Mister Says More Praise Please

I got the clean go-to-town coat off the hook and Jolene started the truck dance. Mister had a look of worry with a dollop of dread on top. It’s his normal look. I told Jolene, not this time. The words fell flat; she was in utter disbelief. Mister nurses his disappointment, but Jolene doesn’t give up. Not surprising since I rarely go places dogs aren’t welcome. They sat as I got out the gate, a last-ditch effort to prove what good dogs they are. Mister stares as I pull away, and Jolene will continue to warn me about the catastrophic mistake I’m making until I’m past the mailbox.  

I was off to a violin recital that took place in a renovated garage behind a vintage home. The studio was cluttered with floor-to-ceiling shelves, music stands, and plants everywhere. A piano in one corner with a mirror over the keyboard so we could see the player’s faces. The meager audience was seated in mismatched folding chairs. It wasn’t fancy. I could see a tiny apartment behind and a garden outside. A home should be a monument to what the person holds dear. This teacher lived for her work. She is me without muck boots.

My friend is learning the violin midlife, and her young daughter accompanied her on the piano. Glorious. Then two girls played a piano duet, one of them counting time with her lips moving. Then a quartet of teenagers played a complicated piece that was the highlight. Kids who play violin fit in about as well as the art geeks of my generation. When each piece ended, we cheered. The teacher spoke directly to the musician, praising their work personally, always using their name. The kids reminded me that sometimes it’s almost as embarrassing to hear praise as criticism. Then teacher led us in a second round of applause. She’s an Affirmative Trainer, I thought.

I have a zealous attraction to events like this. They are horse shows without horses. Moments of courage and vulnerability. As much as I appreciate someone who has mastery, I enjoy the process of learning more than the finished product. The melding of art and technique is the exciting part. Learning and problem-solving are the real art. This is the wild in-between place where hands get dirty and not everything is perfect. It’s where I work and where I live. I am in the best company.

Driving home, my thoughts pace a worn path. Who would Mister be if he had Jolene’s start? He doesn’t suffer, but his joy is metered, as if he’s counting calories and must deny himself. 

Mister would like you to know he goes in a crate easier than Jolene. It’s true, but always with a hint of dread. He has read all the fine print about crates being dens of safety and calm, but it also means separation. Sometimes he chooses that. The crate is too small for him, but he squeezes in with whatever he is currently hoarding. He enjoys worrying in peace.

Then Jolene flies into the room doing cartwheels with a live bird in her mouth.

She isn’t like us. We are cynical and tired. With curmudgeons, it’s always hard to tell if it’s age or attitude. Mister would like you to know he would never be the cheap show-off that Jolene is. Jolene smiles like a cat because she is a show-off, and what’s the point of pretending otherwise. She wears her confidence like a birthright.

Mister and I are both in awe of her. We almost want to stifle her joy because it’s disruptive. Mister sighs, and I remind myself that humans are famous for thinking they are smart and need to control others. I fight the urge to be the fun police because Mister has that base covered. 

Now I think of my friend and those kids as they challenge themselves. Do we listen for mistakes or cheer their courage from the cheap seats? Do we worry about the future, or rain down praise today?

Jolene used to be a prodigious licker, and my fingers were frequently between her pointy teeth. In the past, when I might have tapped little noses away. Corrections for rudeness because puppies need discipline. But I wasn’t listening. 

Licking and chewing behaviors are calming signals. Mother dogs use licking to comfort their young; it’s a soothing behavior that releases calming endorphins. It’s much like fidgeting and chewing nails for us. They do it to relieve stress and balance their emotions. They are smart to lick us, showing us what they need. Mister says dogs get corrected for speaking up.

With Jolene, I petted her and said, good girl. Some would say that I spoil her. That I rewarded her for licking and nipping. Dogs are smarter than we are. Now when she feels anxiety, she comes and gives me a little lick, and I still tell her I’ve got her back. And so, she rarely licks. She stopped on her own. And she moves sheep with a confidence young violin players would envy. 

It’s the same when you meet a horse. The very first thing that they tell you is how they were trained, how they are living. Describing their anxiety while we think they like us. Some are like Mister. They have a quiet dread, dragging their toes like children in trouble.

There are too many ads with trainers telling us to correct an animal’s natural behaviors. Too few ads about the importance of daily play to build confidence and engagement. They provide temporary solutions for the negative behaviors, instead of offering strategies to reduce the anxiety in the first place. Will we ever simply listen and offer animals what they ask for?

Are they acting out or just being a dog? Perhaps a pet rock would be a wise choice if we are looking for perfect obedience. I don’t say it to be mean. From the number of dogs who have what we call behavior issues, something isn’t working. And since humans are geniuses, the problem must be the dogs. For those people, a rock would be a step up from puppy teeth and a little dog spit.

Maybe it’s more about learning how to control less and allow the nature of the dog to come forward. After all, we’ve been living with dogs for over 30,000 years. Sometimes when there are so many zeros, it loses meaning. Comparatively, we’ve been working with horses for 4200 years. That’s roughly 25,000 years longer with dogs. We’ve had time to adapt ourselves, but even now, dogs know more about getting along than we do.

When I was younger, I used dogs to mop up my emotions. Now I pay that forward by practicing the art of praise, being willing to be noisy and joyful. To be thrilled every time their muddy paws drench my pant leg when they come in to let me know it’s raining.

If you think you don’t have the time or energy, you can crawl into a crate like Mister. You can share his worry about big dogs and world chaos. I confess I wasn’t sure I could cope with a puppy like Jolene. But just as dread begets dread, joy begets joy. How do we forget that? The thing about praising others is that it trickles down to us. Simply saying yes lifts our hearts. 

I’m sure there are people who think I’ve spoiled Jolene. Mister says consider it evolution, as he allows himself a bit of hope for the human race. He’d like me to continue my loudmouth rant about over-training youngsters, who need to play more and be disciplined less. With sad eyes, Mister says keep it up. Tell them dogs gotta be dogs. 

Then, as I’m writing, Jolene jumps up to push a toy into my typing hand. So yeah, I’ll coax Mister along. We can pick up this human yammering later.