Association

Those of us who have raised or taught young children are very aware of the power of word or action association.  How quickly a baby learns the sound of the word "Mama"-his arms reach up and a smile lights his wee face.  The toddler knows when Mama goes to the jar which holds cookies.

Just as a child learns, so do our pets.  The cat hears the can-opener and comes running , "OH BOy--tuna!"  The dog hears "walk" and wags his tail, looking expectantly as his person puts on a jacket. Even large animals--the cows, lazing about on the hillside, used to rise and head for the barn when my Dad stood atop the hill calling "Co Boss".  They knew it meant food.  My horses would bang their stall doors and whinny when they saw me approach the grain barrel. "It's about time you showed up!"  

Food treats are used in training dogs and they quickly associate performing a certain move earns a taste of something good. I have seen, more and more, as people tend to talk to their pets on a daily basis in matters that have nothing to do with training, actually (at least in my case) I am talking out loud to myself, and those canine and feline ears are listening.  Their eyes are watching my every move.  They hear and see what I am about and they note  what results from those words and actions.  Usually I am surprised by their response and remark, "How did you know that?"  We could all learn a great deal if we were half as tuned in to our environment as our animals are!

Of all my dogs, my Australian Shepherd was the most attentive.  She was very easy to train.  She also learned much that I did not teach her-simply by association.  When we first began agility lessons, the coach said "Those of you with Aussies or Border collies, use a different word for table (the pause bench in agility equipment) or you will find if in casual conversation you mention the table, your dog will be found standing on your coffee table."  She was SO right!    Heather quickly associated the closet with my jacket and going out, without my ever saying a word.  She knew simply from watching me, which footwear I required.  I am wearing a dress--must be going out alone-she brings my dress shoes.  Old jacket, smells like the goats, here comes my barn boots.  Putting on my nightgown, and my slippers suddenly appear.  This was not training.  It was Heather, putting 2 and 2 together.

My son's Boxer took it one step further.  He knew if he wanted out all he had to do was bring his leash to Sean.  One day the leash had been left out in the truck.  Lazarus needed out. Sean was busy at the computer.  Laz hunted all over.  No leash.  Then he spotted the cord with the ID badge that Sean wears when he leaves for work.  Laz swiped it from the kitchen counter , carrying it proudly to Sean.  "OK, I'm ready.  Let's go out."

My cat, Susie, appears to be sound asleep on her window seat, curled warmly in a sunbeam.  I believe cats never sleep soundly. Part of them is always aware.  I had trained Susie to go into the bedroom when I take Hannah outside.  (Susie likes to make a dash through the open door and cats are not allowed outside at Joseph's Dream.) I had not mentioned going out.  In fact Hannah was still asleep in her crate.  I went to the stand where Hannah's leash is kept.  The instant I picked up that leash, Susie woke, leapt from the cushion and dashed into the bedroom. "Meow--okay where's the treats?"

And one more.   Hannah has a clock in her doggie head.  She reminds me when things should be occurring, like supper time.  I feed her at 5:00pm.  Now and then I might be a bit late and will be reminded  by an annoyed dog who sits before her empty dish and barks.  When I prepare food for myself I always wear an apron over my clothing.  Wheelchair cooking can be a bit messy at times. I wear a bib apron, the kind that has a loop that goes over your head and strings that tie in the back.  My apron hangs on a hook on the kitchen cabinet.  This particular day I had been notified by Hannah that I was late preparing her supper.  "Bark---and again,"bark".  I was busy putting away my laundry in the bedroom.  "Quiet.  Wait a minute", I responded.  The barking stopped.  After a moment I turned and looking at the bedroom doorway, there sat Hannah, wearing my apron.  She had the loop over her head, around her neck.  The front of the apron dragged beneath her belly. She had it on correctly. I have no idea how she got it off the hook nor how she managed to put it on. After I stopped laughing, I quickly poured kibble and mixed the canned chopped chicken into Hannah's pan.  This time it was me who got the message.

photo:  Sean and Lazarus