run amok at times. Their actions seem to run in kind, amok, but much differently than ours. They are fully dogs. No wonder, really, we get confused. And no wonder they get confused, too, I guess. It’s hard.

But connected we stay, committed. Life in this human world is crazy enough for us humans. What a mess it must seem to our dogs. It’s a good thing we’re here to see them through it. It’s a good they are here to see us through it.

Charlie is resting now, almost asleep, the wild grass and the breeze and the flicker of sunlight forgotten. He will dream, eyes flitting under half-closed lids. He always does. Perhaps he will bark hushed barks and run slow twitches of his feet. We won’t see what he sees, smell what he smells. No one can go with him. We can only watch and wonder. That word again. And awe. That one too.

Michael Baugh teaches dog training in Sedona Arizona and Houston Texas. He specializes in aggressive dog training.

Breathing for Dog Trainers

We are under pressure. Our dog’s behavior is dangerous. We need to change it. We’re in a hurry. We have no time. The only comfort we have, if there is any to be found, is that we are not alone. So many of us taking on complicated dog behavior problems get tripped up. We flail and sometimes feel like we are drowning in despair.

I’ve written elsewhere about the process of dog training and how we solve common dog behavior problems. We’ve also talked about the illusion of control in dog training and our human tug towards punishment in training. What I haven’t addressed head on, until now, is the basic human life skill at the root of excellent teaching and learning – at the root of life, in fact. Breathing.

You might have guessed by now that I’m not talking about that shallow in-and-out that keeps us upright. It’s not the gasping and sighing we do while we prattle off commands to our dogs either. No, I’m talking about mindful breathing. It’s the take-a-breather, focus on your body, draw it in, let it out slowly, stay in the moment kind of breathing. Breathe. Notice your lungs pulling in the air. Relax your belly, then fill your chest. Pay attention while you let it out.

In.

Out.

This is the breathing you’ve done in yoga class, or at least tried. It’s the foundation of meditation. It’s part of prayer and contemplation in every religion (the root of the word “spirit” is breath). Breathing, real attentive breathing is at the heart of who we are as humans. It certainly plays a role in our relationship and our ability to communicate with our dogs. Here’s how.

Breathe to prepare your mind for teaching your dog. Take five minutes. Sit quietly and focus on the in and out of your breath. This is a simple and short meditation. That word scares some people, I know. Breathe. You know how to do it. In. Out. The idea is to focus on one thing for a short period of time. Your breathing. You’re breathing.

I sometimes cheat. My focus becomes watching my dog as I breathe. There is no talking, simply observing and breathing. I’ve caught Stella looking back at me and we’ve held that observant vigil for minutes on end – long enough for me to get lost in it, awakened only by the tear tracking down my cheek. (I’m a sap, it’s true). Watch. Breathe.

Breathe while you teach. So much of what you and I are doing with our dogs is about modeling calm behavior. Mindful breathing helps us do that. Focus on the process of training, yes. Observe your skills and how they affect your dog’s behavior in the learning session, definitely. But, don’t forget to breathe. That remembrance will keep you connected to your body and your mind space. Are you tense? Are you losing patience? Are you okay? Take care of yourself. The teaching and learning will come more easily if you breathe.

I sometimes take a mini-breather while training. It’s easy to do when switching between exercises. I especially like to do that if I’m going to transition from clicker training to a play break. Remembering what I’m doing and breathing through it helps me smile in learning sessions. That keeps me connected to my dog and the work we’re doing together. It fuels the fun and the joyful praise in the moment.

Breathe in the space in between. So often we are caught in the illusion that learning and teaching are only things that happen in “sessions.” Take just a second, or a minute, or two. Then take a breath. Look at your dog. Is she looking back? Raise your eyebrows and say “hello.” It’s such a powerful moment. If she comes to you, pet her. Let everything else that is happening fall away (It will be there when you get back). Breathe through this experience with your dog.

Not just sometimes, but every day I sit on the floor with my dogs and let them come to me. I don’t talk. I breathe with them, and touch, and nuzzle. I do this even after very long days with everyone else’s dogs. It connects me to Stella and Stewie. It also reminds me of how I’m connected to my clients – all dealing with the stressors and the drama life – none of us really alone – keeping our heads above water. All of us, when we can, remembering to breathe.

Michael Baugh teaches dog training in Houston TX. He specializes in dogs who behave aggressively and fearfully.

Seeing it From Your Dog’s Point of View

Michael Baugh CDBC CPDT-KSA

Phenomenology is one of my favorite geek words. It’s the study of subjective experiences, how another individual perceives the world from his or her point of view. It’s also the philosophical study of other being’s awareness of self. Think about that for a moment, and then let your thoughts wander to your dog. Think just for a moment, but not too long. Pretty soon you’ll circle back and realize all we can really know is our own experience of self and the world around us. I don’t want us to get that far, though.

Those of us who love dogs have all contemplated phenomenology. Chances are you’ve looked at your dog and wondered what is he thinking or how does he feel about this or that or does he love (specifically, does he love me)? We humans are natural storytellers from as far back as our cave drawing days. We try to answer those questions about our dogs and sometimes not too well. We think we know what they know or what they feel and we tell it like we see it. Maybe we’re right, but chances are we’re not. That’s the thing about phenomenology. How do we know for sure what what another being’s (our dog’s) private experience is?

Short answer: We can’t. Slightly longer answer: Of course we can try. We should try.

You don’t have to know me very long to know my personal point of view on “training” dogs. Teaching and learning are keys to opening a door between two beings – us and our dog – thinking, feeling, living beings. What better way is there to learn who our dog is than by pushing that door wide open? Let’s be present and aware of what our dog is doing and how he responds to what we do. We know from experience (and the great work of behavior scientists) that dogs learn from the feedback we provide them. And yes, we are learning from the feedback they are providing us (their understanding or misunderstanding of us is evident in their behavior). So, here we are, Dogs and humans in a steady exchange of information – learning the world as the other perceives it. We could call it a phenomenological approach to dog training.

As long as we’re geeking out let’s talk about the philosopher Martin Buber. He brought us the ideal of the I-Thou relationship between two beings. These are genuine connections in which the individuals see or strive to see who the other really is and how the other sees his or her existence. It’s a short hop to phenomenology and what Psychologist Carl Rogers referred to as a phenomenological approach to counseling and teaching (see, I didn’t make it up). At the root of all this, of course, is empathy.

Let’s get back to our dogs. We can start to experience how our dogs feel and think by watching how our they interact with their world. We just need to stop – stop and be with them – stop and notice them quietly. Stop talking for a moment. Set aside all those commands and ideas of what he should or shouldn’t be doing. Just watch. Who is your dog? What is important to him? Given the chance, how does he begin interacting with you? This takes a fair bit of patience sometimes (not always). It also requires that we dig a bit into our own empathy reserves. Can you imagine? Can you relate? Give phenomenology a test drive – see the world as your dog might – imagine yourself as your dog imagines himself (whoa).

I forgot to mention something else about Martin Buber and the whole I-Thou thing. We go into this process humbly. Neither being is above the other. That was a big deal for Dr. Rogers in counseling and teaching, too. We meet our dog on equal ground – just two living, thinking animals in a common space and time. Cesar Milan and the other “show ’em who’s boss” trainers are spinning at the thought of this. But, give it a go. It might do you and your dog both some good. What’s it like being you? What must it be like for your dog to be him? Open mind. Open heart. I-Thou.

How different is it now to think about training? Could we take a phenomenological approach – we and our dogs meeting on a level playing field – learning together – from each other – interested in each other – equally? As equals. Heresy? Nonsense. It’s thrilling. Fun even.

Hello dog, I’m bipedal and take great pleasure from things I see and here. Dog: quadruped – enjoys smells that to him are like symphonies and Cezanne’s.

Human: speaks but also has facial expressions and other non-verbal communication.

Dog: communicates nonverbally but also vocalizes.

Predator: Dog – check. Human – check.

Emotions, including joy, fear, anger, sadness, and excitement: Human – check. Dog – check.

Wanting and seeking good things / pleasure: Humans and dogs – check and check.

Avoiding pain and other crummy stuff: Yup. Both of us.

It’s a bit ironic that the dog trainer’s hero, Dr. Burrhus Frederick Skinner, frequently disagreed with and publicly debated Carl Rogers. Skinner is the one who showed us how to influence another being’s behavior by providing or withholding reinforcement. Folks back in the day (most especially Rogers) thought the approach was sterile and non-feeling. The irony here is that it’s exactly this approach that fuels communication with our dogs in the real world. It takes little more than a few minutes to realize that what we call training sessions are actually conversations. We are showing our dogs how we’d like to live with them, reinforcing their behavior. But aren’t they too showing us what they want and need? Don’t they reinforce our behavior? Let’s meet, dog and human, and work this out. I-Thou, indeed.

And what about that question of love I so deftly left behind? Phenomenology. Seeing the world as you see it. Understanding the idea of another being’s self as you understand yourself. Does my dog love (specifically me)? Can we know for sure? I’ll save us both the disappointment of the short answer. My hope is that the longer answer, the real answer, lays out on that level playing field, the place where we teach and learn with our dogs, equally engaged and connected if only in the moment. Love and hope, they are so closely related. Maybe it’s best if we keep both always at hand, inextricably bound to our own sense of self, and our own perception of the world. Let those help us tell the story of our dog, and the love and hope we trust he must also feel.