Author Topic: What Shamu Taught Me: A Small World Moment  (Read 6189 times)

Offline MaineWriter

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What Shamu Taught Me: A Small World Moment
« on: January 12, 2007, 02:42:46 pm »
The number one most viewed article for 2006 of the New York Times Online is "What Shamu Taught Me About A Happy Marriage." It happens to be written by a friend of mine, Amy Sutherland!

I just learned from my sister that it has been optioned by Naomi Watts (she believes) to be be developed into a movie. Keeping this sort of on topic, Naomi dated Heath Ledger for two years.

Okay, so here's the article and the original link for anyone who wants it:

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/06/25/fashion/25love.html?ei=5087&en=e434837ef9e0950f&ex=1184130000&excamp=mkt_at1&pagewanted=all

June 25, 2006

Modern Love

What Shamu Taught Me About a Happy Marriage

By AMY SUTHERLAND

AS I wash dishes at the kitchen sink, my husband paces behind me, irritated. "Have you seen my keys?" he snarls, then huffs out a loud sigh and stomps from the room with our dog, Dixie, at his heels, anxious over her favorite human's upset.

In the past I would have been right behind Dixie. I would have turned off the faucet and joined the hunt while trying to soothe my husband with bromides like, "Don't worry, they'll turn up." But that only made him angrier, and a simple case of missing keys soon would become a full-blown angst-ridden drama starring the two of us and our poor nervous dog.

Now, I focus on the wet dish in my hands. I don't turn around. I don't say a word. I'm using a technique I learned from a dolphin trainer.

I love my husband. He's well read, adventurous and does a hysterical rendition of a northern Vermont accent that still cracks me up after 12 years of marriage.

But he also tends to be forgetful, and is often tardy and mercurial. He hovers around me in the kitchen asking if I read this or that piece in The New Yorker when I'm trying to concentrate on the simmering pans. He leaves wadded tissues in his wake. He suffers from serious bouts of spousal deafness but never fails to hear me when I mutter to myself on the other side of the house. "What did you say?" he'll shout.

These minor annoyances are not the stuff of separation and divorce, but in sum they began to dull my love for Scott. I wanted — needed — to nudge him a little closer to perfect, to make him into a mate who might annoy me a little less, who wouldn't keep me waiting at restaurants, a mate who would be easier to love.

So, like many wives before me, I ignored a library of advice books and set about improving him. By nagging, of course, which only made his behavior worse: he'd drive faster instead of slower; shave less frequently, not more; and leave his reeking bike garb on the bedroom floor longer than ever.

We went to a counselor to smooth the edges off our marriage. She didn't understand what we were doing there and complimented us repeatedly on how well we communicated. I gave up. I guessed she was right — our union was better than most — and resigned myself to stretches of slow-boil resentment and occasional sarcasm.

Then something magical happened. For a book I was writing about a school for exotic animal trainers, I started commuting from Maine to California, where I spent my days watching students do the seemingly impossible: teaching hyenas to pirouette on command, cougars to offer their paws for a nail clipping, and baboons to skateboard.

I listened, rapt, as professional trainers explained how they taught dolphins to flip and elephants to paint. Eventually it hit me that the same techniques might work on that stubborn but lovable species, the American husband.

The central lesson I learned from exotic animal trainers is that I should reward behavior I like and ignore behavior I don't. After all, you don't get a sea lion to balance a ball on the end of its nose by nagging. The same goes for the American husband.

Back in Maine, I began thanking Scott if he threw one dirty shirt into the hamper. If he threw in two, I'd kiss him. Meanwhile, I would step over any soiled clothes on the floor without one sharp word, though I did sometimes kick them under the bed. But as he basked in my appreciation, the piles became smaller.

I was using what trainers call "approximations," rewarding the small steps toward learning a whole new behavior. You can't expect a baboon to learn to flip on command in one session, just as you can't expect an American husband to begin regularly picking up his dirty socks by praising him once for picking up a single sock. With the baboon you first reward a hop, then a bigger hop, then an even bigger hop. With Scott the husband, I began to praise every small act every time: if he drove just a mile an hour slower, tossed one pair of shorts into the hamper, or was on time for anything.

I also began to analyze my husband the way a trainer considers an exotic animal. Enlightened trainers learn all they can about a species, from anatomy to social structure, to understand how it thinks, what it likes and dislikes, what comes easily to it and what doesn't. For example, an elephant is a herd animal, so it responds to hierarchy. It cannot jump, but can stand on its head. It is a vegetarian.

The exotic animal known as Scott is a loner, but an alpha male. So hierarchy matters, but being in a group doesn't so much. He has the balance of a gymnast, but moves slowly, especially when getting dressed. Skiing comes naturally, but being on time does not. He's an omnivore, and what a trainer would call food-driven.

Once I started thinking this way, I couldn't stop. At the school in California, I'd be scribbling notes on how to walk an emu or have a wolf accept you as a pack member, but I'd be thinking, "I can't wait to try this on Scott."

On a field trip with the students, I listened to a professional trainer describe how he had taught African crested cranes to stop landing on his head and shoulders. He did this by training the leggy birds to land on mats on the ground. This, he explained, is what is called an "incompatible behavior," a simple but brilliant concept.

Rather than teach the cranes to stop landing on him, the trainer taught the birds something else, a behavior that would make the undesirable behavior impossible. The birds couldn't alight on the mats and his head simultaneously.

At home, I came up with incompatible behaviors for Scott to keep him from crowding me while I cooked. To lure him away from the stove, I piled up parsley for him to chop or cheese for him to grate at the other end of the kitchen island. Or I'd set out a bowl of chips and salsa across the room. Soon I'd done it: no more Scott hovering around me while I cooked.

I followed the students to SeaWorld San Diego, where a dolphin trainer introduced me to least reinforcing syndrome (L. R. S.). When a dolphin does something wrong, the trainer doesn't respond in any way. He stands still for a few beats, careful not to look at the dolphin, and then returns to work. The idea is that any response, positive or negative, fuels a behavior. If a behavior provokes no response, it typically dies away.

In the margins of my notes I wrote, "Try on Scott!"

It was only a matter of time before he was again tearing around the house searching for his keys, at which point I said nothing and kept at what I was doing. It took a lot of discipline to maintain my calm, but results were immediate and stunning. His temper fell far shy of its usual pitch and then waned like a fast-moving storm. I felt as if I should throw him a mackerel.

Now he's at it again; I hear him banging a closet door shut, rustling through papers on a chest in the front hall and thumping upstairs. At the sink, I hold steady. Then, sure enough, all goes quiet. A moment later, he walks into the kitchen, keys in hand, and says calmly, "Found them."

Without turning, I call out, "Great, see you later."

Off he goes with our much-calmed pup.

After two years of exotic animal training, my marriage is far smoother, my husband much easier to love. I used to take his faults personally; his dirty clothes on the floor were an affront, a symbol of how he didn't care enough about me. But thinking of my husband as an exotic species gave me the distance I needed to consider our differences more objectively.

I adopted the trainers' motto: "It's never the animal's fault." When my training attempts failed, I didn't blame Scott. Rather, I brainstormed new strategies, thought up more incompatible behaviors and used smaller approximations. I dissected my own behavior, considered how my actions might inadvertently fuel his. I also accepted that some behaviors were too entrenched, too instinctive to train away. You can't stop a badger from digging, and you can't stop my husband from losing his wallet and keys.

PROFESSIONALS talk of animals that understand training so well they eventually use it back on the trainer. My animal did the same. When the training techniques worked so beautifully, I couldn't resist telling my husband what I was up to. He wasn't offended, just amused. As I explained the techniques and terminology, he soaked it up. Far more than I realized.

Last fall, firmly in middle age, I learned that I needed braces. They were not only humiliating, but also excruciating. For weeks my gums, teeth, jaw and sinuses throbbed. I complained frequently and loudly. Scott assured me that I would become used to all the metal in my mouth. I did not.

One morning, as I launched into yet another tirade about how uncomfortable I was, Scott just looked at me blankly. He didn't say a word or acknowledge my rant in any way, not even with a nod.

I quickly ran out of steam and started to walk away. Then I realized what was happening, and I turned and asked, "Are you giving me an L. R. S.?" Silence. "You are, aren't you?"

He finally smiled, but his L. R. S. has already done the trick. He'd begun to train me, the American wife.

Amy Sutherland is the author of "Kicked, Bitten and Scratched: Life and Lessons at the Premier School for Exotic Animal Trainers" (Viking, June 2006). She lives in Boston and in Portland, Me.


Leslie
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Offline serious crayons

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Re: What Shamu Taught Me: A Small World Moment
« Reply #1 on: January 12, 2007, 02:57:50 pm »
Interesting article, Leslie! I'm going to try some of those techniques on my kids.

Offline Penthesilea

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Re: What Shamu Taught Me: A Small World Moment
« Reply #2 on: January 12, 2007, 03:37:57 pm »
Thanks for this article, Leslie.

I'm very familiar with this kind of animal training, and quite enthusiastic about it . It was developed for training exotic species, but meanwhile is very widespread for pets, especially dogs, too.

That's where I learned about this training method (well, it's not actually a 'method', but in lack of a better word I'll stick with it): training my dog. It's called "Clicker-Training" because you use a tool that clicks. Dolphin trainers use a pipe/whistle instead. In English, positive reinforcement and c+t (=click+treat) are key words.
It's based on behaviour research, esp. Behaviourism.

Although the humorous tone in the article, it's not far streched. I tried it on my kids, too. But not consequently  ;).

Here's a link to an article about it on wikipedia:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clicker_training


Really a small world. You encountered said article, written by your friend. And I never thought this topic (which is a fav topic of mine) would come up here  :).

Offline MaineWriter

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Re: What Shamu Taught Me: A Small World Moment
« Reply #3 on: January 12, 2007, 03:46:46 pm »
I am glad you enjoyed the article!

I am familiar with clicker training...from dolphins (no, I haven't trained them, just stuff I read) and our greyhound. When we first had Jessie we signed up for a clicker course. It wasn't entirely successful...mostly because she was a greyhound, from the track, and had been trained in an entirely different way. But the course was still interesting and I learned a lot about dog psychology.

Leslie
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Offline Penthesilea

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Re: What Shamu Taught Me: A Small World Moment
« Reply #4 on: January 12, 2007, 04:29:03 pm »
I am glad you enjoyed the article!

I am familiar with clicker training...from dolphins (no, I haven't trained them, just stuff I read) and our greyhound. When we first had Jessie we signed up for a clicker course. It wasn't entirely successful...mostly because she was a greyhound, from the track, and had been trained in an entirely different way. But the course was still interesting and I learned a lot about dog psychology.

Leslie

Wow, that's so cool, Leslie  8). My dog is a crossover dog, too. And I wasn't entirely successful, too. The trainer of the dog training course I went to didn't approve of clicker training  :(. I couldn't find a clicker course near me and so I only learned by reading books and discussing on a dog owners forum. Lots of heated discussions there with the hardliners, too  ;D.

In the end, I'd say my dog is better trained than the average dog, but not as good as I once hoped for. Which is self-evident my fault, because I got lazy and slowed down my efforts.
I believe that it's hard to train a Greyhound, additionally one who had done racing before. As the article says "...some behaviours are too entrenched..."

Offline Ellemeno

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Re: What Shamu Taught Me: A Small World Moment
« Reply #5 on: January 18, 2007, 08:53:59 am »
Yesterday was our 14th anniversary of the day we fell in love.  As my husband said happy Anniversary, he handed me a copy of this very article that he had just printed out.

I will practice.

Offline Kelda

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Re: What Shamu Taught Me: A Small World Moment
« Reply #6 on: January 18, 2007, 09:06:56 am »
Posting so I can find at a later date!!
http://www.idbrass.com

Please use the following links when shopping online -It will help us raise money without costing you a penny.

http://www.easyfundraising.org.uk/idb

http://idb.easysearch.org.uk/

Offline MaineWriter

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Re: What Shamu Taught Me: A Small World Moment
« Reply #7 on: January 18, 2007, 09:22:34 am »
Yesterday was our 14th anniversary of the day we fell in love.  As my husband said happy Anniversary, he handed me a copy of this very article that he had just printed out.

I will practice.

Small world, isn't it, Elle? Happy Anniversary, too...

L
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Offline Kelda

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Re: What Shamu Taught Me: A Small World Moment
« Reply #8 on: August 01, 2007, 09:45:51 am »
I found this saved on my hard drive today and reread it.

Now living with Callum for 8 months - it was only a few weeks when Leslie originally posted, I can see my traits quite strongly in this article.

Callum - is pretty good at making an attempt to wash dishes - but more often than not half the plates when I come to put them away still have stuff stuck to them. or he does the dishes but doesn't clean the worktops even though they have stuff all over them. He's really good at feeding the cat - ten times better than me - but he always overfills the cat bowl and the biscuits fall on to the tray undeneath the cat bowl! (Aargghhh!) and these three things particularly drives me crazy!

I guess instead of saying - Callum - can you check the plates are clean before you put them on the drainer time and time again I should be saying thanks for getting them all clean and giving him a kiss when he does the dishes and none do have to be washed again! Cos it exasperates me that he doesn't clean them properly but it annoys him - cos hes like - well you never did them - so I did them and now I'm getting into a scolding for not doing them to your standard!?!

I must make an attemnpot to try this.

But then theres things he needs to be continually nagged for. Like his Mum and Dad's 25th wedding anniversary is next week. I suggested we get a nice canvas of a nice photo of the family for them done. It takes up to 2 weeks to get the canvas done. Has he got the appropriate photo from his Mum and Dad's house yet!? NO! Even though I have been reminding him and reminding him! gha!  :laugh:
http://www.idbrass.com

Please use the following links when shopping online -It will help us raise money without costing you a penny.

http://www.easyfundraising.org.uk/idb

http://idb.easysearch.org.uk/

Offline Ellemeno

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Re: What Shamu Taught Me: A Small World Moment
« Reply #9 on: August 01, 2007, 11:40:48 pm »
I was going to say how timely it is for me to read this again, but when wouldn't it be?  :laugh: