The Training of Tawny Part 2

Come

The next most important word for Tawny to learn was ‘Come’. Come-for-food, come-for-romp, come-for-grooming... never Come-and-be-admonished. She learned that in a day or two.  Even then she hesitated, reluctant to leave what she was doing, I kept the command joyful and inviting.  If she still hesitated I would prance away, patting my lap, or else pick her up with a firm but gentle command to come. I suspect most dogs learn this word quickly but are not always keen to obey.  When they are old enough for a collar and lead one can be more insistent.

            I once took in a young dog, slightly older than this easy small-puppy stage, who had never been stroked or patted.  She had no name; the only communication she knew was an abusive shout.  Her survival strategy was Grab what you can and run.  At first I spoke only one word to her: Come, softly and gently and always when close to her.  Come-for-your-food, Come-outside-with-me, Come-to-your-bed... The puzzled expression on her face as she tried to understand this human sound that seemed to be directed at her was sweetly comical.  I kept this up for a full week before coupling it with her name – RainShadow.

            

Seeing Bay and TellMe react so gladly to the word must have helped her understand, just as their obviously relaxed contentment must have helped her trust me.  On the third day with us I saw the worried alert look beginning to leave her eyes and the trembling lessen, and soon she was over her bad start in life and in time became a useful member of our little animal rescue team.

            But back to Tawny.

            When she was good at ‘Come’ I introduced the first hand-signal for it – patting my thigh in the usual way while calling her.  In a couple of days she had grasped that combination, and I then substituted as often as not a whistle instead of the word.  When she was older she learned another signal for Come, where I held my arms straight above my head and parted and crossed them several times while calling.  This was for use when we were far apart or in long grass when patting my thigh wouldn’t be seen.

            Another signal useful in thick bush or thickets where movement is restricted, is an inward beckoning with the hand such as one would use with a person, and this in time could be reduced to crooking a finger if Tawny was close enough to see it.  These two signals were easily taught by combining them with the ‘Come’ whistle until they could, if necessary, be used on their own.

            She seemed inherently sensitive to the sound of a whistle and reacted instantly, as if she couldn’t help herself, whereas she was often noticeably slower to respond to a call or a hand-signal which she knew equally well.

           Yet another signal to come she was quick to learn was an inviting toss of the head.  It may seem strange that a dog should find this very human gesture easy to pick up.  But if you watch a young dog trying to get another to come on and play, you see it moving its head playfully from side to side, its chin tucked in.  Basenjis do this in a very pronounced way, and recognise the similar action in a person immediately, without having to be taught.

           By the time Tawny was a year old I had only to give her a certain look and she would come.  I think dogs are a lot more aware of our facial expressions than most people realise.  For this reason I believe it is better not to train a dog while wearing dark glasses.

‘No!’

Because Tawny was a healthy and lively pup, of course the moment she settled she was up to every trick. ‘No!’ was the word she heard more than any other in those early days – so much so I worried a little she might think it was her name!  ‘No!’ was barked at her, snapped at her, growled at her, in both human and dog-language, and accompanied by a dark and threatening look.  In time, the look alone would suffice, without a word being said.

            At first she responded very well to this command. Later, when she had grown a bit and had thoughts of cutting loose from mamma’s apron strings, she sometimes got a cheeky look in her eye, tossed her little head and went right on with what she was doing.  Now I had to be sure that when I said ‘No!’ I really meant it, no two ways about it – it could be life-saving, when confronted by a venomous snake, for example. So sometimes the word had to be reinforced with a small slap or a sharp clap of the hands.

House-training

One thing that couldn’t wait for English proficiency, of course, was house-training.  For the first couple of days while things were still strange to her, I tried to anticipate a puddle coming and carry her outside to a designated spot in the garden.  I did this after every meal or drink.

            Our house is built on a narrow contour carved out of the steep hillside and has steps on all sides except the back, and these did present a problem to her until she worked out a way to tumble down them and scramble back up.  Another problem, common to all puppies, was that while the need to pass a dropping could be felt in advance, a puddle just came when it came.  When a ‘mistake’ was made in the house I slapped the floor hard beside it, saying ‘No! No!’ then ‘Outside!’ and carried her out to the spot in the garden.  If it was a dropping I scooped that up and took it out as well, if possible to leave it there for a while, as dogs have a natural tendency to use the same area repeatedly to relieve themselves.

           In such circumstances many people slap the puppy.  I fail to see any sense in this. The idea isn’t to teach her not to relieve herself, but not to do so in the house.  The action of slapping the floor beside the mistake and one’s stern expression and voice is quite enough to convey the displeasure.

            Within three days Tawny understood but couldn’t always make it outside in time.  The first time she achieved this and passed a dropping in the garden I saw her look at me worriedly.  I told her gently, ‘Clever girl!’ which reassured her instantly.  Even at that young age an intelligent puppy can read one’s voice, expressions and movements with amazing accuracy.  And undoubtedly Bay and TellMe’s graphic demonstrations in the garden helped Tawny grasp this important lesson.

           Still, it wasn’t long before I had to go into hospital for a foot operation, and Tawny went into kennels.  When I returned, all that Tawny remembered of house training was how absorbent was the sitting-room carpet.

            So we started again.  First thing in the morning and last thing at night, Bay and I took Tawny outside and gave her a small demonstration, if you know what I mean, and waited until she had done likewise.  This was not a popular activity when it was raining.

            When I discovered a mistake in the house at least I knew it was hers. I took her to it –  never calling her to it because that would soon have made reluctant to come at all – held her to it, pointed it out and slapped the floor beside it, then took her out, ‘Outside!’  If it was a dropping I’d take it out with her to her ‘toilet place’ in the garden; then sit with her a while and soothe and calm her. She needed reassuring until she grasped that it was not doing the dropping that was the issue, it was where she did it.

Bay wonders if she's accidentally squashed someone...

           Tawny was easy – not all pups are – and was quite reliable after another week. Before she could last out through the night I put down newspapers sprinkled with earth by the door and encouraged her to go there.  By the time she was 8 weeks old she could last from 10 pm to 5 am, unless disturbed.

            As with all the early lessons in good behaviour, reliability grew as she grew – and as they were praised.

(More on praise in the next post.)

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The Training of Tawny (1)

The Training of Tawny

Introduction

Jill Wylie often wrote of her tracker-dogs’ sundry achievements, especially the tracking down of lost and trapped animals, and many people asked how she managed to train them in such apparently extraordinary ways.  She would characteristically express bafflement at the question, as if she had never thought about her method, or regarded it as so instinctive and transparent it needed no explanation.  However, she did eventually begin to write something a bit more instructional than her usual stories, accounts, poems, books and reports. The Training of Tawny recounts in a sort of ‘biographical’ way how Jill went about training Tawny, a little Labrador-cross, to trust her, integrate with the menagerie of Wildwoods Sanctuary, and do the search work.

            The manuscript was never finished, but there is enough of it worth airing, which we will do in several parts.  In some ways, there isn’t anything extraordinary about Jill’s methods: as you’ll see, it all seems so obvious actually.  What was extraordinary was the ends to which she put that training – and because she had a purpose, and needed a woman-dog team to achieve it, she did end up with astonishing successes.  In the end, it is all founded on insight, observation, empathy and a pure reverence for life itself. - Dan Wylie

PART 1

She was an unsolicited gift from a distant friend.  Her mother was said to have been a yellow Labrador – more likely Golden Retriever – father unknown.  I thought I could detect a touch of Collie, more certainly Spaniel – in any case really just the sort of dog I would have chosen myself.  We already had two dogs: Bay, an enormous Great Dane-Irish Wolfhound cross, and TellMe, a Basenji-cross-Keeshond, but they were getting on in years and it was not a bad time to take on a puppy.

            Her new home was Wildwoods Sanctuary, our wildlife, forest and conservation sanctuary in the Vumba mountains of eastern Zimbabwe.  She was about to enter a rather busy household, which consisted of the following:

            One husband (Jack);

            One 16-year old son (Danny);

            Two dogs: TellMe, surrogate mother to countless puppies, kittens and fawns; and Bay, 125 pounds of loveable stupidity;

            Five cats (Bounce, 17 years old and very polite; Drum, Siamese-coloured “tom-tom”; Fable, stocky Russian Blue with a crushed zig-zag of a tail; Yes-I-Am, Siamese orphan from the forest; Jungle, beautiful bottle-reared “show-tabby”; and Fleur, black-and-white long-hair, once paralyzed but moving well if shyly now;

            One genet, Whipaway, an orphan in process of rehabilitating into the forest but still paying regular visits;

            One duiker, Hillbilly, another orphan now free but regularly returning to share the chicken-grain;

            One small flock of bantams, including When, fierce 8-year old mamma hen.

Into this menagerie tumbled 6-week-old Tawny – so named for the shaded gold of her coat –  weary and confused after her long journey, but undismayed by the number and variety of her sudden companions.  There would be a great deal to learn.

She ran immediately to big Bay; maybe she looked something like her Labrador mother, magnified several times. Young Bay, who had never seen a puppy before, was wonderfully and unexpectedly gentle. She knocked her softly flat with her exploring nose, tried her best not to tread on her with her huge paws and took great care not to sit on her.  She never cared who else she sat on.

TellMe took time to look over the new arrival, accepted her and immediately demanded that she behave herself in her presence.

That night I put Tawny’s basket on the floor by my bed, settled her on her blanket with a hot-water bottle under it, to provide a warm and rounded bulk like a companion pup.  When she woke in the night whimpering for her mother and the security of her siblings, I could drop my hand down to her and she would know she was not alone.

By dawn she was rested but naturally still confused.  I gave her a drink of warm milk and took her out immediately onto the lawn to relieve herself.  I called her, Tawny Tawny Tawny – the first lesson she needed to learn.  When Jack had gone to work and Danny to school, I sat on the lawn again, took the puppy onto my lap and called her name over and over, in soft excited tones until she was happily dancing on my lap, loving this new game.  During the day I called her many times in the same soft tones, whenever there was something to show her or give her, and by evening she knew that this special sound meant her – and so did Bay and TellMe, who, when they heard that name, would instantly look around for her.  She was uncertain, though, when Jack and Danny returned in the late afternoon and called her in their voices.  It would take a day or two to realise the word ‘Tawny’, in any voice or tone, was meant for her.

Jill, Bay and Tawny

Trust

After that first playful lesson on the lawn I lay back and nestled her into my armpit, stroked and crooned to her and felt the tension run out of her.  There, with her head on my shoulder and her face next to mine, she gave me her trust, totally and unconditionally.  There is something about that position that seems to reassure frightened and insecure puppies.  I have used it many times.  It’s akin to when a small, troubled child puts their little hand in yours and you feel that awesome trust flow into your very soul.

Starting out

I like to start training a puppy when she is six weeks old.  This may seem very young.  I once thought so, too – until our Basenjis had pups.

            Basenjis, allowed to develop as they should, are as close to nature as are cats.  In fact they display many feline characteristics. When their puppies were six weeks old our two took them out and taught them – to mind from underfoot, to come, to wait, to keep quiet, to track, to observe, to obey. It is quite amazing how much a healthy, inquisitive puppy can learn at that early age. Reliability, of course, comes only after practice, maturity and self-control.

            To start training such a tiny puppy without confusing her or inducing negativism, I need to have a clear plan of what I am going to ask of her as an adult dog as well as at each stage of her development, and the vocabulary I will use. I need to know something of dog psychology and the origins of her instinctive behaviour.  I must be prepared to ‘think dog’ as often as I ‘think human’. To realise her potential and her limitations, I must be able to accurately read her expressions and her body talk. And I must train as a parent.  Later, when I want serious work from her, I gradually become something of a pack leader, as well as something of a big sister.  If at the same time I allow her to become something of a human, as she readily will if she trusts me, we will have a great thing going between us.

            The main thing at this very early stage is that one is hardly ‘training’ so much as reinforcing what is already coming naturally to the puppy, saying ‘Come’ when she is already coming, ‘Sit’ when she is already in the act on her own, and using the enthusiasm of her own curiosity more than anything else.

            I have read many manuals on dog training. The methods used for basic obedience are generally the same, while the approach to more advanced work varies considerably.  Some are rather insipid and shallow, many too unsympathetic and over-regimented for my liking.  Most are set for proper school conditions and many lessons call for the aid of an assistant.  Which I didn’t have.  And would never have in the real-life search situation in the bush.  I had to work rather differently.