Bones Would Rain from the Sky: Deepening Our Relationships with Dogs (8 page)

The dance is not a result of specific
techniques. It springs from a life lived according to the
philosophy crafted by your heart, a philosophy
that informs all you do. This cannot be achieved by bringing your
awareness and effort only to those moments you call
"training." The dog is a dog, twenty-four hours
a day. His world is shaped by what you say and do, not just
in training sessions but in every waking moment he is with
you. Incapable of dishonesty in his own communications, a
master of observation, the dog not only notices what
you do, but he believes what you do to be an accurate
reflection of the relationship between you. The relationship-the
pivotal point on which all else turns-is
built (or undermined) in every interaction. There are those
who recoil from this, saying "That's too much work!" In
so saying, they admit they have no desire to put so
much effort and time into a relationship with a "mere" dog.
But for those who have the desire, those who would dance with a
dog as their partner, this reality is a welcome
opportunity to use every moment with awareness and
purpose.
"Education is an admirable thing, but it is well
to remember from time to time that nothing that is
worth knowing can be taught," Oscar Wilde wrote.

No one can teach you how to dance with a dog. There are no
recipes or shortcuts, no magic knotted
leashes that ease the way. What this book offers are
the cautionary tales of common failings and
misunderstandings between man and dog. They are offered so that
you need not make the same mistakes, or having
already made them, you may reassure yourself that many other
travelers on this road have also stumbled. The
philosophy offered here is mine, but it points the
way to a very real place where a dog will meet you
gladly. Perhaps you can use this book to help you find
your way to dance, joyfully and with heart.

To know someone here or there with whom you can feel there is
understanding in spite of distances or thoughts unexpressed
that can make of this earth a garden.
Goethe

when we enter into a relationship with A dog or any
other being, we are seeking a connection or, perhaps more
accurately, what we feel as a result
of this connection: comfort, love, acceptance, peace,
joy. What we are seeking and striving for is a
quality of connection that is-hopefully-a mutually
pleasurable state, a dance of two spirits moving in
agreement. Though we may be unable to articulate
precisely what we seek, we recognize it when
it happens. Simply stated, it feels good when it
is right, and it does not feel good when things are
wrong. And when it is right, it's delightfully,
incredibly, inexpressibly right. And when it's
wrong, it can be terribly, unbearably wrong.
What drives us crazy at times is that even when the
connection is powerful and good, we may not know just how that
moment was achieved or what magical ingredients
helped to create it or, sadly, why it just as
mysteriously dissolves into the mundane or routine.
Because this kind of profound connection is elusive
(whether we seek it with other people or with animals),
we may not understand that it is not a goal or "thing" but
rather a process, and a dynamic one at that.
Despite the messages from advertisers that assure
us that with their product (their car, soap, beer, dog
food, jeans) we will be able to have the fulfilling
relationships we seek, the truth is there is no
particular formula by which a powerful connection
may be summoned or created. In
our restless searching through books and videos and
seminars, we are asking for the recipe that can help us
create what we know exists. Such a relationship between
us and our animals is possible, though not
necessarily easy, certainly not automatic.
We've tasted it, or we've seen it or perhaps
we've even just read about it-and we want more. We
want a road map to There, because we've been there or
we know others who have, and we know it's where we want
to go.
None of us deliberately sets out to create a
relationship filled with conflict, frustration or
disappointment. But the deep connection we seek may
be missing, especially if we mistake the
technicalities of dog behavior, training
theories and techniques for a relationship. To find
what we are seeking, we need to begin at the beginning,
examining the foundation on which the entire relationship will
turn: the quality of the connection itself.

Rather mechanical in nature, dog training
has long been devoid of words like
quality.
Open most dog books and you'll not find this word in the
index. This may be due in part because in using a word like
quality
in the context of the dogs to human relationship, we step
out into murky waters. If we ask "What is
quality?" we are now in deep waters indeed.
Philosophers have struggled to answer this for literally
thousands of years, and the jury is still out on any
definitive answer because like most things that deeply
matter and powerfully inform our lives, quality will not
yield to a simple definition. In
Zen and the An of Motorcycle Maintenance,
Robert Pirsig addresses the question of quality
itself, a tricky concept that proves difficult
to unravel and define though he tackles it from endless
angles and theoretical stances. One of my
favorite ideas from Pirsig's book is this:
"Quality is not a thing. It is an event."
In other words, quality is something that
happens,
the result of a coming together. Pirsig poses the thought
that while a sunset may be beautiful, that beauty
is an event of quality within the beholder.
Though splendid, the colors of the sunset are not
what move us. If that were true, then each time the
sun set, all of us would be moved as we are but
infrequently. It is what we bring to the observation
of that sunset that moves us as it does. I cannot
remember with precision too many sunsets, though I
have seen countless ones in my lifetime. I can
remember only vaguely the pleasure of flooding
my mind with such unexpected colors combined in
a way unique to that time and place.
I can more clearly remember one particular
sun setting over the distant trees, the night
breeze chilling me as it dried the sweat raised in
digging my dog's grave. That sunset moved me as
the one before it or after it could not. On that evening, the
setting of the day was more than just a routine moment that
signaled mundane shifts such as the need to feed the
horses or begin the evening meal. And it was more than
my casual attention that was brought to the brilliant but
brief display that all too soon disappeared, leaving
only the darkness.
Each time we interact with a dog or any other being,
we have an opportunity to create an event
of quality, or not. Our relationships with our dogs
are dynamic, responsive to and informed by every choice
we make. Each of our actions, whether intentional
or inadvertent, will move us in only a few
possible directions-away from or toward greater
intensity of connection, or we do not move at all and
remain still.
If quality is indeed an event, then in every moment,
we have a choice. Relationships are not mechanical
processes, though training itself is very often considered
to be. Bob Bailey, a professional animal
trainer who has used scientifically established
principles of training to train over 140 different
species, states it plainly, "Training is a
mechanical skill." The problem arises when we
mistake the skill
of training for the relationship itself. It is possible to have
extremely good technical training skills and very
little sense of relationship; conversely, as millions
of dog owners demonstrate daily, it is also
possible to have little or no technical training skill
and still have a profoundly moving relationship with an
animal. Though training can be mechanical, I think
it is unfortunate at best that many trainers
try to reduce it to that level. We are not mixing
chemicals that will react predictably; we are
dealing with the intersection of two live, unique beings.
We are dealing with something that is dynamic. To view
training as purely mechanical is to say that the
results are predictable, like gravity pulling a
thrown stone to earth. But as any experienced animal
person will tell you, animals are not entirely
predictable, no more than we are.
If we view our dogs as organisms that will
respond in certain ways provided we apply the
appropriate and timely stimuli, we are stuck in
a very mechanical perspective that does not allow for
were because it cannot explain) the mysterious and wonderful
possibilities of a deep connection. Though we
enjoy the things that Newtonian physics makes
possible-our automobiles, planes, bridges,
homes-we must turn elsewhere to understand nonthings or
processes, such as our own bodies and
relationships. Whether we are trying to understand the rich
interwoven biological and ecological systems that
make up the planet, or to unravel the mysteries
of the bodystmind connection or move into deeper
levels of understanding in our relationships with
others, the rigid, mechanistic views based on
Newtonian physics fail us. Our world is not
one of simple cause and effect, but one of
dynamic interactions, right down to the cells within our
bodies. As Candace Pert points out in her book
Mofecwfes of Emotion,
our thoughts create definable physiological shifts
in our bodies; the biochemistry of the cells help
to inform the shape of our thoughts. It is a seamless
integration of information, so that it is impossible to say
where the beginning or end of it all may lie. A
relationship is also-at its core-a seamless
integration of information. By the very act of choosing to be in
a relationship-even casually-with another being, we open
ourselves to the dynamic process of both putting forth and
receiving information.
To fully embrace the idea that quality is a
dynamic event that we can choose to create is both
a heavy burden of responsibility and one of the
greatest of all freedoms. We can push away this
responsibility with a mental shrug, saying,
"Well, that's the way it is" as if life and our
interactions with others are some kind of emotional weather
over which we have no control or influence.
Even worse, we may throw up our hands and,
relative to another's behavior, say, "That's just
the way they are!" as if we have no influence on the
behavior of those around us. Both responses are as
common in the dogsthuman relationship as in our human
interactions. Either way, we are not accepting the
responsibility for creating our world and are fooling
ourselves that we can somehow stand apart from our life and our
relationships with others. Though dog training often
focuses on the dog's behavior, it is almost
impossible to separate the dog from the dogsthuman
relationship, which in turn means that we,
as part of the relationship, have responsibilities and
choices to make about our own behavior. The event of
quality is one that we can actively choose, every
day, each time we are with our dogs.
sunsets in Disneyland Pirsig's second book,
LilaccAn Inquiry into Morals,
takes the concept of quality a little further, defining
two basic types of quality: static and
dynamic. Static quality is predictable,
replicable and most often involves people and things, not people
and other living beings. Disneyland is an example of
static quality. Deliberately set in
climates that offer a high percentage of good weather,
Disney's attractions are carefully controlled
to make sure that to the highest degree possible, all
visitors have the same experience, at least in terms
of what is presented; no one can control the internal
response of any visitor. I disliked Disneyland
very much but could not articulate why I found it so
flat, almost sterile. Years later, when I read
Pirsig's Lila,
I understood that what I objected to was
precisely the static quality of the experience.
There is a tremendous attraction for many people in such
static or fixed-quality experiences, as evidenced
by the success of Disney and other venues, because there is
value in static quality. You would have a hard time
convincing the average person to pay an admittance
fee to a park where they might or might not see
Mickey Mouse, where there might or might not be a
parade on Main Street, where rides might or
might not be open. It is the static quality of the
offered experience that is the attraction. People feel
safe when they know what to expect, when they can
reasonably predict the experience.
Static quality can be enjoyable, it can
please us and make us feel good, but it has its
limits. Rarely does it quicken our souls. We
often accept the merely static because it requires
less energy from us, requires less of us. Within the
context of a relationship, an expectation or desire
for static, predictable experiences can deaden us to the
complex beauty of another being; at worst, such
expectations are truly destructive since they do
not honor or enhance the connection. For some, a dog
is not a living, breathing being with needs and
expectations, but something they
can "h" when they want to interact with a dog. Like any
living thing, dogs do not loan themselves to moments of
static quality. They are not appliances or
furnishings or instruments that await your need of them.
A fine stereo system can provide us with
superb-quality music anytime we push a
button; you cannot turn a dog on or off like a
radio depending on your desire at the moment,
ignoring it the rest of the time. But God knows, people
try.
Every dog trainer in the world can relate stories of
clients who want a dog and are seeking
advice as to what kind of dog they should consider.
Questioned, the client reports in all sincerity that they
want a dog who would happily stay home alone for
eight to ten or more hours a day, never destroy
anything, perfectly control his bladder and bowels, be
delighted to see them and need little more than a walk
around the block before settling down to keep them
company. They ask, "What kind of dog should I
get88The correct answer is "A stuffed one."
For a while, the AKC had a TV commercial that
posed a similar situation and answer. There might be
a market, I suppose, for a canine version of
escort services. You could, for instance, pick up the
phone and ask for a beautiful blonde (golden
Retriever] to accompany you to a picnic in the
park. Need a four-footed playmate for the kids
one afternoon? Request Nanny the Newfoundland, who
doubles as a lifeguard. Feeling vulnerable while
your spouse is away on a trip? Rent Gunther
the Guard Dog-he's delivered, of course, only
for the few hours that you actually need his services. Like
any professional escort, these dogs would be
impeccably groomed, well mannered and pleasant,
guaranteed to provide "a quality dogsthuman
interaction." Once done with your need for a
dog, you could return him to the Dogs on Demand
office and go about your day. All the delight of a
dog's companionship but none of the responsibility.
But also none of the soulful moments of dynamic
authenticity. This sterile, static approach to dogs
is not as far-fetched as it seems. In her book
The Animal Attraction,
Dr. Jonica Newby reports that in Tokyo,
dogs can be rented by the hour; outside of Beijing,
dog lovers unable to keep dogs can visit a
special "dog farm." In both cases, it is more
the pressures of urban life and society that
make dog keeping an extraordinary luxury
unavailable to many, not a shallow desire to avoid the
complexities of a life shared with dogs.