The bigger picture is sometimes hard to see.
The bigger picture is sometimes hard to see. It's too big to take everything in at once, so it's easier to focus on a small part, and see that clearly. That's a fine approach, as long as you remember that the small perfect piece you see doesn't exist in isolation.
So am I a clicker trainer? I think, on balance, I'm not. I used to think I was, but there are things that don't fit. Clicker training is a way of training animals (and humans) that's based on the science of learning theory. That's my background, so in that sense, I'm a clicker trainer.
On the other hand, the bigger picture is big. Learning outcomes are modulated by other things. There's ethology. Ethology is something pretty new to me, the scientific study of how animals behave in their natural environment, and includes concepts like preparedness. Jackson's "prepared" - primed and designed - to act in certain ways. So going underneath something is difficult for him, because horses need to protect themselves from predators that jump from ledges or out of trees. It's more difficult for him to respond to my request to walk under a bridge than over - although to me, these two actions are pretty much identical. Changes in ground surface may look like depth changes to him, so walking over the white "STOP" written on the road, or over a newly filled in pothole, may be risky. He has no ability to reflect, that these things mean something: to him, they're simply aspects of the environment, and in common with natural features, they imply something to him that they don't to me.
As well as ethology, there's physiology. The ethology of a horse differs significantly from that of, for example, a pet dog. The horse eats constantly, while remaining on the alert for chasing predators. The dog expects to eat once daily, if that, and the meat is shared with its family group - more important animals eat first and less important and younger members may get little. The horse has no such constraints - food is held in common. In a natural setting, all the horses look the same, condition wise, provided they are healthy. Just because your herd mate is eating, doesn't mean there is less food for you. There is no way one horse can take all the food, or prevent another horse from eating - and indeed, no advantage - having healthy, fit, alert herdmates increases everybody's chance of survival. The only high value food source with restricted access that a feral horse meets is the milk provided by its dam. She can determine when a foal can nurse - and through this, the foal learns contingencies and rewards. Its first actions are attempts to nurse, and if rewarded with milk, they are strengthened. This is what a clicker trainer hopes to emulate - the control of high value food resources without attempting to stress the horse by restricting the constant availability of low value forage.
But in the bigger picture, as well as learning and ethology, there is physiology. A stressed horse loses its appetite. There are times Jackson tells me he is unsettled by allowing me to feel teeth when he takes his treat. And there are times when he doesn't accept his treat: arousal is difficult for me to work around. We passed another shoot on our last hack (two days ago - the weather has been very poor since). It was the first time Jackson has turned and tried to speed up away from the frightening sound. It took me a few seconds to react, but I was able to bend him to a stop and face the noise. After a few seconds, we were able to head back towards it again, but it was a minute or two before he would respond to a click. So I wasn't a clicker trainer for those few minutes, I was working against his increasing arousal and trying to work out how to allow him to reach homeostasis again. I know enough not to increase the level of arousal by adding pain or discomfort or fear, and recently, I have been quicker to dismount and reassure from the ground where I know he prefers me to be. I managed without on this occasion, and the indication that he was back with me was his ears responding to a click for walking quietly and offering a neck yield. It is interesting, in training terms, that as he calms down, he will offer a neck yield without me asking. In terms of preparedness, he is relaxing his muscle tone and looking back at me instead of ahead at the scary noise - he can quickly override the fright, even if he is still more alert.
Adrenalin has a longish "wash-out" - once it's released for any reason, there is often positive feedback to increase it, and even if not increased, it remains active in the body for a while. After the fright, it took about two minutes for Jackson to be back with me, and a further 20 for him to be able to walk with his head low and swinging. I am still very happy with this - his quick neck yield response shows the training is having an effect, and the (relatively) non-explosive nature of his fright response is also reassuring (it was a few steps of brisk trot!).
So I think, on balance, I'm not a clicker trainer. I'm not sure what kind of trainer I am - I seem to find that very few people take more than the immediate situation and a very human interpretation of it into account when they offer behavioural advice. They're still fixated on fixing the symptom, and seem to feel it's somehow "hippy dippy" to look beyond it. I might not be a clicker trainer - but I'm closer to that than to any other school of thought. I think I'm falling out of love with any group of people whose response to even mild unwanted behaviour in a horse is to hit it sharply, and who refuse to believe that it's possible to interact with a horse without ever hitting it, pinching it, kicking it or spurring it. No more internet forums for me, they're starting to make me feel bad about people's ability to learn and reflect, let alone how sorry I feel for the horses.
We have had nice hacking over the last week or so. There has been no more sticking, Jackson has passed other riders without even thinking of following them, and he has been keen - walking faster and more engaged. I hope this is a combination of the schooling as well as feeling more settled in his group.
Yesterday, instead of riding out, I went for a brief run in the field with him. He is livelier in the field too - he will leave the others and trot and canter with me well out of sight of them. He is definitely playing, he cannot resist occasional acrobatics, and looks very pretty as he prances along, tossing his head. He is good at looking after me, though, and although he will canter down a hill behind me, he keeps his distance and stops when I stop. It's pretty good for my fitness, too, even if I have to lean against trees for a minute after charging up the hill.
I will be away for the weekend and won't get to ride, which I'll miss - I'll try to make up for it with longer rides next week. I would also love to get Jackson over to use the sand school - I really want to work on our lateral moves somewhere where we can ride circles - and I am fairly confident I can now ask for canter from a shoulder-in and want to try it.
So am I a clicker trainer? I think, on balance, I'm not. I used to think I was, but there are things that don't fit. Clicker training is a way of training animals (and humans) that's based on the science of learning theory. That's my background, so in that sense, I'm a clicker trainer.
On the other hand, the bigger picture is big. Learning outcomes are modulated by other things. There's ethology. Ethology is something pretty new to me, the scientific study of how animals behave in their natural environment, and includes concepts like preparedness. Jackson's "prepared" - primed and designed - to act in certain ways. So going underneath something is difficult for him, because horses need to protect themselves from predators that jump from ledges or out of trees. It's more difficult for him to respond to my request to walk under a bridge than over - although to me, these two actions are pretty much identical. Changes in ground surface may look like depth changes to him, so walking over the white "STOP" written on the road, or over a newly filled in pothole, may be risky. He has no ability to reflect, that these things mean something: to him, they're simply aspects of the environment, and in common with natural features, they imply something to him that they don't to me.
As well as ethology, there's physiology. The ethology of a horse differs significantly from that of, for example, a pet dog. The horse eats constantly, while remaining on the alert for chasing predators. The dog expects to eat once daily, if that, and the meat is shared with its family group - more important animals eat first and less important and younger members may get little. The horse has no such constraints - food is held in common. In a natural setting, all the horses look the same, condition wise, provided they are healthy. Just because your herd mate is eating, doesn't mean there is less food for you. There is no way one horse can take all the food, or prevent another horse from eating - and indeed, no advantage - having healthy, fit, alert herdmates increases everybody's chance of survival. The only high value food source with restricted access that a feral horse meets is the milk provided by its dam. She can determine when a foal can nurse - and through this, the foal learns contingencies and rewards. Its first actions are attempts to nurse, and if rewarded with milk, they are strengthened. This is what a clicker trainer hopes to emulate - the control of high value food resources without attempting to stress the horse by restricting the constant availability of low value forage.
But in the bigger picture, as well as learning and ethology, there is physiology. A stressed horse loses its appetite. There are times Jackson tells me he is unsettled by allowing me to feel teeth when he takes his treat. And there are times when he doesn't accept his treat: arousal is difficult for me to work around. We passed another shoot on our last hack (two days ago - the weather has been very poor since). It was the first time Jackson has turned and tried to speed up away from the frightening sound. It took me a few seconds to react, but I was able to bend him to a stop and face the noise. After a few seconds, we were able to head back towards it again, but it was a minute or two before he would respond to a click. So I wasn't a clicker trainer for those few minutes, I was working against his increasing arousal and trying to work out how to allow him to reach homeostasis again. I know enough not to increase the level of arousal by adding pain or discomfort or fear, and recently, I have been quicker to dismount and reassure from the ground where I know he prefers me to be. I managed without on this occasion, and the indication that he was back with me was his ears responding to a click for walking quietly and offering a neck yield. It is interesting, in training terms, that as he calms down, he will offer a neck yield without me asking. In terms of preparedness, he is relaxing his muscle tone and looking back at me instead of ahead at the scary noise - he can quickly override the fright, even if he is still more alert.
Adrenalin has a longish "wash-out" - once it's released for any reason, there is often positive feedback to increase it, and even if not increased, it remains active in the body for a while. After the fright, it took about two minutes for Jackson to be back with me, and a further 20 for him to be able to walk with his head low and swinging. I am still very happy with this - his quick neck yield response shows the training is having an effect, and the (relatively) non-explosive nature of his fright response is also reassuring (it was a few steps of brisk trot!).
So I think, on balance, I'm not a clicker trainer. I'm not sure what kind of trainer I am - I seem to find that very few people take more than the immediate situation and a very human interpretation of it into account when they offer behavioural advice. They're still fixated on fixing the symptom, and seem to feel it's somehow "hippy dippy" to look beyond it. I might not be a clicker trainer - but I'm closer to that than to any other school of thought. I think I'm falling out of love with any group of people whose response to even mild unwanted behaviour in a horse is to hit it sharply, and who refuse to believe that it's possible to interact with a horse without ever hitting it, pinching it, kicking it or spurring it. No more internet forums for me, they're starting to make me feel bad about people's ability to learn and reflect, let alone how sorry I feel for the horses.
We have had nice hacking over the last week or so. There has been no more sticking, Jackson has passed other riders without even thinking of following them, and he has been keen - walking faster and more engaged. I hope this is a combination of the schooling as well as feeling more settled in his group.
Yesterday, instead of riding out, I went for a brief run in the field with him. He is livelier in the field too - he will leave the others and trot and canter with me well out of sight of them. He is definitely playing, he cannot resist occasional acrobatics, and looks very pretty as he prances along, tossing his head. He is good at looking after me, though, and although he will canter down a hill behind me, he keeps his distance and stops when I stop. It's pretty good for my fitness, too, even if I have to lean against trees for a minute after charging up the hill.
I will be away for the weekend and won't get to ride, which I'll miss - I'll try to make up for it with longer rides next week. I would also love to get Jackson over to use the sand school - I really want to work on our lateral moves somewhere where we can ride circles - and I am fairly confident I can now ask for canter from a shoulder-in and want to try it.