I was out walking our dog Louie the other day in the park. Louie was in a particularly excitable mood, and I found it impossible to get him to do any of the basic things that I know he can do. The longer we walked the more frustrating it became. “Why won’t he wait or stay when I tell him to? I know that he knows how to do these things! After all, he is trained…”
That is when I had my “Aha!” moment.
When we got Louie last October he was four months old. A rescued dog, he had been with a foster family for three weeks and was mostly house-trained, so we only had a few accidents after we got him home. He also understood “sit” and would do that when asked. Eventually. Aside from that, though, he had no training
We have learned with our other dogs the value of good training, so we took Louie to 6 weeks of puppy kindergarten, another 6 weeks of basic training, and a 6 weeks course in basic manners. In every class, Louie was a star pupil. The trainer, Dottie, would often take Louie out to the center to demonstrate how to do something, and he invariably performed well in the spotlight. And when we worked through the various routines with him in class he was equally good—focused, attentive, reliable. Among the various designer “poos” and “doodles” our scrappy little survivor from the New Orleans streets was a star.
At home, though, away from the puppy class stage, he’s much less reliable. He will or won’t do something depending on his mood, his level of engagement or distraction, or just to be contrary. He is, after all, still a puppy! But the bottom line is that even though he knows how to do these things—sit, stay, come, wait, watch, down, place— and has demonstrated it repeatedly, he won’t always do them. Just like the other day on our walk. Why not?
Because he is not trained. We have trained him. He has been in training classes. He has learned to do all of the things we want him to do. But he is not trained.
Knowing how to do something is not being trained to do it. Being able to do something is not being trained to do it. Being trained means knowing and doing it reliably, repeatedly, predictably.
Here was my “Aha” moment: my fingers are not trained. They know how to move and where to go, and they are able to move and go, but they don’t do it reliably, repeatedly, and predictably. And while Louie rises to the occasion in the spotlight and behaves as if he truly is trained, my fingers seem to wait until I am on stage to sniff the grass or scratch themselves. With three master class performances a little over one week away, this knowledge creates a certain level of anxiety.
On those few occasions in training classes where Louie would falter while I was handling him, Dottie would always say the same thing: “He wasn’t focused on you. If you don’t have his attention you won’t get the result you want.” In other words, it’s not a matter of mindless compliance; quite the reverse, it is a matter of focused action. So my strategy over the next few days of practice is to rehearse how and when to focus when a challenging passage is reached so that the work I have already put in will pay off. To pay attention, at the right time and in the right way, so that my training can take over.
This was the guitar lesson from my dog.