A betrayal of the worst kind.
A horrible tragedy, made worse because children witnessed it. Tilikum reportedly grabbed the pony tail of his trainer, Dawn Brancheau, pulled her under water, and Brancheau was drowned.
Is it possible that the tickling of the trainer's hair on the orca's nose triggered a feeding reflex? Or the latest murder of one sentient being of another?
Training predators is not like training omnivores or prey animals. Part of my practice frequently involves evaluating behavior to determine its intent and its cause - and getting it wrong sometimes goes very badly. There are few companies that insure dog trainers, and fewer still that offer riders for dangerous dogs - known biters. It never ceases to disappoint me how many people will state "no bite history" during the intake interview, then later reveal "oh, he nips all the time" when I observe some behavioral clue inconsistent with the history.
I get bitten every couple of years by a client's dog; it's part of the risk package I accept in doing this work. I've once been dragged off my feet with a bulldog clamped to the ankle of my pants, been bitten several times on the leg, a couple of times on the arm (thank heavens I always overdress: heavy jeans and long-sleeved shirts), and once in the face (I looked like I'd come out on the wrong end of a bar fight). And I've had one, a golden with *too* much toy drive, grab my ponytail. Twice. (The second time I reflexively smacked him - he never did it again.) In virtually every case, the dog's bite history was incompletely revealed to me by the owner. I'm a LOT more careful about the language in my waiver (all dog bites I witness will be reported to the State), and I give the owners' reports little weight. I count on my own skepticism and observations to keep me safe.
Dogs bite. They have teeth. Even a stable dog will bite if sufficiently provoked - the rules of self preservation apply. Because there are so many undiagnosed unstable dogs out there, it's best to be really really careful. They over-react to benign provocation, and the results can be disastrous. I love working with dogs, but let's not pretend they are robots. A good dog is a treasure, a bad one is a danger. Sometimes knowing the difference is obvious; sometimes it takes skill.
And sometimes we just get it wrong.
I know nothing about training marine mammals. I do know they use R+ methods, as I do. So the loss of a fellow traveler in the world of training predators is keenly felt. By all reports, Brancheau died doing what she loved. Cold comfort. My heart breaks for her family and colleagues.
Thursday, 25 February 2010
Sunday, 21 February 2010
Flying Solo
If anyone has noticed, yes this Blog is sadly stale and out of date... the best intentions and the road to hell and one-way tickets and all that. You know how it is.
The Ahdin Litter is due in less than two weeks and I am both excited and terrified. And trying to cram a lot of off-the-ranchero activities into the few remaining free days between now and then. Which leads me back to... flying solo.
Well, more accurately, walking solo.
Yesterday was my first official gig as a judge. It was my great privilege to judge Desert Hare Classic in the land of the toughest jacks to be had.
Talk about exciting and terrifying!
No small potatoes this event; while there are no points available the bragging rights that are at stake are significant. The event is run under TCC rules, so I spent many hours the last few weeks brushing up on the finer details. Because the winner is determined by a brace elimination, I had to be comfortable with those procedures as well. The DHC is open to any dog, which appeals strongly to my sense of fair play and tough competition. This "bring it on" mentality applies to USBCHA trials as well, and while one typically sees only border collies at the events, any breed or mix is welcome to try and prove its mettle. Best dog on the day, regardless of pedigree, wins. Amen.
There was a nice mix of hounds and people: locals, out of staters, dogs, bitches, young, seasoned, purpose-bred all. Whether easily recognized (greyhound, saluki, whippet) or known only to a sighthound connoisseur (longdog, lurcher, staghound, galgo), their lean muscled bodies and intense stares pegged them of a single mind: find the rabbit.
A word about these lesser known breeds; the idea behind their development and refinement is deceptively simple. Fast as greyhounds, durable as salukis, corner like whippets, endurance like pointers. Brilliant cooks with DNA as ingredients, the breeders of these hounds add a touch of this, a pinch of that, into their breeding programs when and as needed. Color doesn't matter, only the ability to deliver in the field. And deliver they do.
I spent the day walking apart from the gallery, trying to stay ahead of them to ensure perspective of the field and the courses in their entirety. Only two went out of sight sooner than I would have liked, most I saw from slip to distant end. If I could discern voices from the gallery, I was too close. Close enough to hear the shouts when a rabbit appeared, but far enough that no conversation penetrated my senses. While my eyes stayed focused on the advancing hunters, my mind was free to wander... and wander it did. At one point I checked the voice recorder only to discover I'd accidentally recorded 20 minutes of nothing in particular; this morning, out of curiosity I listened to it. I can hear the wind over the microphone, the frequent sniffs of my runny nose, the odd tune whistled absentmindedly, incomprehensible half sentences mumbled aloud. (Pity my husband, this must be what I sound like when asleep.) Walking alone, apart, for the day, in the distant company of good people and glorious hounds doing what they love... it really doesn't get any better than that.
This was my first time judging alone, officially. My previous judging work has been as an apprentice, and while that experience was essential in preparing for an actual assignment, so was (and will continue to be) the long conversations with any good judge on his/her approach and philosophy to the task. The rules provide guidance, but a surprising amount of latitude exists, relying on the judges' integrity to uphold the spirit of the rules at least as much as the wording itself. My endless appreciation to all the judges that have so kindly mentored and apprenticed me, and discussed the finer points of initiated work versus demonstrated agility and the nuances of awarding points, thoughts on kill credits and the thousands of details crammed into my skull - you're not done with me! - RP, DH, DB, DS, FB, JS, PD, CW. I may have been flying solo, but you were "with" me yesterday, in my head, helping me. Thank you.
The hosts for the event were more than kind, providing good company for dinner, covering my hotel bill, and providing some folding money to boot. Combine that with a gorgeous day in the desert and some of the finest coursing I've seen this season, and it is hard to imagine a more enjoyable day. The courses sussed the dogs out pretty easily, I did my best to make sure my scoring was consistent and fair, the handlers all seemed to understand my placements. (The voice recorder proved invaluable in awarding points and reviewing placements, ensuring a high level of comfort that the best performances advanced. Must use next time.) And of course the picnic lunch after was great, too.
Until next time - Tally ho!
The Ahdin Litter is due in less than two weeks and I am both excited and terrified. And trying to cram a lot of off-the-ranchero activities into the few remaining free days between now and then. Which leads me back to... flying solo.
Well, more accurately, walking solo.
Yesterday was my first official gig as a judge. It was my great privilege to judge Desert Hare Classic in the land of the toughest jacks to be had.
Talk about exciting and terrifying!
No small potatoes this event; while there are no points available the bragging rights that are at stake are significant. The event is run under TCC rules, so I spent many hours the last few weeks brushing up on the finer details. Because the winner is determined by a brace elimination, I had to be comfortable with those procedures as well. The DHC is open to any dog, which appeals strongly to my sense of fair play and tough competition. This "bring it on" mentality applies to USBCHA trials as well, and while one typically sees only border collies at the events, any breed or mix is welcome to try and prove its mettle. Best dog on the day, regardless of pedigree, wins. Amen.
There was a nice mix of hounds and people: locals, out of staters, dogs, bitches, young, seasoned, purpose-bred all. Whether easily recognized (greyhound, saluki, whippet) or known only to a sighthound connoisseur (longdog, lurcher, staghound, galgo), their lean muscled bodies and intense stares pegged them of a single mind: find the rabbit.
A word about these lesser known breeds; the idea behind their development and refinement is deceptively simple. Fast as greyhounds, durable as salukis, corner like whippets, endurance like pointers. Brilliant cooks with DNA as ingredients, the breeders of these hounds add a touch of this, a pinch of that, into their breeding programs when and as needed. Color doesn't matter, only the ability to deliver in the field. And deliver they do.
I spent the day walking apart from the gallery, trying to stay ahead of them to ensure perspective of the field and the courses in their entirety. Only two went out of sight sooner than I would have liked, most I saw from slip to distant end. If I could discern voices from the gallery, I was too close. Close enough to hear the shouts when a rabbit appeared, but far enough that no conversation penetrated my senses. While my eyes stayed focused on the advancing hunters, my mind was free to wander... and wander it did. At one point I checked the voice recorder only to discover I'd accidentally recorded 20 minutes of nothing in particular; this morning, out of curiosity I listened to it. I can hear the wind over the microphone, the frequent sniffs of my runny nose, the odd tune whistled absentmindedly, incomprehensible half sentences mumbled aloud. (Pity my husband, this must be what I sound like when asleep.) Walking alone, apart, for the day, in the distant company of good people and glorious hounds doing what they love... it really doesn't get any better than that.
This was my first time judging alone, officially. My previous judging work has been as an apprentice, and while that experience was essential in preparing for an actual assignment, so was (and will continue to be) the long conversations with any good judge on his/her approach and philosophy to the task. The rules provide guidance, but a surprising amount of latitude exists, relying on the judges' integrity to uphold the spirit of the rules at least as much as the wording itself. My endless appreciation to all the judges that have so kindly mentored and apprenticed me, and discussed the finer points of initiated work versus demonstrated agility and the nuances of awarding points, thoughts on kill credits and the thousands of details crammed into my skull - you're not done with me! - RP, DH, DB, DS, FB, JS, PD, CW. I may have been flying solo, but you were "with" me yesterday, in my head, helping me. Thank you.
The hosts for the event were more than kind, providing good company for dinner, covering my hotel bill, and providing some folding money to boot. Combine that with a gorgeous day in the desert and some of the finest coursing I've seen this season, and it is hard to imagine a more enjoyable day. The courses sussed the dogs out pretty easily, I did my best to make sure my scoring was consistent and fair, the handlers all seemed to understand my placements. (The voice recorder proved invaluable in awarding points and reviewing placements, ensuring a high level of comfort that the best performances advanced. Must use next time.) And of course the picnic lunch after was great, too.
Until next time - Tally ho!
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