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Our Dogs and the Northwest Houston Explosion

Michael Baugh CDBC CPDT-KSA and Amanda Rietheimer CDBC CPDT-KA

At about 4:20 a.m. on Friday January 24th the Watson Grinding and Manufacturing Plant on North Gessner Road in Houston exploded. Two people were killed. The blast leveled the plant as well as neighboring businesses. Windows and doors were blown out of neighboring houses. Our house is less than mile away. It shook so hard pictures flew off the walls along with the nails they were hanging from.

We weren’t home. I woke up nearly 4-thousand miles away to a series of texts. “Are you okay?” “Are the dogs at your house?” “How are the dogs?” “Call me.”

My friend and colleague Amanda Rietheimer was staying with our dogs, Stella and Stewie. She and the rest of our neighbors had no idea what had just happened.

Amanda: Stella screamed for a long time, we think, because of the immediate pressure from the explosion. Both dogs began to pace and shake, having a hard time settling. None of us went back to sleep. Both dogs startled to just about any sound, such as the hot water heater crackling, the toilet flushing, the dishwasher running, or walking on the hard wood floors.

Michael: We were texting back and forth, but Amanda already had a plan for emergency behavior care. I don’t think we coined that phrase. but a follower on facebook asked me what it meant. Of course it included comforting the dogs, touching them and allowing them to stay close by. But there was more.

Amanda: We drilled the basic skills the dogs had long identified with fun and food.

Hand targeting sits and downs all over the house.
Hand targeting used to re-direct both dogs from fear of low flying helicopter outside (there were lots of those).
Scattered treats in grass to help them adjust to being outside for potty breaks.
Desensitization to common house sounds (mentioned above) using counter conditioning. Each sound was worked on in individual sessions, always using food as the reinforcer and using the familiar hand targeting behavior to re-direct.
As training progressed that day, we began to tap on the wall and windows to help dogs work on recovering from vibrations and sounds of this nature too.
To give the dogs breaks, mental stimulation was interspersed. This included snuffle mats, Kong’s filled with apples and a JW Pet Hol-ee Roller ball filled with apples.
The dogs began to get nervous to go in other rooms so we worked on relaxation going upstairs in the office first where they were comfortable then used hand targeting, sits and downs in the guest room to progress them with comfortability in a room they were unsure about. Jumping on bed to lie and lying on floor were key parts to training in guest room.

Michael: That’s emergency behavior care. In fact, it could well be the new standard in care. The dogs had human contact nonstop for the next 36 hours (never left alone). And, the training and enrichment continued for days after the explosion (as did the sirens and the buzz of helicopters). And that wasn’t all.

Amanda: We used Stewie’s medication (Diazepam) to help him cope with a storm rolling in mid-day that made him pace in the house. Stella had a hard time during the storm as well, but powered through with training. The dogs were sometimes hesitant to go outside but enjoyed the food-scatter game in the grass and seemed to relax. We fed all their food during training sessions and in enrichment toys to avoid stress diarrhea.

Michael: In fact, after we got home I talked to the office manager at Village Veterinary Clinic. They treated a large number of diarrhea cases the day of the explosion, most likely related to stress. On that same call we got a prescription for Stella just in case she has a hard time in the future with thunderstorms.

But, so far so good. By the time we got back home it was as if nothing had happened. Stella and Stewie, by and large, are their typical old selves. It was a scary morning for all of us, but they bounced back, thanks to a great deal of help and love from our friend.

Michael Baugh owns Michael’s Dogs Training and Behavior. Amanda Rietheimer owns Behavior Focus of Houston. Both are professional dog trainers and behavior consultants in Houston, TX

Toxic Training (When “Helping” Hurts)

Michael Baugh CDBC CPDT-KSA CTP

Training your dog doesn’t have to be difficult. In fact it can be fun and satisfying, and I hope it is.

The best dog owner / trainers seek out support from other dog enthusiasts, maybe even a professional dog trainer. We humans are great for helping each other out. And, sometimes we are terrible at it, no matter our best intentions. We can trip each other up and derail the learning process. If you’re part of a training team, with a spouse or other family member for example, remember to be patient, supportive, and encouraging. Avoid these three toxic training traps:

The Training Foul

Dog training is about learning timing and mechanical skills. So much of what we do when training is a precise sequence of events (Giving a cue –> Noticing the dog’s response –> clicking the clicker –>reaching in the treat bag –> delivering a treat). It sounds and looks easy until you try to do it yourself.

When we interrupt someone else’s training efforts and take over without our permission, that’s called a “training foul.” We’ve interrupted their training sequence and gummed up their learning in the process. Let’s not jump in with cues to help or click for them when their timing is off. At best, that’s unhelpful. At worst, it’s rude. Don’t do it. Let your partner come to a natural stopping point in training and then ask. “May I have a turn?” or “Can I share my observations?”

Holding Back

The opposite of The Training Foul can be just as bad – withholding valuable reinforcement. We humans thrive on reinforcement. “Let me know when I’m doing it right.” Our dogs are great at reinforcement. When we are training well, they respond. That taste of success is so very important when it comes to keeping the process going. Thank you, dogs. Equally important is the feedback and affirmation we give each other. Let your training partner know what you see that they are doing well. “Great timing on that click,” or “Good work keeping your hands at home position.”

Most of the time that’s my job as a trainer, coaching and supporting my clients. But, it’s not only my job. You can do it too. And, you should.

Shaming

This is the most toxic of the toxic training traps. I’m sorry to say, a lot of us trainers are guilty of it. When we shame our training parters, or when trainers shame their clients, they are stopping the teaching and learning process dead in its tracks. Shame is worse than criticism. Criticism can give us pause. It can even sting a bit. But, shame? Shame is crippliing. Shame suggests our training partner is simply not good enough.

“You need to be a stronger leader for your dog.” Shame

“You need to make your dog respect you.” Shame

“Your dog listens to me. Why doesn’t he listen to you?” Shame

“Here let me show you.” Training foul + Shame

Silence when the person training succeeds anyway. Holding back + Shame.

This can be tricky stuff. That’s why I call them traps. I don’t think people set out to be mean – to foul – to withhold – to shame. We can intend the best and still deliver the worst. It happens. So, my plea here is: be careful.

Dog training can be hard sometimes. Life can be hard. Take great care with each other. Take great care of each other. Tread lightly. Give thought. Take the time. Here’s my short list of how we can support each other well when we are working with our dogs (and it is a short list).

Take turns. This helps us avoid the training fouls. Ask to take a turn. When you are done ask your partner (or professional trainer) what did I do well?
Reinforce excellent training. Let your training partner know what you observed and what you think they did really well. If you are on a break or between reps training, give some constructive instructions for next round. (e.g. “This time I’m going to pay close attention to your hand movement. Do you remember the sequence?”).
Assume the best. One of my friends and mentors says “I choose to believe that at any given moment this person is doing the best they can with the information they have now.” That steers us away from shaming.

None of us set out on the journey of training our dogs to muck it up. We’re doing the best we can at the moment. And quite often the best we can do is to call in some help. And before long we might be the ones to get the call, to answer, and to step up and help.

Michael Baugh teaches dog training in Houston TX. He’s also mentored other trainers at lectured at the IAABC conference on coaching humans. Sometimes he mucks it up – resets – and tries to do better next time.

My Last Dog Syndrome

Michael Baugh CDBC CPDT-KSA

I’ve known about “My Last Dog Syndrome” (MLD) for many years. I didn’t know the name, though, until recently. Lisa Mullinax CDBC coined the name on her Facebook page, 4 Paws University.

MLD is a funny name and it’s kind of serious, too. It’s not actually something a dog gets. MLD is something we humans suffer from. It is the idea that our last dog – the one who we still think about and pine for – was somehow better, less flawed, more perfect than the dog we live with now.

Lisa writes on her Facebook post that people often complain that: “My last dog was never this destructive. My last dog stayed in the front yard and never went past the driveway. My last dog loved kids.” Fill in the blank. The dogs of yore seem to have been magical in so many ways. And, the dogs of today – imperfect and unruly or worse – pale in comparison.

The real danger of MLD is that it can get in the way of training. My Last Dog was perfect and this one is broken. The reality is very likely that neither of those statements is completely true. I know of what I speak. I will tell you stories for hours of the enchanting (dare I say mythical) brilliance of My Last Dog, Juno. She was Dinseyesque, “practically perfect in every way.” But of course she was also not perfect, not at all. She chewed woodwork, ate clothing, and pulled on leash like a demon in her early days. But, we forget all that don’t we? And that is the gift of dogs. We remember the joy and their soulful eyes and the nights they stayed with us when everyone else had walked away. My Last Dog stole my heart and saved my life.

How can today’s dog compete with that? The heart is often so generous. It remembers the love and comfort of a dear gentle dog on a cold night. And oh yeah, the training and struggle? Forget about that. And, we do forget. Even if you don’t think you trained your last dog – of course you did. Maybe you didn’t go to a class or hire a trainer. But, you still taught him. One way or another you and that dog learned to be perfect together. It was luck and chance and some skill. You made it work and the skies opened and the sun shone and you figured it out, both of you. It happens. I know. It feels like magic. And, it’s not.

I remember the day Juno died, the end of our long story together that was not long enough. Not nearly. Our vet carried her body so carefully to his car. She would be cremated. The vet hospital staff would send her final paw print on a little painted plaque a few days later. The house was so quiet. Every so often I’d think I saw her from the corner of my eye walking in the room or jumping up on the bed. But, no.

Those of us who love dogs know we can’t replace them. We also know we can’t live without them for long. Stella, who came after Juno, was a puppy. She was sick in the early days, terrible in the typical ways (though, honestly less-so than Juno), and terribly quirky in unexpected ways. I remember the first time I called for her and said Juno’s name by mistake. “Juno, come!” I caught my breath and felt my knees give way. I sunk to the ground and sobbed. When I looked up I saw that she had come to me, barely 5-months old with that weird look she gives even now almost 10 years later. She came to the wrong name but, without question, to the right person. I needed her then more than ever and there she was.

I love the way Lisa put it in her Facebook post. “Your dog may not naturally take to the things your last dog did, but I promise that he has a truly amazing and unique quality that your last dog didn’t. You just have to find it!” And the magic is in the finding, learning with each other, communicating with each other, playing and training with abandon that leads to delightful exhaustion at the end of day with each other – a cuddle on the sofa in the glow of the television sharing that last little bit of pizza crust.

There are no magical dogs. Maybe not. And yet, all dogs are imbued with the magic of their kind. I think that’s the real joy of loving dogs. Each is so different. And at the core, each is so beautifully – dog.

Michael Baugh teaches dog training in Houston, Texas. He lives with two amazing dogs, Stella and Stewie, and the perfect memory of his last dog, Juno.