Back before kids, as in 2002 B.B.K, my husband and I adopted a mixed breed of the shepherd/cattle dog variety from a humane society. We named her Maisy and she was awesome. Ridiculously good and attentive and loyal and obedient. A Perfect Dog. Seriously. And when I say this, I say it knowing full well that I am absolutely remembering it all with rose colored glasses. She was an amazing dog eventually but when we got her she was a piece of work.
When we went to training classes she was, very honestly, the worst in the class the first week. Pulling on the leash, barking at other dogs, totally out of control. Enter the clicker and a bundle of Oscar Mayer wieners. (That’s funny. No one actually calls them wieners because, well, that’s weird. Wieners are wieners. But when you say Oscar Mayer the wiener part just flows. Huh. The power of branding and a really good jingle, I guess.)
Anyway, a click sound followed by cut up piece of raw hot dog did the trick and we soon had a star pupil on our hands. Once we uncovered the secret power of the wieners (c’mon that’s funny, right?) there was no stopping her. For the last class, all the canine/human duos were instructed to come prepared with a trick to show. Lots of people, I mean lots of people’s dogs, did sit, shake, stay. The usual. Not us. Not this family. My not-yet husband stood up with a hula hoop in hand, gave the command, and -POW- Maisy jumped on through the hoop. That’s right. Overachievers in dog training 101.
I tell you this because we are now clicker training our kids. Instead of the click and hot dog method it’s the click and compliment/congratulate/thank method. But this time it is backfiring.
Here’s the thing with three boys all born within three years of each other: everything is a contest.
So we say, “Thanks, D.. for listening and getting in your pajamas so nicely. Great behavior.”
And what happens? F. and L. start wailing (no exaggeration, wailing like someone took the shoes off their feet and told them to walk on 10 miles of burning hot coals in order to get their next meal).
So we say, “Why are you guys crying?”
Big F. says,”You didn’t tell me I have good behavior.”
“Well, you are standing on your head eating ice cream and wiping your hands on Mommy’s cashmere sweater. So, no, we didn’t tell you you have good behavior because it is actually kind of stinky behavior right now.”
More wailing.
“You are in charge of your behavior. You can turn it around and have good behavior. It’s up to you.”
And so it goes. We thank one for listening, or voluntarily putting his dirty socks in the hamper without being asked and all hell breaks lose from the other two.
Then tonight, every three seconds Little L. was asking: “do I have good behavior now?” While he was brushing his teeth, toothpaste pouring out of his mouth onto his pajamas and the counter: “How about now? Is this good behavior?”
This positive reinforcement thing is driving me crazy. You know the Verizon hear me now guy? There is a reason that ad stopped running–and it’s called wear out. Eventually people become immune to the same message because it is no longer interesting or funny–and in some cases it just becomes annoying. “How’s my behavior now?” “Is this good behavior?” is rapidly nearing wear-out over here.
It was much easier when I just yelled all the time.
So I’m thinking of adopting the Maisy Method. Maybe I can trademark that. I’ll get a dog training clicker and every time one of the boys puts his bike back in the garage without being told, I’ll click and throw cheddar bunnies at him.
They might develop a weird attachment to cheese flavored crackers and the sudden urge to jump through hoops for a pat on the head but I’ll be lucky if that is the worst side effect of our parenting.
