The Dog Listener: Learning the Language of your Best Friend. Monty Roberts

as they did so, I was able to make little refinements to the techniques I was developing – it really was a question of trial and error at times. But the next big breakthrough did not come via the dogs I had then. Once more, it was my memories of The Duchess, Donna, that provided the inspiration.

      I have always believed in treating my dogs to a supply of fresh marrow bones once a week. When Donna was around, the moment I put the bones down on the ground marked the moment the same little ritual would begin. In her usual imperious way Donna would walk silently in and the others would immediately stand back. Donna would then slowly sniff out the bones she wanted, then walk away with them. Only then would the others take what they wanted. It was, I realised, the same principle of leadership with which I was now so familiar. The one who appeared to do nothing got everything it wanted. And it made me think about using feeding time as a way of re-establishing the leadership structure. This was not a new idea entirely. The importance of eating in front of a dog was something I had read while studying the behaviourists. They recognised it as a simple way of showing them you are the leader. Again this made sense to me having watched other animals, lions and – again – wolves in particular: it is always the Alpha that eats first in group feeders.

      But while I agreed with the behaviourists’ idea, I disagreed with the method that flowed from this. The behaviourists’ approach was to impose a pecking order during the evening meal. Under this system, the human finished their meal in full view of the dog before allowing it to eat its meal afterwards. It was a procedure that undoubtedly produced results but there was a lot I was not happy about. Apart from anything else, people feed their dogs at different times of the day and night. Dogs in sanctuaries, for instance, are fed in the morning. I also thought the approach was too protracted. Again I thought about dogs in the wild, and couldn’t see how the pack would wait until the evening. A dog is an opportunist eater rather than only a gorge eater. It will catch a hare, a bird – any prey that will keep it going – it will not lounge around all day: getting food is the priority of the day.

      On top of all this, it seemed an unkind thing to do. I put myself in the dog’s place. I thought: ‘If you’ve gone all day without food and then the human sits down to eat before you finally get yours, you are going to be ravenous.’ This might put the dogs in their place but it is not very nice. I knew feeding time had huge potential as a means of reinforcing the leadership signals, but I wasn’t going to eat a full breakfast or an evening meal in front of them, so I had to think of something else to get that information across. I had to come up with a new method.

      I was beginning to realise that quick, instinctive information was the most useful, probably because a dog has no concept of the future at all. I had seen that sometimes the slightest gesture is capable of conveying a huge amount of information. The thought came to me one day. That evening, before I mixed their food, I put a cracker on a plate. Then I got out their bowls and mixed it up on a raised surface. What I then did was take the cracker out and eat it, making it look as if the food was coming out of their bowls. Again I was thinking of it in terms of the pack mentality. What do they see? They see you eating out of their bowl. What does that make you? The leader.

      I was not tackling bad behaviour in this case. There were no particular problems at feeding time, quite the opposite in fact, it was a time when I knew I could get their undivided attention and their best behaviour too. I fed them in their individual bowls, each of them dotted around the kitchen and the hallway. They knew their spots and – apart from their habit of exploring each other’s empty bowls – behaved very well. In this case, my motivation was simply to underline the message I was getting across in the other areas.

      They quickly sensed something was different. I can remember them looking at me rather strangely, trying to work out what I was up to. There was a little drama at first. There would be a little jumping and whining but soon they were used to the ritual and would wait patiently while I ate my cracker. They seemed to accept that I had to be satisfied before they too could eat. Then when I placed their bowls down they ate contentedly. The changes were not dramatic but on this occasion I had not expected them to be. It was simply another confirmation that I was their leader, another trick up my sleeve. And what pleased me most once more was that success had come by thinking of the nature of the dog.

      By now I must admit I was feeling quite pleased with myself. Life always has a habit of cutting you down to size, however, and I was soon reeling from a terrible setback. I had already lost Sandy in the summer of 1992 but then in February 1994, I lost my beloved Khan. It was, I have to confess, a real blow to me. More than any other dog, Khan had been with me through good times and bad. I only had Sasha and the beagle, Kim, left. I missed the dogs I had lost terribly. It took the arrival of another dog to solidify all the ideas I had been working on.

Chapter 5

       The First Test

      A few weeks after Khan’s death, I popped into a local animal sanctuary. I had gone there to see the boss, a close friend, but my visit had nothing to do with dogs. It was about going to the theatre, if memory serves me well. My friend was busy so, while I waited, I decided to take a walk around the sanctuary. As I did so, I came across one of the most pathetic sights I’ve seen in my life. Inside one of the blocks there was this thin, pathetic little Jack Russell. I was aware of their reputation for being snappy and aggressive ankle biters, and had never particularly warmed to the breed. But it was impossible not to be drawn to this poor creature. He was trembling, and not just because it was winter and he was cold; I could see the fear in his eyes.

      I soon learned his heartbreaking background. He had been discovered abandoned, tied to a concrete block by a piece of string. He had not eaten for days and was emaciated. If he had not been taken in by the sanctuary he would have been dead by now. He was clearly a badly damaged dog. As I spoke to the kennel girl who was looking after him, she told me he kept running off. They were also worried that he might bite. Finding a new dog had been the last thing on my mind as I had driven over there. Nevertheless, I drove back with a new addition to the family shivering in the back seat. I had decided to take him in.

      I soon named him Barmie, for no other reason than the fact that he was, well, a little bit barmy, mad. When I got him back home, he sat under my kitchen table. Every time I walked past him he growled. All I could feel was sympathy. It wasn’t aggression I was seeing, it was nothing but sheer terror; I knew I’d be petrified if someone had treated me the way he had been.

      I hadn’t taken Barmie in as an experiment, but I was soon thinking that he was going to provide me with a great opportunity. I had so far been working with dogs that were comparatively well adjusted – animals that were used to always being treated kindly. Here I had one who had known nothing but bad treatment. Over the coming weeks, Barmie would provide me with the chance to test the knowledge I had been gaining so fast with my own dogs, to put all the pieces together. In return I hoped I would have the opportunity to help this troubled little dog get over his past.

      By now a golden rule had begun to emerge: whatever it was that the traditional methods of training recommended, I needed to do the opposite. So I resisted the temptation to throw myself at Barmie, to shower him with love and affection. He was such a vulnerable creature it was almost impossible at times. There were days when I just wanted to cuddle him and tell him he was all right. But instead I decided not to invade his space and just to leave him alone. So he just sat there under the kitchen table glaring. And I just carried on around the house as normal.