I've been wanting to write about this for a long time.
But I never seemed to have time.
So this morning I'm going to make time to do it.
Timing. Along with patience and clear criteria, having good timing is one of the keys to successful training, especially in obedience where there are a dozen separate skills packed into each individual "exercise" and many of those exercises are not intrinsically rewarding to the dog (like racing through a tunnel or flying over jumps). The dog needs feedback to know if he's right, since just doing the behavior (heeling especially) is probably not going to be a reward in itself.
Over the last few weeks, I've had the chance to watch trainers and their dogs in group practice sessions, in classes and at matches. It really made me aware of the importance of timing (in terms of both reward and correction) and how critical it is in helping your dog learn what you want him to do.
I noticed people are very quick to tell their dogs they were wrong. I heard lots of "No!" "Stop it!" "Wrong!" and the accompanying leash pops and human facial expressions of frustration, exasperation and temper (resulting in canine body language of confusion, stress, boredom and general unhappiness).
Yet these same handlers missed opportunity after opportunity to reward and reinforce when their dogs did desirable things. When their dogs gave attention, they did nothing. When their dogs made a clear decision between a distraction and their job, it was ignored. I think the dogs were trying hard to find out what their crazy humans wanted them to do, but the crazy humans weren't making it very easy.
People often say "My timing sucks" or "I have terrible timing." Yeah, been there. Nobody is born with pinpoint accuracy for giving dogs feedback. It takes effort on the trainer's part to develop good timing. It's not something that happens over night but it's totally worth making the conscious effort to improve. I believe that the top trainers in any sport have gotten there due in part to the fact they have excellent timing skills which allow them to communicate clearly (and thus successfully) with their dogs.
I've had students who I had to tell repeatedly, "That was perfect! Give him a cookie!" If I didn't tell them to do it, they never rewarded their dog. Of course, by the time the dog did the behavior, I told the student to treat the dog and the student actually delivered the treat, the moment was probably lost.
Sometimes when you are teaching your dog something new, especially if you are a beginning trainer yourself, it can be difficult to to see that critical point where you need to reward and it's helpful to have a training partner or instructor help you pin point it (kind of like a clicker for humans).
But you can't rely on someone else to do that for your dog's entire career. Good timing skills are something each handler needs to develop on their own. If you rely on other people to tell you when you should reinforce your dog's behavior, you're missing a big link in your relationship.
Timing isn't just about giving rewards. Timing comes into play when setting your dog up for an exercise, cuing your dog for what comes next, releasing to celebrate a job well done at a critical point while training an exercise and staying connected when moving from one exercise to another, both in training and in the ring. Timing and attention/focus are very much woven together. Dogs who have wonderful attention usually have trainers with good timing and vice versa.
Developing good timing is a challenge. You'll make mistakes. You'll miss opportunities. But if you're making the effort, you'll improve. It will gradually become like second nature and not something you have to make a conscious effort to do.
Happy training!
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Winter morning
Not sure where spring went. It snowed over night and looked (and felt!) like winter again on my way to work. This is the Iowa River between Amana and Homestead, running high and fast but not in flood stage.National Weather Service outlook for April is for below normal temps and above normal precip. I'm firmly in denial and looking forward to warm, sunny spring days for gardening and outdoor training!
Monday, March 28, 2011
Dinner with the Farmer
The Farmer and I went out for dinner Friday night. We went to the Iowa River Power Restaurant in Iowa City. It's the sort of trendy, spendy place that, left to our own devices, we would probably never go. But we had a gift certificate, courtesy of the neighbor's daughter, who can't tell north from south.
Back in February, when we had that big blizzard, the Farmer went over to the neighbor's to plow out their lane. The neighbor's daughter was convinced, in the way of teen-age girls, that she just HAD to go to work that day or the world would end.
The Farmer (whose wife was sensibly staying home that day, knowing full well the world would NOT end if she didn't show up at work) told her if she went north to the highway, she'd make it okay. Do not go south, he said. Go north.
Katey went south. And got stuck. And called the Farmer to pull her out. Which he did. Then she gave him a $50 gift certificate to this quasi fancy-schmancy restaurant.
So there we were.
The view is stunning, since the restaurant literally sits right on the riverbank. The food, sorry to say, was adequate. It was good but we could have gone to Texas Road House (our absolutest favoritest restaurant) and gotten more for our buck.
But it was a free meal and we enjoyed it and drank a toast to the directionally challenged Katey. It was the "Pulling the neighbor's daughter out of the snowdrift meal." Several years ago, we had the "Burying the neighbor's dead horse" meal. Different neighbor. Same idea. See what happens when you own a backhoe?
As it turned out, I was doing math in my head (that's frightening) and I knew we were close to spending the gift certificate but weren't going to use up the whole thing. So I did the sensible thing - I asked to see a dessert tray.
I ordered triple layer chocolate mousse cake and two forks.
I never order dessert when the Farmer and I go out. Never. Ever. It's a secret indulgence I hold in reserve for dinner out with the girls or when splurging on agility and obedience trial weekends. There's a whole ritual involved - the requisite ooh-ing and ahh-ing when the waitress brings the dessert, the distribution of forks, the passing and sampling, then the slow and seductive savoring and enjoying every morsel. Restaurant desserts are dang near a religious experience.
I was savoring my first delicate bite, letting the dark chocolate melt blissfully in my mouth, when I realized the Farmer was chomping his "half" down in huge bites, like he was shoveling in his mom's apple pie and was late for a fire.
Holy crap! At this rate, I'd only get one or two forkfuls!
Thankfully, the Farmer does not have a highly developed sweet tooth and abandoned the cake after a couple of bites. Or maybe it was the Hairy Stink Eye I fixed on him. (Oh dear, does that mean I'm resource guarding?) Either way, he put his fork down and I enjoyed the rest of the cake at a more refined pace. I didn't lick the chocolate syrup off the plate. I thought that showed great restraint. That cake was unarguably the best part of the meal.
Back in February, when we had that big blizzard, the Farmer went over to the neighbor's to plow out their lane. The neighbor's daughter was convinced, in the way of teen-age girls, that she just HAD to go to work that day or the world would end.
The Farmer (whose wife was sensibly staying home that day, knowing full well the world would NOT end if she didn't show up at work) told her if she went north to the highway, she'd make it okay. Do not go south, he said. Go north.
Katey went south. And got stuck. And called the Farmer to pull her out. Which he did. Then she gave him a $50 gift certificate to this quasi fancy-schmancy restaurant.
So there we were.
The view is stunning, since the restaurant literally sits right on the riverbank. The food, sorry to say, was adequate. It was good but we could have gone to Texas Road House (our absolutest favoritest restaurant) and gotten more for our buck.
But it was a free meal and we enjoyed it and drank a toast to the directionally challenged Katey. It was the "Pulling the neighbor's daughter out of the snowdrift meal." Several years ago, we had the "Burying the neighbor's dead horse" meal. Different neighbor. Same idea. See what happens when you own a backhoe?
As it turned out, I was doing math in my head (that's frightening) and I knew we were close to spending the gift certificate but weren't going to use up the whole thing. So I did the sensible thing - I asked to see a dessert tray.
I ordered triple layer chocolate mousse cake and two forks.
I never order dessert when the Farmer and I go out. Never. Ever. It's a secret indulgence I hold in reserve for dinner out with the girls or when splurging on agility and obedience trial weekends. There's a whole ritual involved - the requisite ooh-ing and ahh-ing when the waitress brings the dessert, the distribution of forks, the passing and sampling, then the slow and seductive savoring and enjoying every morsel. Restaurant desserts are dang near a religious experience.
I was savoring my first delicate bite, letting the dark chocolate melt blissfully in my mouth, when I realized the Farmer was chomping his "half" down in huge bites, like he was shoveling in his mom's apple pie and was late for a fire.
Holy crap! At this rate, I'd only get one or two forkfuls!
Thankfully, the Farmer does not have a highly developed sweet tooth and abandoned the cake after a couple of bites. Or maybe it was the Hairy Stink Eye I fixed on him. (Oh dear, does that mean I'm resource guarding?) Either way, he put his fork down and I enjoyed the rest of the cake at a more refined pace. I didn't lick the chocolate syrup off the plate. I thought that showed great restraint. That cake was unarguably the best part of the meal.
Friday, March 25, 2011
R2 re-do
Okay, seriously, I've only had R2 for two weeks and I've already rearranged things. Granted, it's pretty hard to do much differently with the size of crates I've got in there, but after last weekend's agility trial, I knew I had some wasted space.
The long 2x4s under Jamie's crate did a fine job of holding it up but also blocked off the empty space underneath. Dog folks know that any available space in a vehicle is good for having something stuffed into it. Wasted space is sacrilege.
It was time to recruit the Farmer to find more lumber. I wanted a sheet of plywood to put under the crates, so they could be blocked up, making the gap under Jamie's crate available for storage. Yeah, I could have gone to the lumber store and got it but I figured the Farmer had a sheet of relatively clean plywood someone around here. We have an entire building full of lumber from tiny little scraps to beams from the barn we lost in '98.
He went to the lumber store and bought it. Go figure. It's very clean. I'm not complaining. Here's the result.
There's room to slide a tent crate underneath. I can also slide my peg-board topper for the tent crate in there, too. I'm getting better at this less-is-more, downsizing, don't-take-the-kitchen-sink approach. The true test will be packing for mal nationals in less than a month.
The long 2x4s under Jamie's crate did a fine job of holding it up but also blocked off the empty space underneath. Dog folks know that any available space in a vehicle is good for having something stuffed into it. Wasted space is sacrilege.
It was time to recruit the Farmer to find more lumber. I wanted a sheet of plywood to put under the crates, so they could be blocked up, making the gap under Jamie's crate available for storage. Yeah, I could have gone to the lumber store and got it but I figured the Farmer had a sheet of relatively clean plywood someone around here. We have an entire building full of lumber from tiny little scraps to beams from the barn we lost in '98.
He went to the lumber store and bought it. Go figure. It's very clean. I'm not complaining. Here's the result.
There's room to slide a tent crate underneath. I can also slide my peg-board topper for the tent crate in there, too. I'm getting better at this less-is-more, downsizing, don't-take-the-kitchen-sink approach. The true test will be packing for mal nationals in less than a month.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Things I learned yesterday
Yesterday afternoon I went to the National Weather Service storm spotter training. They throw a lot of information at you in a short amount of time but I was happy to have remembered most of it from the first time.
One of the first things the presenter did was show a county map with red dots representing the location of each trained storm spotter. I had a dot!
Storm spotters are important to the National Weather Service because we are their "reality check," so to speak. Radar and other technologies give meteorologists a lot of information during a severe weather outbreak but spotters are the only ones who can tell them what's actually happening. Assuming we're not hiding in the basement.
The class was good to review the basics of severe thunderstorm structure. This year I was better at quickly identifying the updraft and downdraft areas, determining rotation, being able to tell which way a storm was moving and identifying "falsies" - things that are not what they appear to be. Of course, I think the pictures they chose for the training session were pretty obvious. From my limited experience in reality, it's not always that clear.
Here are some things I learned:
• We are currently in a La Niña weather pattern and can expect an active and intense severe weather year.
• Iowa ranks 4th in the nation in terms of the number of violent (EF4 and 5) tornadoes each year. (Holy crap. I'm going to the basement now.)
• As a rule, thunderstorms in Iowa move across the state from the west/southwest to the east/northeast. (Okay, I kinda already knew this.)
• The best place for spotter positioning is on the south/southeast side of storm.
• Supercell thunderstorms do not move in a straight line and tend to turn right about 30 degrees as they strengthen. (So if you're sitting south/southeast of one, PAY ATTENTION!)
• A bow echo on radar indicates the area of strongest wind on the leading edge of a storm.
• A hook echo on radar indicates a spot where tornado formation is likely.
• I should have called in to report the hail from Tuesday night's storm. I thought we were only supposed to report large hail but apparently the NWS wants to know about ANY hail as that helps them judge the storm's strength.
Since we're back into a below normal weather pattern (it's going to freaking SNOW tomorrow) for the next week, I don't think I'll get a chance to practice any time soon.
One of the first things the presenter did was show a county map with red dots representing the location of each trained storm spotter. I had a dot!
Storm spotters are important to the National Weather Service because we are their "reality check," so to speak. Radar and other technologies give meteorologists a lot of information during a severe weather outbreak but spotters are the only ones who can tell them what's actually happening. Assuming we're not hiding in the basement.
The class was good to review the basics of severe thunderstorm structure. This year I was better at quickly identifying the updraft and downdraft areas, determining rotation, being able to tell which way a storm was moving and identifying "falsies" - things that are not what they appear to be. Of course, I think the pictures they chose for the training session were pretty obvious. From my limited experience in reality, it's not always that clear.
Here are some things I learned:
• We are currently in a La Niña weather pattern and can expect an active and intense severe weather year.
• Iowa ranks 4th in the nation in terms of the number of violent (EF4 and 5) tornadoes each year. (Holy crap. I'm going to the basement now.)
• As a rule, thunderstorms in Iowa move across the state from the west/southwest to the east/northeast. (Okay, I kinda already knew this.)
• The best place for spotter positioning is on the south/southeast side of storm.
• Supercell thunderstorms do not move in a straight line and tend to turn right about 30 degrees as they strengthen. (So if you're sitting south/southeast of one, PAY ATTENTION!)
• A bow echo on radar indicates the area of strongest wind on the leading edge of a storm.
• A hook echo on radar indicates a spot where tornado formation is likely.
• I should have called in to report the hail from Tuesday night's storm. I thought we were only supposed to report large hail but apparently the NWS wants to know about ANY hail as that helps them judge the storm's strength.
Since we're back into a below normal weather pattern (it's going to freaking SNOW tomorrow) for the next week, I don't think I'll get a chance to practice any time soon.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
NOW it's officially spring
We had our first round of severe spring weather last night - hail, high wind, lightning, tornado warnings, all that good stuff.
I thought it was very exciting.
Jamie had a mid-level meltdown.
Phoenix and the Farmer slept through it.
I watched the 9 p.m. news and could see the big red blob on radar headed straight for us. This is always good for an adrenaline surge. This is bad when it's dark out and there may be things lurking in the big red blob that you can't see.
Since this was the first severe weather outbreak of the season and several tornadoes had already touched down near Des Moines, the TV meteorologist was clearly having a moment of rapture. I love those guys. (A few years ago we had the most awesome local TV meteorologist. He called himself Captain Tornado. He also got fired for problems with drinking, which may have explained some of his crazier on-screen antics.)
At that point, Jamie was sound asleep on his sheepskin pad by the bed. I know his hearing has decreased and I was happy that maybe this year's severe weather season wouldn't be as traumatic for him if he couldn't hear the thunder.
There weren't any warnings out for Iowa County, which was sort of disappointing, so I turned the TV off and went to bed. About 2 minutes after I fell asleep, my weather radio went off, blasting out a severe thunderstorm warning for Iowa County.
Lightning was flashing, thunder was shaking the house and Jamie was stuck to my leg like a big furry trembling appendage. So much for being deaf.
We stood and watched the storm out the dining room window for awhile. Pea-sized hail was bouncing off the patio like insane little popcorn kernels. The ground was white in no time. I'd hate to be caught in a hail storm where the stones are bigger. These tiny little ones still sounded like someone was firing marbles out of a shotgun at the house.
The storm passed within 20 minutes. Jamie was still sure doom and destruction were pending. I stuck him in Phoenix's big crate in the bedroom and he settled. He's weird that way. Left to his own devices, he'll pace, pant, tremble and try to climb on your head. Put him in a crate and he gets over it.
This afternoon I'm going to take storm spotter training again, to re-certify my spotter status with the National Weather Service. Really looking forward to it, since the first time I took the training, they threw so much stuff at us it was a little overwhelming. It's the sort of knowledge that is cool to have but at the same time, it's the sort of thing I hope I never have to use.
I thought it was very exciting.
Jamie had a mid-level meltdown.
Phoenix and the Farmer slept through it.
I watched the 9 p.m. news and could see the big red blob on radar headed straight for us. This is always good for an adrenaline surge. This is bad when it's dark out and there may be things lurking in the big red blob that you can't see.
Since this was the first severe weather outbreak of the season and several tornadoes had already touched down near Des Moines, the TV meteorologist was clearly having a moment of rapture. I love those guys. (A few years ago we had the most awesome local TV meteorologist. He called himself Captain Tornado. He also got fired for problems with drinking, which may have explained some of his crazier on-screen antics.)
At that point, Jamie was sound asleep on his sheepskin pad by the bed. I know his hearing has decreased and I was happy that maybe this year's severe weather season wouldn't be as traumatic for him if he couldn't hear the thunder.
There weren't any warnings out for Iowa County, which was sort of disappointing, so I turned the TV off and went to bed. About 2 minutes after I fell asleep, my weather radio went off, blasting out a severe thunderstorm warning for Iowa County.
Lightning was flashing, thunder was shaking the house and Jamie was stuck to my leg like a big furry trembling appendage. So much for being deaf.
We stood and watched the storm out the dining room window for awhile. Pea-sized hail was bouncing off the patio like insane little popcorn kernels. The ground was white in no time. I'd hate to be caught in a hail storm where the stones are bigger. These tiny little ones still sounded like someone was firing marbles out of a shotgun at the house.
The storm passed within 20 minutes. Jamie was still sure doom and destruction were pending. I stuck him in Phoenix's big crate in the bedroom and he settled. He's weird that way. Left to his own devices, he'll pace, pant, tremble and try to climb on your head. Put him in a crate and he gets over it.
This afternoon I'm going to take storm spotter training again, to re-certify my spotter status with the National Weather Service. Really looking forward to it, since the first time I took the training, they threw so much stuff at us it was a little overwhelming. It's the sort of knowledge that is cool to have but at the same time, it's the sort of thing I hope I never have to use.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Close encounters of the feline kind
We stayed in a motel for last weekend's agility trials (of which I will post video if I ever get it downloaded from my camera to my computer, uploaded to YouTube and downloaded to this blog. Seriously, did anyone ever use the words download and upload until about 5 years ago? I think not.)
Anyway, Saturday night I took Phoenix out to potty and as we were going back to the motel, I saw a lady carrying a VariKennel across the parking lot. It looked very heavy and awkward and I wondered why she didn't just take the dog out and let it walk instead.
Since we arrived at the door at the same time, I held the door for her since she obviously had her hands full.
Phoenix went on full alert. Uh-oh.
There were CATS in the VariKennel!
We got through the door with a minimum of mayhem. I crossed the lobby and punched the elevator button. Hey, give me a break. My room was on the third floor and you know how exhausted you are after running agility all day. Yeah . . . um . . . two runs, each under 60 seconds . . . yeah . . . really makes a body tired.
So anyway, I'm waiting for the elevator and Phoenix is dancing around behind me, scoping out the cats and making squeaking sounds. The cat lady's friend is asking what her cats think about dogs and she is saying something like, "Oh, they've met a dog before." And I'm thinking, what, a chihuahua? Because they're not looking very happy in that VariKennel even though I've got Phoenix on a tight leash and am not letting him get any closer.
The cat in the front of the crate was kind of smushed up against the wire door. I think the one behind it was shoving it forward, probably hopeful if the crazy-looking dog ate him first, maybe he wouldn't still be hungry for the cat in the back, too.
The elevator comes and we get on and holy smoke - the cat lady starts to get on, too. Phoenix is on total Over The Top Red Cat Alert by now. Everything on that dog that could be standing straight up is - his tail, his hackles, his whiskers. His ears were crossing at the tips and that is NEVER a good sign. The squeaking sounds had stopped and he was licking his chops.
Fortunately, the cat lady's friend noticed this (and possibly the fact I had a white knuckle death grip on his leash) and cleverly deduced that it might be in everyone's best interest if they waited for the next elevator. The cat lady herself seemed oblivious. The cats didn't look happy about any of it but I suspect they weren't happy about being in a box in the first place and the additional threat of a dog in their faces didn't help.
Phoenix was terribly disappointed. He was pretty sure the two cats in a box were his prize for getting a JWW leg that day.
Anyway, Saturday night I took Phoenix out to potty and as we were going back to the motel, I saw a lady carrying a VariKennel across the parking lot. It looked very heavy and awkward and I wondered why she didn't just take the dog out and let it walk instead.
Since we arrived at the door at the same time, I held the door for her since she obviously had her hands full.
Phoenix went on full alert. Uh-oh.
There were CATS in the VariKennel!
We got through the door with a minimum of mayhem. I crossed the lobby and punched the elevator button. Hey, give me a break. My room was on the third floor and you know how exhausted you are after running agility all day. Yeah . . . um . . . two runs, each under 60 seconds . . . yeah . . . really makes a body tired.
So anyway, I'm waiting for the elevator and Phoenix is dancing around behind me, scoping out the cats and making squeaking sounds. The cat lady's friend is asking what her cats think about dogs and she is saying something like, "Oh, they've met a dog before." And I'm thinking, what, a chihuahua? Because they're not looking very happy in that VariKennel even though I've got Phoenix on a tight leash and am not letting him get any closer.
The cat in the front of the crate was kind of smushed up against the wire door. I think the one behind it was shoving it forward, probably hopeful if the crazy-looking dog ate him first, maybe he wouldn't still be hungry for the cat in the back, too.
The elevator comes and we get on and holy smoke - the cat lady starts to get on, too. Phoenix is on total Over The Top Red Cat Alert by now. Everything on that dog that could be standing straight up is - his tail, his hackles, his whiskers. His ears were crossing at the tips and that is NEVER a good sign. The squeaking sounds had stopped and he was licking his chops.
Fortunately, the cat lady's friend noticed this (and possibly the fact I had a white knuckle death grip on his leash) and cleverly deduced that it might be in everyone's best interest if they waited for the next elevator. The cat lady herself seemed oblivious. The cats didn't look happy about any of it but I suspect they weren't happy about being in a box in the first place and the additional threat of a dog in their faces didn't help.
Phoenix was terribly disappointed. He was pretty sure the two cats in a box were his prize for getting a JWW leg that day.
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