P.A.T. Redux
This week the organization I used to lead released a new “Standards of Practice.” I was interested in it, of course, because after twenty years at the helm, I’m interested in what they do, not because I have, if you’ll pardon the expression, a dog in the fight anymore, but because it’s hard to stop caring about something. Hard, but not, it turns out, impossible.
The new SoP replaces another SoP, and is a nearly exact replica of another SoP written by someone else, but this one has a different acronym and a long subtitle.
The objection to the original SoP was that it “allowed people” to do things we shouldn’t, using aversive training and behavior modification techniques “too much” or at all, whereas with this long subtitle I’m sure no one will ever do that again, so that’s a relief. And of course, there’s a massive kerfuffle going on because it’s naughty to take someone else’s acronym and rebrand it, even if you do write seven thousands words of meaningless preamble at the front of the document before doing so.
Before retiring from the field1 I had worked for years to form a Joint Standards of Practice with the other primary behavior and training organizations. As the only woman in the mix, it was a heavy lift for a number of reasons including that one, and, after years, we’d gotten to the point of the Big Four signing on. Then one didn’t want to hold it’s members accountable to the ethics code if it meant giving up the membership dues by ousting them, and they changed their minds, but we were working our way back as they change Directors like some people change underwear. Where we’d gotten was far from perfect, but it was, I believed, a very important step toward the legitimacy of the field, with much work left to do. I assume, but don’t know, that these new acronyms mean the end of the Joint Standards of Practice. If so, that is a shame.
All this acronymming™ got me thinking about an old post on my old blog Dear Goddamned Dog, so I thought I’d reprint it here. It features my previous, accidental beagle, Nellie, aka The Beagz, a creature I miss more than I ought to. Alice, my current, on-purpose beagle is an innocent toddler, prone to trouble because of her DNA, but the type of dog who literally leaps for flying leaves in the wind and wonders where they went. The Beagz, who arrived at my door roughly eight years into her life, clearly had a past of smoking, drinking whiskey, and playing pool, was her own independent woman, and accepted me as her co-conspirator in life for the seven years we were together. But the first year I had her I had to show her some tough love, and this post is an example of that, as well as my former field’s obsession with acronyms.
P.A.T.
Dear Goddamned Beagle,
In my field we have lots of acronyms. Acronyms are letters that, when put together, relieve a person from having to remember or even understand what the full words in a title mean. They're also really nifty because with just a little marketing one can issue certifications using that acronym, and then other people don't have to understand what the letters stand for either, but it's always impressive!
Some of the better-known acronyms are CAT (Constructional Aggression Treatment), BAT (Behavior Adjustment Training), and RAT (Relationship Assessment Tool). There are a lot more of them, but I particularly like those three as they are kind of matchy and rhyme. For some time now I've thought about releasing FAT (Fuck All That - Just Train Your Dog), but I'm a little sensitive to my own heft, and wasn't sure how many people would want Certified FAT Instructor, or CFATI, on their web sites and business cards.
You can imagine my pride, then, at announcing the launch of PAT - Passive Aggressive Training -developed with you especially in mind.
The kitchen is a busy place, and sometimes things fall from counters and plates. How, one wonders, might one teach a beagle not to lunge for things dropped in the course of meal preparation? Not only is it rude, especially when others don't realize your occasional resource guarding is largely nonsense, backed up only by your seven remaining teeth and mighty attitude, but it can cause injury if, as recently occurred, said beagle does a snatch-and-grab on a piece of very hot chicken fallen out of a pan.
Enter PAT, the newest answer to the "leave it" question.
You see, Beagle, while you'll beg, sneak, brazenly steal, and problem-solve constantly in search of your next snack, there are some things you just won't eat, vegetables, fruit, and egg whites being the most curious of them. I can only assume it's the heritage of your unfortunate upbringing that you'd trip Mother Theresa for a Tater Tot, but leave a hard boiled egg white untouched during famine.
It's a simple protocol, really. The key is to drop or place on the floor only items that the dog doesn't want to eat. As successive items are dropped, the speed and enthusiasm with which the dog approaches the food slows, eventually resulting in what can only be described as ennui de chien. Yes, Beagle. This is so fancy it gets French.
The protocol was tested in two kitchens. We started with some basic items known to be uninteresting to you - a pickle and a cherry tomato - and moved on to other ingredients.
I'm pleased to report that in just one vacation day, keeping properly hydrated through coffee and wine, my colleague and I were easily able to demonstrate that PAT works within just a few trials. Your rate of approach slowed to a mere stroll when reacting to dropped or placed food items. Your level of interest clearly declined, to the point that it may be fair to say your trust in mankind to provide viable sustenance was, at least temporarily, altered.
The protocol does still need some adjustment. At one point during the pilot study you expanded the testing area, climbing onto the table where a bag of pepper-seasoned potato chips and a cup of tea made for a more satisfactory refection. Likewise, your eventual decision to leave the second test kitchen allowed you to find a child’s unfinished bowl of Cheerios in the living room. Access to better eats will need to be accounted for in future trials.
Still, these little setbacks are to be expected. No one can manage a beagle's environment like a beagle, after all. We mere humans have only our wits, a vague knowledge of learning sciences, and a bottle of Malbec with which to counter your capacity for provisioning, or what we refer to as "theft."
With PAT I feel we're at the dawn of a whole new kind of training and stimulus control, one that completely eliminates pesky resource guarding, begging, and thievery from the canine-human relationship. However, because PAT's success relies on creating boredom and apathy in the subject, it requires any nearby humans to eat only pickles, plums, cherry tomatoes, canned goods, gin, and egg whites. This part needs to be worked through as allowable menu items may need to be augmented for long-term sustainability, so there'll be no more trying things from the Whole Foods bag for you, Beagz. We wouldn't want you learning to like new things.
Love,
Your Person
I was indelicately put out to pasture by folks with high ambitions but low tolerances for the hours required, it turns out. Tomato, tomahto, we’ll call it “retired.”
I worry if laughing this early in the day will result in dire consequences but I did it anyway. Loved “you'd trip Mother Theresa for a Tater Tot, “ and the bottle of gin. Once while walking my street cleaner aka basset hound
on the streets of Philly, I turned around to see she was neatly toting home by its metal handle, a Chinese takeout container of no doubt her favorite, Crispy Duck.
I can't even.
There's too much in this piece, both present and past, to even try to comment on. Suffice it to say that in both occastions they are perfection. The bitter idiocy of what the organization we both loved has become aligned with dear Nellie's PAT experience. Love you.