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Can you believe how dumb some people can be? My new next
door neighbors are a household of diminished mental capacity
individuals. I'm trying to be polite. What is my proof you ask?
After settling in, cutting down every tree in sight, and
installing a pool, they went out and bought a rabbit to keep in
their yard. Not a dog, not even an ungrateful, arrogant cat, but
a dumb rabbit. You can tell a lot about a person's intelligence
from the pets they keep. Dog owners, in general, seem to be nice
people, but what can you say about a rabbit owner. Personally I
think they have deep emotional problems as manifested by their
remote attachment to a feral creature. So when a whole houseful
of people owns a single rabbit, we have the potential of
dysfunctional neighborhood blight.
The rabbit also suffers from diminished mental capacity,
probably by association. I am not an expert in animal or people
IQ, but anybody who installs a rabbit hutch right up against a
wood fence, with no wire or mesh, on the other side of which
reside five rabbit-drooling Chow Chows, cannot be intelligent.
And the rabbit's proof of diminished capacity? The dumb bunny
tries to burrow its way under the fence. Into our yard. Into the
jaws of death.
I found out about the rabbit when my five year old male Chow
Chow, Pan Tu, attempted to spend the remainder of his waking life
in the far corner of the yard, an area by the way he never
visits. On one particular day, I observed him standing perfectly
still, his eyes focused on a spot on the ground, right at the
bottom of the six foot cedar privacy fence. The fence has small
gaps between the boards that vary between one eighth to one
quarter inch. Occasionally, Pan Tu would lift his head and look
back at the house where I stood at the patio door. It is at times
like this that I can communicate with my dog.
"Hey, Dave, come out here and help me get to the other side
of the fence. There's a rabbit over there!" Pan Tu was yelling.
At least that was my interpretation. My written job description
as pack alpha does not require me to take down fences for lazy
Chows. I have other dogs, with whom I also can communicate,
though at a lesser level, and they too were fascinated with the
rabbit. Fascinated, but not obsessed. They'd spend a few minutes
at the fence, patrolling and inspecting, sniffing and pawing, but
after a while, they'd give up in frustration and head off for
more exciting adventures like chasing squirrels. By the way,
Pavlov was wrong. Pavlov, an eminent scientist in the 1800's,
conducted a series of experiments with dogs and bells, and
allegedly proved that if you ring a bell every time you feed a
dog, the dog will begin to salivate whenever it hears the bell,
whether it was time to eat or not. Pavlov called this a
conditioned response. Repeat a behavior pattern endlessly and
reward the correct response with a positive treat or praise,
while punishing an incorrect response, and eventually the desired
behavior becomes ingrained. By the way, this happens to be the
basis for all dog training and child rearing.
Though some Pavlovian trainers (and parents) used terms like
positive reinforcement instead of leash corrections, it's all
based on the same principle.
I've developed an opposing theory of learned behavior called
Dave's First Law of Dog Ownership. Here it is in proper
scientific theory form. If a dog chases a squirrel every day and
never catches one, the dog learns nothing! I've conducted
thousands of scientific observations from my patio deck, and I
have never seen a dog come close to catching a squirrel. If
Pavlov was right, eventually the dogs would look at the squirrel,
do some type of canine sigh, and turn away. I have never
witnessed such behavior. Every squirrel sighting is exactly the
same. One dog sees the squirrel, communicates the location,
bearing, size and other target acquisition information to the
other dogs in the yard and the race is on. Nature clearly favors
the squirrel and until a dog learns how to climb a tree by
running around the tree truck, as it climbs, then all the
squirrels in our part of the world are perfectly safe. Whether it
is squirrels or rabbits, I think Pavlov was wrong and I set out
to prove otherwise. I decided to modify Pan Tu's rabbit-obsessive
behavior with rational, logical arguments. It was time for a
heart to heart, human to dog talk. I put on my coat and strolled
to the back of the yard where Pan Tu was still staring at the
bottom of the fence.
"Dave," there was excitement in Pan Tu's voice, "there's a
rabbit on the other side of the fence and I'm going to get him as
soon as he finishes digging a hole under the fence. Stand here
and wait with me."
I couldn't believe the rabbit was so stupid that it was
trying to dig into our yard which meant sure death. I stood on my
toes and peeked over the fence. There it was, digging a hole
under the fence! I knelt down and looked through the cracks, my
eye right up to the board. The rabbit came up to the fence and
put its nose near my eye. I pulled back not sure whether this
rabbit was fearless, or dumber than even I thought possible.
Little did I know, at that time that I was wrong on both counts.
"Did you see that rabbit? I'm going to get it."
"No, you're not Pan Tu, it's not politically correct to be a
hunter these days. I don't want PETA throwing blood and rabbit
skins on our front porch. You'll have to leave that rabbit
alone."
I could see Pan Tu was obsessed with this rabbit and that
logical, rational arguments would be ineffective. He needed
therapy and fast. Still, I didn't want to resort to Pavlov's
method of repetitious reward and punishment Instead I opted for
my home grown progressive therapy program for Pan Tu.
On Saturday morning, I led Pan Tu into the family room and
placed him in a sit-stay in front of the television.
"Your therapy will consist of a series of video training
exercises," I said. "Pay particular attention to the obsession of
the lead actor, named Elmer Fudd, with a certain rabbit, and the
futility of his endeavor. You'll see that the rabbit, called Bugs
Bunny, always wins."
I turned on the TV, set the channel and watched as the
Warner Brothers logo appeared on screen, then I left the room.
Sometimes it's best if the animal under therapeutic treatment, on
his own, comes slowly to the realization that his behavior is
destructive. At least that's what I thought. In retrospect,
perhaps I should have provided more direct counseling during this
period.
At the end of the one hour session, I went back into the
room to find a thoughtful Chow still sitting in front of the TV.
"Did you learn any valuable lessons today?" I asked.
Pan Tu looked up at me, and in a perfect imitation of Elmer
Fudd's voice he said, "I learned today you have to be berry,
berry quiet to catch a wabbitt."
"What did you say?" I asked, only half believing what I had
heard.
"There's a wabbitt out there and I'm going to get that
wabbitt."
My heart sank. This is not what I wanted him to learn. I
wanted him to learn how futile, hopeless, and destructive Fudd's
obsession with the rabbit was. I wanted him to learn that Bugs
Bunny always won. I wanted him to think of that stupid rabbit on
the other side of the fence as Bugs Bunny. Instead my dog was
acting and talking like Elmer Fudd.
On Monday, I took a sick day from work. We have a large
university in the nearby city, with a world renowned veterinary
program. Within that program there is a division dealing with
animal behavior. My wife Patti and I met with Dr. Underhill, the
top behaviorist at the school.
"Mr. Donahue, we get problems like this all the time from
owners like you. Because you had one or two psychology courses in
college, you think you're qualified to change or modify your
pet's behavior. You've subjected your dog to unsupervised therapy
sessions, where the dog identified with the wrong role model and
now it suffers from low self esteem and the inability to identify
with the winner. You'll have to leave Pan Tu with us for a while,
and you will have to break off all contact during that period.
Your wife, Patti can visit, but not you."
Pan Tu was gone for quite some time, and every day Patti
visited him after work. On direction from Dr. Underhill, she
never mentioned how Pan Tu was doing or when he was expected to
come home. Each evening I strolled to the back of the yard where
Pan Tu once stood staring through the fence. I tried to get a
glimpse of that rabbit that had ripped our small family apart.
Sometimes I could see the rabbit moving along the fence line,
without a care in the world, while my best friend was locked up
in a canine funny farm. I wanted to kill that rabbit.
Near the end of the second week, Patti came home with great
news. Pan Tu was ready to come home.
"Dr. Underhill wants you to understand that Pan Tu has
suffered some permanent personality changes. They had to teach
him to adopt a new role model, to develop a positive image, to
imagine that he was always in control and that he would always
win. He doesn't think he's Elmer Fudd anymore; he acts like Bugs
Bunny."
I didn't care, I just wanted my best buddy back.
Less than 20 minutes after Patti left to pick up Pan Tu, the
door bell rang. Michelle, the 13-year-old girl from next door,
the owner of the hated rabbit, was standing on my front porch.
"My rabbit dug a hole under the fence and is in your yard. Can I
look for him?" Emotions of anger, hate, and excitement welled up
in me. The rabbit was in my yard! Finally I would get a chance to
capture the hated creature. We entered through the gate and
immediately saw the rabbit in the center of the yard, but each
time Michelle approached he would hop off to safety. This went on
for almost an hour. I was getting frustrated and angry, and I was
worried about what might happen if Patti came home with Pan Tu
and the rabbit was still in the yard. I decide to take matters in
my own hands.
"Michelle, let's chase it back toward the hole under the
fence." The rabbit clearly anticipated this strategy and was
having no part of it, successfully evading us at every step. We
needed better rabbit chasing equipment. I took two leaf rakes out
of my shed and we started to use them to herd the rabbit toward
the hole. We forced the bunny to scurry under the fence back into
Michelle's yard. I quickly filled the hole with dirt. "There,
that solves that problem." But Michelle laughed and pointed to
the fence not 10 feet from where we were standing. The rabbit's
head popped out of a freshly dug hole. I knew immediately the
rabbit couldn't have made an entire new hole that fast and must
have had it prepared in advance. I also knew I was not dealing
with any ordinary rabbit. The rabbit popped fully into the yard
and took off running along the fence line. We chased him and
cornered him under my shed. Fortunately, I had placed the shed on
two eight-by-eight sleepers so I could keep other critters from
nesting under there. We surrounded the shed and got down on our
hands and knees in the damp fall leaves. Using the rakes, we
tried to force the rabbit into a corner. For an hour, the rabbit
toyed with us, always staying just a tad out of our reach or
deftly digging holes under the sleepers so it could escape from
one side of the shed to the other. My frustration level was
increasing with each passing minute as I knew Pan Tu, fresh from
his rabbit obsession therapy, was getting closer and closer to
home. It was in this position, on my hands and knees, wildly
sweeping a garden rake back and forth under the shed, that I had
my reunion with Pan Tu.
I hadn't heard the car pull up or the door open, I guess
because I was so engrossed in catching this rabbit. I had my head
half buried under the shed trying to see where the rabbit was
when I felt a damp, cold nose on my neck. Patti was walking
behind him, smiling in anticipation of seeing a heartwarming
homecoming. She was to be disappointed, and in fact she realized
immediately there was another big problem for she had heard our
first conversation. She quickly pulled out the cellular phone I
had given her for Christmas and dialed Dr. Underhill.
"Dr. Underhill, Pat Donahue here. I need an immediate
referral for additional therapy. No, Bugs, I mean Pan Tu, is
doing just fine. I think I have a bigger problem. Listen to
this!" She held the phone down as Pan Tu touched my neck again
with his cold nose.
"E . .Eh, What's up doc?" asked Pan Tu. I turned to look at
my best friend, and in that moment, lying on the ground,
frustrated and angry at my own impotence in catching one silly
rabbit, the demon overtook me.
"Shhh! Be berry, berry quiet. There's a wabbit here and I'm going to catch him."
