I used to look askance at parents who bribed their children to do things, such as taking out the trash or finishing their homework, that they were supposed to do anyway. But then it came time to toilet train our two-year-old daughter. Perhaps because of the recent birth of her sister, or parental inexperience, we weren’t having any luck. One day I mentioned this to the head of her nursery school, and she said, without missing a beat, “Have you tried bribing her?” We bought a bag of the tiniest candies we could find (we were leery of the dangers of sugar), explained the system to our toddler…and that was the last day she used a diaper. A week or so later, my husband told her that she could have two candies if she used the grownup potty, again with instant success.
Despite the efficacy of bribes in toilet training children, I never used them in dog training. My German Shepherds, highly principled dogs with a strong sense of duty, were not very food motivated, so it didn’t make sense to bribe them for things (coming when called, staying put until released, and so on) that they should have been doing anyway. Truffle’s predecessor, my little red Cavalier, Bisou, on the other hand, would have sold her soul for a treat. In agility training, it is usual to offer treats to entice dogs to do demanding stuff such as walking the teeter. But Bisou loved agility even more than she loved food, and the combination of teeters and tunnels and jumps plus food would cause her to lose her composure, so treats for her too were taboo.
All this changed, along with the rest of my life, when the universe sent us Truffle. He was so shut down at first, so terrified of everybody and everything, that it was hard to figure out how to help him. He got used to me pretty quickly, but he wanted nothing to do with anybody else. If, on our walks, he saw a neighbor approaching, he would wind the leash around my ankles in his desperation to get away. If he couldn’t get away, he would avert his face and go limp, as if to say, “Go ahead. Kill me if you want. I only weigh six pounds and I don’t have any teeth…”
Fortunately, he was and is intensely food motivated—if he had his way, he would weigh twenty pounds instead of six. After weeks of no progress in his attitude towards people, I remembered that nursery school teacher and started carrying kibble in my pocket. When a human being hove into view I would hand them a bit of kibble to offer Truffle. The results were as instant and spectacular as the candy had been with the toilet training. From then on, people became animated Pez dispensers to be approached in the eternal hope that they would produce kibble.
As with most things in this vale of tears, however, there is a downside. Truffle now trots up to strangers, makes imperious eye contact, and scarfs down the kibble if it is offered. But if the hand is empty, he averts his face, retreats, and puts on his poor-little-abused-dog act. If people come to the house he sits in front of them and stares and stares until they dispense either a treat or an apology. If the latter, he backs away looking offended.
Have I created a monster? Have I turned Truffle into one of those mercenary, begging dogs? My hope is that this is only a stage on the way to learning to trust people. But while I wait I will practice being less judgy of this innocent creature. It’s absurd to expect him to be friendly to humans just because it is the right thing to do. After all, aren’t we too reward-driven? Is there such a thing as a purely selfless act? Even the hermit in his cave is getting something for it—the hope of a reward in heaven or, more immediately, the admiration of his disciples. For that matter, is my devotion to Truffle really selfless? True, like the hermit, I hope it brings me rewards in the next life, but I mostly do it for the circles of joy with which he greets me in the morning, and the comforting sound of his snores as he naps at my side in the afternoon.
One Response
You’re doing just fine.
Truffle will get the idea ‘treats are for when we train’ soon enough. Then you just have to go to the long intermittent reward – the best of all reinforcements – and bolster with the pets and hugs you two have negotiated Truffle likes, and Bob’s your uncle!
Your toddler doesn’t still use treats.