The Interloper

By Beth Terrell

With poor Maxx sharing the trials and tribulations of a foo-foo dog who gets no respect, it seemed like a good time to share the latest news on Luca the papillon (a.k.a., His Lordship of Eternal Cuteness, Light of a Thousand Suns).

Lately, Luca has seemed a bit subdued, maybe even a bit depressed, a condition Mike and I attributed to loneliness during the workday. With Karma gone, there's nobody to keep the little guy company while we're out earning the kibble except Edgar the cat, who is a lovable boy, but not, in His Lordship's estimation, a suitable playmate for a canine of such elevated esteem.

Of course, being the loving parents that we are, we decided that the solution to Luca's problem would be a little brother or sister. Even though there is still a Karma-sized hole in our hearts, we found the perfect playmate, a twelve-week-old papillon female we named Willow. She is a love. That's Luca on the left and Willow on the right. Don't they look like they were made for each other?

Their first meeting went very well, and His Lordship was every bit the gentleman (despite having to overcome a badly executed summer haircut). He looked slightly askance when she rummaged through his toybox but didn't assert his royal prerogative until she overstepped her bounds and went for the highly favored beef throat. He seemed to enjoy having her company, though she is a bit boisterous for his delicate sensibilities. Then, today, he seemed to come to an appalling realization: she wasn't a guest. She was going to live here.

Here, in his very own house, with his very own people, this rowdy little ruffian with the Ethel Merman voice was digging in for the long haul. Oh, he's still mostly a gentleman about it, but his company manners are beginning to slip, especially when the little interloper pulls on his tail or--oh, the horrors--his ear fringes. Fortunately, their first session with Brigitte Sclaba (our freestyle trainer) has already been scheduled, and Willow will be attending a class in good manners with our other trainer, Peg Harrington (of The Happy Hound).

As for me, I'm embarking on a whole new adventure. Mike has always been a wonderful dog daddy, but I look back at some of the mistakes I've made in the past and hope I've become a better dog owner with each one we've lived with. I've loved them all with all my heart, but Luca has taken me to a different level. Working with him has been an absolute delight, teaching me so much about positive training methods. I'm improving my timing with the clicker and working at keeping my energy level high enough when I train. Now things are going to get really interesting. How many hands am I going to need? If I'm trying to capture a behavior and one dog does something cute, how will they know which one is getting the click? I have a million questions, and the most pressing is this: how do I give Willow everything she needs without diminishing my bond with Luca?

Before I got Luca, I had the usual anxiety dreams--forgot about an important exam, did a perfect Act I only to realize we've never practiced Act II, suddenly realized I've gone to a class in my underwear. After I got him, all my anxiety dreams were about him. I'd turn around in a crowd and realize he was gone, then catch sight of him in a sea of people about to tromp him, or he'd be weaving among the feet of a herd of Clydesdales, or we'd be at an aquarium, and giant frogs would be trying to eat him. My friends laughed and said they had the same kind of dreams when they first had their children. The dreams lasted for several months, and finally, they stopped.

Then, last night, I dreamed that I was in a labyrinth that I later discovered was some sort of ultimate Wal-Mart. One minute, Luca was with me, and the next, he was gone. I spent the remainder of the dream searching for him, catching occasional glimpses, but never actually recovering him safely. I don't have to delve too deeply into the old subconscious to know what that means.

Love and loss are hopelessly entwined. In every beginning is its end. But maybe that's part of what makes it so sweet. Wish us luck!

Jackpot: The Power of Positive Reinforcement

By Beth Terrell

This is Luca, also known as His Lordship of Eternal Cuteness. He's a papillon, (French for "butterfly"). Look at the ears, and there's no mystery about how the breed got its name. See the little bit of white on his ears? It's considered a flaw in the show ring, because it's believed that darker ears most resemble butterflies. If his ears had been dark, his breeder would have kept him to show and breed, and this little ray of shining brightness would never have come to live with us. As it was, she was looking for a home for him at exactly the same time I was being consumed by puppy fever.

Oh, I had no intentions of actually getting a puppy. I was at the dog show "researching breeds." But the minute I saw him, I was in love. I don't know what it was. I had been passing up other adorable puppies for weeks. This one had my heart the second I saw him. He weighed two and a half pounds, and most of it was ears. He still had his puppy coat (not the silky tresses you see today), and he looked like a strong wind might pick him up and carry him off. He literally took my breath away. He still does.

I know I'm hardwired to love him. With his tiny face, big eyes, and round head, he evokes the hormonal rush of adoration we humans are programmed to feel when we look at babies. But there's more than that at work here. I've loved every dog who's ever owned me, but there's an almost spiritual chemistry with this one.

A few days ago, we were clicker training in the living room. If you've never clicker trained a dog before, it's a fascinating experience. Luca loves it. It's a positive training method based on traditional operant conditioning. The idea is that animals (and people) do the things that bring pleasant results (rewards) and avoid the things that don't bring rewards. A reward might be a good feeling, a good grade, praise, or--if you're a papillon--a tasty piece of liver snack. Some people call clicker training "marker training," because the click marks the desired behavior. The click is made by a little plastic device, the clicking end of an ink pen, or even the trainer's tongue. (Sometimes I just use a quick, high-pitched "yes!", but the clicker is best, because it's a very distinctive sound, and the dog hears it only during training sessions.) The clicker is paired with a reward, so that the animal learns that the click means good things happen. (Click - reward, click-reward.) The click becomes a marker you can use to tell the dog, "Yes, that thing you just did, that's what I want."

Timing is important with clicker training, because whatever the dog is doing at the moment you click is what it gets rewarded for, and what gets rewarded, gets repeated. Sometimes you lure the dog into the position or behavior you want, then click the instant you get it. Other times you capture a behavior the dog performs spontaneously. (Luca sometimes rubs his eyes with one paw; he looks like he's a shy boy covering his face. I find this adorable and want to put it on cue, so whenever I see him do it, I click and reward. As a result, he does it more and more frequently. When he is offering the behavior often, I will begin to pair it with the command, "Shy boy." Eventually, I'll reward only when he does the behavior on command. This is how he learns that "Shy boy" means, "Do that cute thing where you cover your eyes with your paw."

Once he's learned that, and once he does it reliably on command, I'll stop clicking every time and go to an intermittent reinforcement schedule. This is the most powerful type of reward of all, because it works on the same theory as Las Vegas slot machines. We know there will be a payout; we just don't know when, so we keep on playing. Same with Luca. Once he knows what he's supposed to do, he gets praise every time, but he only gets the reward every so often, and he's never sure when. Sometimes it's a "jackpot"--a whole handful of goodies instead of the usual tiny bite. Woo hoo! Because he always gets something good (praise) and sometimes gets something really good, the behavior becomes very reliable, and Luca is happy because he's figured out how to make the good things happen.

Today, I realized that being a writer is a little bit like being clicker trained. (I bet you were wondering how I was going to relate this to writing!) Writing is chock full of that powerful intermittent reinforcement.

I write a chapter of tight, compelling prose that holds up to even my sternest inner critic.
Click. I get a warm and fizzy feeling inside. I want more of that!

I struggle to reach my goal of 1,000 words. Nothing sings. The writing is flat. What happened to that warm and fizzy feeling? No reward. Hm. Better try harder.

Someone sends me an email saying they read my book and couldn't put it down. "I'm serious," she says. "I was reading at stoplights!"

Click. Hm. Maybe I really am cut out for this.

Maybe I get a bad review and I'm stuck on the chapter where the villain escapes using a toilet plunger and a pair of his grandmother's support hose. No reward. (Sigh.) The thought of my friend reading my book at stoplights carries me through. Maybe tomorrow will be the day I get...a good review, a top New York agent, a six million dollar movie deal.

No wonder writing is so addictive!

Dancing and Dreaming with Dogs

Ever since my husband and I got our papillon, Luca, my anxiety dreams have changed. I used to have normal anxiety dreams: the one where I've just learned I have an exam for a college class I've never been to and I don't even know where the exam is, or the one where we do a play and complete a fantastic first act, only to realize we've never rehearsed Act II. But now my anxiety dreams involve losing Luca in a crowd and knowing he's about to be stepped on and I can't reach him in time to stop it. Or we're out in the yard and a hawk swoops down to snatch him up, or we're in a walk-through aquarium/zoo, and giant frogs the size of Old English Sheepdogs are trying to eat him. My friends who have children laugh at me. They say they had the same kinds of dreams when their children were born.

Tuesday evening as I was leaving for work, my husband, Mike, called me on my cell phone to tell me Luca, "might be limping a little." To understand the anxiety this elicited, you need to understand several things:

1) Luca is exceptionally small for his breed. He weighs a grand old four pounds eleven ounces, half the size of his litter mates, with a delicate build and spindly little legs like a deer--or maybe a fairy. He wasn't bred intentionally to be so small; he just turned out that way.

2) In April, he broke his left front leg. I was lifting him over the baby gate so I could go to work, and about four inches from the ground, he squirmed out of my hands and landed in exactly the wrong way. The little leg bone just... snapped.

3) As a result of the above-mentioned accident, he had to have a metal plate surgically inserted, after which he had to be kept quiet for eight weeks. This means that he either had to be in his crate or being held. No small feat for a little guy of a year old.

4) The cost was...well, let's just say that after a day spent weeping in bank offices, I was saved from having to refinance my car by a substantial loan from my mother.

5) I am completely, absolutely, utterly in love with this dog.

So when Mike said Luca was limping, for just a moment, my heart stood still. Finally, I managed, "The one he broke?"

"No, the other one. His..." There was a pause while he looked. "His right front leg."

By the time I got home, "maybe limping a little" had become a no-doubt-about-it, walking-on-three-legs injury. Not an obvious break like the one in April, but still...

I took him to the vet the next morning, and fortunately, the injury turned out to be a sprained elbow. A few pain pills and a few days rest, and he should be fine. In fact, the limp is barely noticeable today. Even so, I'm struggling against the urge to make him a little suit of armor from bubble wrap.

Instead, when his sprain is healed, we'll go back to our canine freestyle classes. Canine freestyle is heelling and tricks to music. It's often referred to as dog dancing. We're still beginners, but it gives us something fun to do together, and it gives something to aspire to (see border collie Fly as "Gladiator Dog" and Carolyn Haines and her golden retriever Rookie dancing to "You're the One That I Want").

Luca also helps me write. Generally, that means snuggling next to me or in my lap while I type, but in my most recent book, I gave him what was meant to be a bit part. I did it so that, when I get my publishing deal and begin my book tour, he can go with me. Brilliant, right? His Lordship of Eternal Cuteness draws the crowd, which then stays to buy my books--or at least to have a conversation that will make me seem less desperate and more in demand. Then I realized I needed a reason for the good guys to know the bad guy is sneaking into their house, and suddenly, Luca's bit part is a major plot point.

This is the serendipity of writing. Everything is fodder. Things we think are completely unrelated end up on the page. The things we love (and hate and fear) find their way into our stories. This time, it was Luca. Next time, I have plans for Karma, our 15-year-old Tibetan Spaniel. After that, who knows? From dog dances to bigfoot festivals to public Laundromats, everything we experience makes us better writers.