How My Pup Taught Me a Few Things About Writing
By Jan O'Hara | January 17, 2022 |
In November, with the first snowstorm of the year about to descend and despite considerable trepidation, the ToolMaster and I set off for a two-hour drive into the Canadian countryside. Our mission? After too many years of felt canine absence, we hoped to adopt a dog found on an internet sales ad.
Before you chastise me about feeding into puppy mills and their attendant risks, trust me, I’m aware. All our cats and but one of our past dogs have been rescues. I wrestled with a metric tonne of pre-emptive guilt.
But I’d already spent months watching local shelters for a pup that would be a good fit for our home and courtesy of the pandemic, the competition was fierce. Suitable candidates were adopted before we could wrangle an appointment.
I’d also spent weeks learning to read subtext in online ads and felt I had a good handle on determining the conscientiousness of amateur breeders. I’d finally found one who said all the right things. Even better, they seemed poised to refuse adoption should we fail their screening process.
And so, having successfully battled a malfunctioning GPS and just as the first snowflakes swirled, we turned down a farmyard lane.
We’d agreed that if something didn’t feel right about the puppy or her owners, either one of us could exert a veto, no questions asked. Then the pup emerged from the garage.
She gave my husband one look before trotting up with a “YaY! NeW peOples!” attitude. She also permitted us to pick her up and roll her on her back and scratch her belly.
Despite her attractive mixture of confidence and pliability, we continued with our research. We met her parents, who lived onsite. Saw the tidy and well-kept garage workshop in which she’d been raised. The legit vet record. The good quality kibble she’d been fed. We observed her interactions with the farmyard cats—important since we have two feline overlords—and the family, including their three very active children. Everything on their end screamed of professionalism and caring, right down to the preprinted contract awaiting our signatures.
As you no doubt have guessed, we had found our new companion. (If you’d like to meet her, scroll to the end of this post for a brief introduction.)
The weeks since Betty’s arrival have passed in a blur. But when I’m not taking her out to the bathroom or working on training or snuggling with her before the TV, I’ve done some reflecting. This process has changed me, and it’s already altered how I approach my writing journey.
Before I share exactly how and why, let me disclose my relative ignorance about dogs and dog training. Past successes as an owner were largely due to sweet natures of the animals we adopted rather than my skill set. Take anything you read here with a blood-pressure-threatening dose of sea salt.
That said, what I’ve learned from Betty is to…
1. Begin by matching the raw materials to the job.
My daughter and son-in-law own a Belgian Malinois/German Shepherd cross. There’s a reason they are often used as police dogs and known as land sharks or maligators in their puppyhood. Raya’s prey drive means my daughter has worked hard to train the nippiness out of her. She cohabits well with their cats, yet I’d never trust her around mine. I love her, admire her smarts and athleticism, and find her occasionally intimidating—exactly as befits her breed.
I would not recommend you buy a stove with this design if your home shelters large dogs or small people.
Nippiness isn’t Betty’s issue. Her grandfather was a champion bird dog. On the rare occasion she confuses your hand for a toy, she has a soft mouth. But her back legs are comprised of springs, meaning that her instinctive greeting manners are atrocious. We’re already dealing with counter-surfing. In fact, if we hadn’t grown wise to her proclivities and locked the burner dials on the front of stove—seriously, what were you thinking, oh foolish design engineer?—she’d have already burned down my house.
This illustrates that to a certain extent you can shape nature, but it’s far easier to begin with a dog whose breeding matches your desires.
I wouldn’t expect Raya to greet a mail carrier with a butt wiggle and leaps of joy. Nor would I expect Betty to function as a guard dog. That wouldn’t be fair to either of them, and we’d all be doomed to frustration and disappointment.
Similarly, it’s unlikely I’ll ever write a work of towering literary fiction. My voice is too snarky, my sensibilities too pragmatic, my story interests too commercial. That doesn’t mean I can’t experiment and learn and grow and perhaps stumble into success in that lane of fiction, but seriously, what are the chances? And at what cost, especially when I can write in genres that reflect my natural strengths?
While I’m at it, why not be picky about the writing projects I choose to develop? Better to begin with a higher-concept idea than attempt to turn a quiet book about quiet people doing quiet things into a commercial success.
2. Hire experts if you can afford it.
Both the ToolMaster and I tend to have a DIY mentality. We enjoy the process of learning and like wrestling with novel problems. Given enough time and effort and the online resources available, I’d like to think we’d have found eventual success with Betty.
But training a puppy is similar to raising a child in that it can expose hidden values conflicts. Soon, not only are you dealing with a puddle of piddle, but you’re navigating heated disagreements on how to prevent them.
Happily, we weren’t too proud to seek a qualified arbiter. My daughter recommended a local trainer with impressive credentials and we were comfortable with her philosophy and methods. She was expensive, but worth every penny if only for one single nugget she imparted: in order to get Betty to sleep in past 6 a.m., we were to shift her feeding times to noon, 5 p.m. and 10 p.m.
After three weeks of exhaustion, peeps—three solid weeks!—Kristen’s advice worked the first time.
Similarly, if you’re not making progress with your writing, consider borrowing the smartest and most educated brain you can access. Depending upon the issue, this might mean hiring a book coach, a developmental editor, cover artist, etc.
If you’re on a modest budget, perhaps you can bolster your skills with a book or course tailored to your specific problem.
If you aren’t in a position to pay outright, perhaps you can make a material trade. A critique for a critique, or similar.
Whatever the case, don’t let pride prevent you from accessing the resources to move forward.
3. Value incremental change, mindset, and persistence.
In the writing life, how do you talk to yourself about fallow periods or times of relatively low productivity? Do you call yourself lazy or unmotivated? Compare yourself to others? I need look no further than my own psyche or the comment section in Therese Walsh’s recent impassioned post to know how cruel we writers can be to ourselves. But there’s nothing like working with a puppy to see how unnecessary and unproductive those impulses are.
Kristen explained her training paradigm this way: When you combine ability + motivation + clear communication, you can expect to see the desired behavior.
If the result is what you asked for, you immediately mark the behavior to let the pup know they are on the right track, using a clicker or word like “yes.” Then you administer a positive reward. (In behavior training, “positive” means an assertive action whereas “negative” means a lack of action.) For most dogs that will mean they get a treat reward, but it’s basically access to whatever they value. For ones not motivated by food, for instance, they might get to play with a desired toy. For another, it might be a trip to the neighborhood pee tree.
If the result isn’t what you asked for, you don’t administer positive punishment, like a rebuke or scold or dragging the dog to their kennel. The response is negative punishment, which she describes as “no cookie/try again.” (“Negative”, in this case, isn’t as bad as it sounds! It’s essentially an absent response.)
In short, the philosophy is that you’re either providing a positive reward (good job, here’s the cookie) or negative punishment (no cookie, try again.)
Does that make sense?
As an example, when Betty greets people with “four on the floor,” she gets a “yes” and is rewarded with pets and treats. When she jumps, the visitors ignore her or even leave repeatedly until she’s had a successful greeting. Then she gets smothered with pets.
Time and again, by making small asks of Betty and following with consistent feedback, I’ve seen how remarkably effective these methods are. I mean, I should have trusted Kristen, who routinely trains dogs for TV commercials and shows. Still, to see its application to disparate tasks like nail clipping and harness wearing and the “touch” command is nothing less than inspiring.
How does this apply to writing? Well, when I’m in a fallow period, I’ve already discovered the limits of self-shame and castigation in getting myself to return to the page. Of all the many riches Betty has brought to my life—among them, puppy kisses and dog park walks and winter air when I might have chosen to cocoon indoors, not to mention a warm, wiggling body whenever I need a hug—this lesson might be the biggest reward of all. I’m permanently ditching the scolds, peeps, as being unhelpful or counterproductive. Since pee trees hold no value for me, I’m going for the cookie.
Care to join me?
What have you learned from your furry companions and how might that apply to your writing journey?
A USA Today bestselling author, former family physician and academic, Jan O’Hara (she/her) left the world of medicine behind to follow her dreams of becoming a writer. She writes love stories that zoom from wackadoodle to heartfelt in six seconds flat: (Opposite of Frozen; Cold and Hottie; Desperate Times, Desperate Pleasures). Her latest Christmas novella, The Cowboy’s Comeback Christmas, is part of a 9-author-strong anthology (A Cowboy This Christmas: A Sweet Romance Anthology). She also contributed to Author in Progress, a Writer’s Digest Book edited by Therese Walsh.
[coffee]
Yay Jan! Yay Betty! I’m so happy for the three of you. What a cutie. She’s loaded with personality, I can tell. Which makes for a difficult few months, but is so worth it for years thereafter. Good for you for finding positive reinforcement training. With stoic, energetic labs, aversive training techniques are often nearly worthless, and can become cruel.
My writing journey has been so tied up with dogs–first Belle, now Gidget. I think one of the biggest boons lies in forming a daily, no-exceptions routine. There’s just no peace living with a dog bred to do a job who hasn’t done it. Which taught me a lot about living as a writer who hasn’t written. No matter how cold or rainy or what-have-you, we get up and go do Gidge’s job. We find the joy in it, and we savor the satisfaction of having done it afterward. Same goes for writing. Doesn’t matter how we feel going in, we get going, find the joy in it, and savor the aftermath.
What appears as play to many, Gidge and I know as our jobs. Striving to do them routinely and do them well is central to our lives well-lived. We don’t do it for anyone else’s approval. We do it for what it brings to us. (Any external approval that might occur is a bonus, like the applause or scritches of a passerby on the beach.)
Pass along some scritches from us to Betty. Thanks for sharing your lessons. Enjoy one another, and your journey together!
“There’s just no peace living with a dog bred to do a job who hasn’t done it.”
Truth. And definitely applies to writers-not-writing.
Of all your wisdom above, Therese picked out the exact same sentence that struck me, Vaughn. And that craving for consistent time outdoors was one motivation behind the search for an exercise buddy.
Betty indeed has a ton of personality, and I’m enjoying seeing her blossom. Will gladly pass on the scritches. Thank you!
This was such a fun post! Congratulations on your new dog. And, yes, the comparison held up quite well indeed! :)
I’m glad you enjoyed it, Lydia. Thanks for letting me know!
Love this, Jan! I’ve thought a lot about counter-conditioning lately, as we have a pup who is panic-stricken by school buses. (She was hit by a vehicle at 3 months old—at a different home—and I have to wonder if that vehicle was a bus.) Behaviorists say we have to build a path back to normalcy when a dog’s response is dysfunctional by first reinforcing micro-steps to neutrality (e.g. be near an empty, unmoving bus without a negative response = get a reward, see a moving bus from the safely off the living room without rage-barking = get a reward, etc). Strikes me that it’s like character development! We have to identify a protagonist’s greatest pain, then find small opportunities to challenge a long-held response to that, and reward them in scene for a different response. We are all pro behaviorists, in a way! Thanks for this fun post.
I love that writing lesson, T! To carry the analogy further, a tragic story would happen when either the school bus looms too early or arrives as one of many–overwhelming the character at a moment of vulnerability–or the character refuses the treat before them, preferring to cling to their indignation/upset.
Dog Lesson: If you’re adorable, you can get away with just about anything.
Writer Lesson: If you’re brilliant …
Thanks for the lovely morning interlude, Jan.
Haha. Too true, David!
As soon as I began reading, Jan, I was flooded with the memories of our own sweet dog as a pup. She’s almost 14 yrs and still doing good but oh how tough those first couple of years were when I had to learn how to train her. It was my own training. I’m so happy you are learning so much from Betty. I’ve learned more from my students and children and pets than the other way round, I think, and over the years, coming into a space of acceptance. And how wonderful it is to write from that space. Enjoy every moment!
Pets and children offer innumerable instances for humility, don’t they Vijaya? And thank you. We have our tough moments but are very much enjoying the process overall.
Such a fun and smart post, Jan — I agree with all of it! My furry friends have influenced my writing in lots of ways, from making a cameo in my books to comforting me when a storyline isn’t going write to just being a steady, reassuring presence under my desk. But the biggest thing is that they require a schedule, which in turn forces me to stick to one if I want to get any writing done. Con
Liz, with the pandemic shifting a sense of time, I find a routine to be paradoxically more important than when I worked outside the home. Isn’t it funny how we can do the right things more easily when they involve another creature?
Undoubtedly the fur will fly here, but though I love dogs, I’m more of a cat person. I have always trained my cats by reading them Marcus Aurelius and other Stoics. They respond stoically, and all is well.
I enjoyed the dog/writer training post a good deal, but even more you and Betty in negotiation.
Tom, I’m a total cat lover too and you mustmustmust read Cleo by Helen Brown. I laughed and I cried and there was such kitty wisdom in all the epigraphs. Btw, my husband is going through the stoics right now and enjoying them tremendously.
Thank you for the recommendation, Vijaya. I’ve sent a sample to my Kindle.
Oh Vijaya, he must try reading the Stoics to your cat; the results will be subtle. You could also try reading Bronté to cats; the results might look the same, but you must look closely. And they’ll likely still look the same. I’ll look into Cleo!
You always make me laugh, Tom. Have you ever tackled playwriting? I have a feeling your dialogue would be killa.
We have two cats and I very much enjoy them. You’ll get no judgment from me on your feline affinity.
Betty is so cute! And what a fun and useful post she inspired. Thank you. :)
On the dog front: IF/WHEN we ever get another dog, we will almost certainly have to purchase a mixed “doodle” breed of some sort, both for temperament issues, and more important, allergies. Our current dog is much loved, but his high-energy, high-anxiety, food-obsessed personality has given us several ups and downs over the years, some of which pushed us near the breaking point after having our human children. Learning that our youngest is allergic to dogs was the final justification we needed to seek out specific breeds that would fit our family best, in the future. We will probably still TRY breed-specific rescues first — especially as I am in no particular hurry to bring more creatures that require my intense attention and care into the home, lol — but eventually, if it comes to buying from breeders, then so be it. Like you said and experienced, if they are responsible, then there’s not a thing wrong with it! (And I feel awful that there are so many bad ones out there that you — and I, and so many others — feel such a need to justify it…)
Kristan, the more creatures under one roof the more there’s potential for conflicts, even of the non-violent, strictly allergic kind. And the energy expended to fix it can be considerable. I’m thinking of a previous cat we owned who had a glass stomach and couldn’t eat the tiniest bit of her sister’s food. Oh, the mealtime choreography.
You’re quite right the humans’ needs must be accommodated first. Happily, there are so many different breeds available these days that the odds are in your favor.
Nice to see you here, BTW. It’s been a long time!
Great post, Jan. As a complete rescue dog nut, I’m happy your risky choice to purchase via an internet ad ended in your finding a responsible breeder. Sounds as if you are doing all the right things. Your wisdom in drawing the parallel with your writing practice is insightful. Love to Betty from Rocky and Bramble, who have benefited from reward-based training.
I was hoping you’d weigh in Juliet. Will gladly pass on the kind wishes.
Both our vet and the trainer say we did well and found a good pup so we’re off to a good start anyway. I’m sure enjoying her.
How did I miss that you posted an article yesterday? So glad I stumbled across it this morning. Jan, you are such a gem. Your writing always makes me laugh and if it wasn’t humorous and cheeky, I’d think there was something wrong with you.
Love Betty! Love that you preempted our potential judginess for not rescuing by castigating yourself first and explaining the perfectly reasonable rationale for purchasing her!
You’re as kind and gracious as ever, Deborah. Thank you so much. xo