The Rules of Fetch

By Benjamin Beck

“Fetch” is one of those English words with different definitions, but only one is pertinent to dogs: “go for and then bring back (someone or something) for someone.” At least one dog does not agree with this definition, specifically with the “for someone” part.

Lima is a 9-year-old female dog of mixed ancestry (Maybe some terrier, some Rottweiler, but not a trace of those born-happy, love-everybody, trust-everything retriever breeds). Lima was trained as a PTSD assistance dog but did not grow big enough to qualify. She was rescued and given a loving home by two women who were simultaneously starting a business that demanded much of their time. Dogs have always been part of my and my wife’s life, but we were too old to accept full responsibility for another of our own. So, Lima became our day-care dog.

This was a win for her moms because they could focus on their work on weekdays. This was a win for Lima because our fenced, rural 8-acre spread of woods, a creek, a pond, and swamps (known to us all as Camp Bravo) is a paradise for a high-energy, inquisitive puppy. And it was a win for us because we got to share a dog’s companionship without worrying about her future should something happen to us. For eight years now, we have picked her up at 10 AM and returned her at 3 PM on workdays, and she sometimes overnights with us when her moms are on vacation. Lima lives in what scientists call a “fission-fusion society”, where some members of “her group” are present some, but not all, of the time and may appear or disappear unpredictably (at least to the scientists). Her moms sometimes come to our place, and we sometimes go to theirs. We gather at their business for coffee or happy hours, often with other people. And Lima knows mail-people, delivery truck drivers, drive-in bank tellers (all of whom provide dog treats), and her moms’ customers, family, and friends whom we don’t know at all. Judging from Lima’s ardent yowling during her many commutes, she is happy to come to Camp Bravo and happy to return home.

Perhaps it’s her genes, or her training as an assistance dog, or the personalities of her people, but Lima is an extraordinarily perceptive dog, who has been documented to rush to the assistance of a person being attacked and another about to have a seizure. She is affable and not at all aggressive (except toward barky little dogs who claim entitlement), but she is prickly with people who turn out to be rude, unkind, dishonest, or selfish. She’s nice to everybody, wary of many, and cuddly only with her people. But it would be illogical and misleading to say that Lima has a “person”ality. Lima is a dog.

Lima loves to work with and please her people. My wife Beate trains her regularly, and Lima is 99% reliable on essential, potentially life-saving commands of “Stay”, “Down”, “Drop”, “Come”, and “Heel”. The sight of an outdoor cat will cause her to disobey, and I have had to retrieve Lima from the base of the tree into which a chased cat has escaped, and bring her back home on a leash. This is one version of our “fetch” relationship, but one that we both dislike and will not discuss further. Lima is a very quick learner, and sometimes reverses the reinforcement contingencies to train us. For example, she hogs the bed by stretching out to an unimaginable length, requiring a treat to return to a more shareable position. 

The highlight of our daily visit is a 30 to 60-minute unleashed walk, over approximately the same route each day, at Camp Bravo – usually just Lima and me. She starts with a smell-only small mammal and reptile inventory of the dark, cramped spaces beneath each of the two sheds, and an olfactory sweep of the yard around the house for animal intruders of the previous 18 hours. These recons include the first of what will be many urine marks and greetings to unknown (at least to me) recipients. (Where does all that pee come from?) We then circle the pond where, in the summer, she carefully inspects the basking places of the aggressive but non-venomous water snakes, while adopting a distinctive, stretched-neck, curled lips, one-foot-raised approach. She was bitten by one of these snakes as a puppy and seems cautiously but irresistibly drawn to them. I say “Back”, “Leave It”, when I see that stance; she always obeys. I never see her leave a urine mark for snakes. We turn downstream when we reach the creek, go past the dock, and go to “the point” at the end of our property, where it is bounded on three sides by water. Here, in warm weather, she slips into the water and walks around, half-submerged, for a few minutes, looking for neighbors’ dogs across the creek. If she sees or hears a dog (or heron or egret), she starts to paddle across. Again, “Leave It”, “Lima Come.” Repetition is sometimes required. Upon return, she shakes and waits patiently for me to say “Turn-Around-Time,” at which point she gets a turn-around treat, and we begin to retrace our steps. There are two paths back and, as she usually does at all such junctions, she stops and almost imperceptibly glances back to see which I will choose. She can tell, even before I have consciously decided. But sometimes she makes the trail choice herself, and leaves me to follow or separate. She may go off alone, drawn by (to me) unperceived sights, sounds, or smells. Although the property is fenced, I still worry during these absences. I don’t want her to approach neighbors’ yards and pets, chase wildlife, or roll in stinky stuff. 

When she was a puppy, these expeditions were highly kinetic and totally unpredictable (to me) in direction. She would not respond to recall, and I was sometimes left pathetically whistling, clapping, calling, and chasing, trying to spot a flash of brown and black at 300 feet in the undergrowth. She ALWAYS came back, and I noticed that her absences lasted about five minutes. I came to understand that her wonderment with this freedom was balanced by her desire to be with me. So when she bolted, I sat down quietly on a log, silent and unmoving. I became the one who disappeared, and the burden of reunion fell to her. Five minutes, back she comes, often, bewilderingly, from a direction opposite to the one in which she left. She and I are now 8 years older, slowed and less distracted. Her solo expeditions are less frequent and less distant, but the five-minute rule still works. I like to say that we negotiated this rule, but maybe I’m reading too much into it. Maybe we just vectored on a way to reconcile our interests and rules about free walks.

Ben’s Initial Interests and Rules About Free Walks: Free walks provide physical exercise, companionship, and enjoyment of nature. Free walks allow us to circumvent the encumbrance of a leash and give us a sense of freedom. Lima must not go out of my sight and must return immediately upon recall.  

Lima’s Initial Interests and Rules About Free Walks: Free walks provide physical exercise, companionship, and exploration of nature. Free walks allow us to circumvent the restraint of a leash and give us a sense of independence. I am allowed to go out of Ben’s sight, during which I am allowed to ignore recall commands, and to chase squirrels and roll in stinky stuff. I will return to Ben after five minutes.

Reconciled Interests and Rules About Free Walks: Ben and Lima agree that free walks provide physical exercise, companionship, and enjoyment and exploration of nature. Free walks allow them to circumvent the constraints of a leash and give them a sense of independence. Lima may go out of Ben’s sight for up to five minutes during which she is tolerated to ignore recall commands, and to chase squirrels and roll in stinky stuff. Lima will return to Ben after five minutes. Lima will accept a shower after the walk to wash off the stinky stuff. These rules do not apply to walks with Beate; Lima is not allowed to go out of her sight or to ignore her recall demands. 

Returning to our daily walk, we come together at the dock, the site of the “Agreement on the Rules of Fetch.” Lima was never a big fan of retrieving. She might run after and pick up a thrown ball, and bring it back in the approximate, but rarely exact, direction of the thrower. I have never seen her drop the ball at the thrower’s feet or eagerly place it in their hands. And she never cooperated with attempts to remove the ball from her mouth, clamping down stubbornly with some careless disregard for fingers. Remember the definition of fetch: “go for and then bring back (someone or something) for someone” (italics added). She might “go for” something once or twice, and diffidently, sort of, “bring it back”, but she did it for herself, not “for someone” else, not even for one of her humans. Thinking about it, it’s hard for me and probably Lima to understand why a person would throw away something they so badly want back. 

The dock and kayak launch provide easy in/easy out access to the creek, a natural place to swim and play fetch, here with a stick. But again, our rules and interests differed.

Ben’s Initial Interests and Rules About Fetch with Sticks at the Dock: Fetch with Sticks at the Dock incentivizes Lima to swim, provides a different form of exercise, and is entertaining to both Ben and Lima. Ben provides sticks of the right length and weight and free of spiky protuberances that could hurt Lima’s mouth. Ben says “Schwimmy time” and selects a stick. Lima sits and stays at Ben’s feet until Ben throws the stick into the creek. Lima retrieves the stick, brings it to Ben, and drops it at his feet or allows him to take it from her mouth. Lima then sits and stays at his feet until he throws the stick again, and the cycle is repeated two or three times, until Ben concludes that Fetching at the Dock is over for the day. Lima surrenders the stick, and it is then placed on the stick pile for tomorrow. 

Lima’s Initial Interests and Rules About Fetch with Sticks at the Dock: Fetch with Sticks at the Dock is for fun and guarantees Lima an opportunity to swim. Ben says “Schwimmy time”, and Lima runs around excitedly, sometimes dangerously banging into Ben’s legs, while Ben selects and throws a stick. Lima swims out, retrieves the stick, brings it back to land, and drops it somewhere between the water’s edge and where Ben is waiting. Lima runs around excitedly, sometimes banging into Ben’s legs, while Ben gets muddy feet by retrieving the first stick or finding another, and throws it again (Lima is allowed to lunge at and take the stick if Ben takes too long to throw it). Lima retrieves the stick, brings it back, and drops it somewhere between the water line where Ben is waiting, or, if Ben signals that Fetching at the Dock is over for the day, Lima carries the stick down the trail to the place where she rolls and dries off in the pine needles. She abandons the stick there, but Ben is not allowed to pick it up until the next day. Under no circumstance is Ben allowed to take a stick from Lima’s mouth at any time during the game. 

Reconciled Interests and Rules About Fetch with Sticks at the Dock: Fetch with Sticks at the Dock guarantees Lima an opportunity to swim (if Ben thinks it is not too cold), provides a different form of exercise, and is entertaining to both Ben and Lima. Ben provides sticks of the right length and weight and free of spiky protuberances that could hurt Lima’s mouth. Ben says “Schwimmy time” and selects a stick. Lima almost-sits (a verb, denoting trembling with anticipation and not quite placing her butt on the ground) and stays at Ben’s feet, standing with one of her feet on top of one of his until he throws the stick. Lima retrieves the stick, brings it back to land, and drops it somewhere between the water line and where Ben is waiting. Lima almost-sits while Ben selects another stick, and throws it again (Lima is not allowed to lunge at and take the stick if Ben takes too long to throw it). Lima again retrieves the stick, brings it back, and drops it somewhere between the water line and where Ben is waiting, or, if Ben signals that Fetching at the Dock is over for the day, Lima carries the stick down the trail to the place where she rolls and dries off in the pine needles. She abandons the stick there, but Ben is not allowed to pick it up until the next day. Under no circumstance is Ben allowed to take a stick from Lima’s mouth at any time during the game. 

The question that arises is why I compromised on the rules. Why don’t I make her sit, really sit, as I prepare to throw the stick? Why do I tolerate her stepping on my foot before she launches? Why don’t I insist that she brings the stick back to me after she retrieves it? Why don’t I insist that Lima allows me to take the stick from her mouth when I want to? After all, I could train her by refusing to play Fetch with Sticks at the Dock unless she complied with my demands.  

First, I considered our mutual interests: It’s agreed that Fetch with Sticks at the Dock is great exercise for Lima and is fun for me and her. Why would I want a fun activity to become a battle of wills and a disappointing session of aversive control by withholding something we both like? The answer is that almost-sitting, stepping on my foot, dropping the stick where she wishes, and not allowing me to take the stick are not dangerous to me or to Lima or to anybody else. They are harmless training errors, born of my unwillingness to be strict in a fun situation. So what? Running around excitedly and banging into my legs, and lunging for the stick as I held it, were dangerous, and could not be part of reconciled rules. A forceful “No” and “Bad Dog”, ending the fetch session, and sulking in disappointment for the rest of the walk ended those unacceptable transgressions after one or two occurrences. I never did or never would physically punish her. 

As friends, we’ve developed some other commonsense considerations for each other. Lima always goes off-trail to poop, and I come quickly to the rescue when she gets something spiky in her paw and stands pathetically with one foot raised. Lima never takes food, even bacon (the pack’s favorite food), from a table or countertop, and I never spray water on her head during showers. I use the term “commonsense”, but it’s fair to ask why many other dogs do poop on trails and steal human food. To my knowledge, Lima never had to be trained in this etiquette. Of course it’s also fair to ask why many humans ignore dogs’ little needs and preferences. 

I’m not claiming that Lima is some quasi-human. She has no interest in tomatoes or television and I have no interest in dried pig ears or chasing squirrels. We are both attracted to otter poop but for very different reasons: Lima because of the volatile secretions from the otter’s anal scent glands that make such wonderfully smelly adornment, and I because of what it reveals about what the otters have been eating and where they have been sleeping. Imagine us both hunched motionless over a pile of otter poop, me looking at fish bones and Lima smelling exotic perfumes. She pees on every pile.  

And, through her loyalty, acuity, protectiveness, and selective affection, Lima has earned agency, the opportunity to have “a say” in her life, to have a bit more independence. Her moms, the alphas of our extended pack, of course, call the shots. They provide more unconditional love and care than any dog should expect, even if they dress her in hopelessly cute costumes on Halloween and post them on Facebook. Lima knows that I know she is mortified.

Lima and I are in the midst of another disagreement about her options:

Lima’s Interests and Rules about Visiting Clint’s Yard: Lima wants occasionally to explore the scents of, and maybe even meet, neighbor Clint’s little dog. Lima claims that she may circumvent the fence by going down the creek bank, swimming around the fence, and climbing back up the bank to enter the yard. Lima may slip away from Ben during a walk for these harmless and understandable explorations. Lima will return on Ben’s request, but perhaps not immediately. 

Ben’s Interests and Rules about Visiting Clint’s Yard: Lacking information about Clint’s and his dog’s feelings about these visits, and in conformity with a general aversion to trespassing, Lima may not under any circumstances enter Clint’s yard. Lima may not even go to the fence, especially furtively, unless Ben goes too. Violation of these rules will result in pouty expressions of Ben’s displeasure, perhaps “Bad Dog”, and suspension for one day of Playing Fetch with Sticks at the Dock. Choice of consequence depends in part on how quickly Lima responds to Ben’s command to return. Ben may report transgressions to Lima’s moms.

Reconciled Interests and Rules about Visiting Clint’s Yard: These are a work in progress. Options include asking Clint and Lima’s moms if Lima could make a supervised visit to his yard and meet his dog, or extending the fence out into the water, or …….? At this writing, Lima has not approached Clint’s yard during the last 15 walks, and may have concluded that a few sniffs may not be worth pissing off a friend.  

P.S. A week after I wrote this, Lima stopped playing fetch.   

This essay was first published in Dr. Marc Bekoff’s blog, 27 October 2024: https://marcbekoff.com/marcs-essays/f/the-rules-of-fetch-lima-and-benjamin-beck

Reproduced here by permission.