, , , paces behind me, irritated. H

, , , paces behind me, irritated. Have you seen my keys? he snarls and stomps from the room with our dog, Dixie, at his heels. ln the past I would have turned off the faucet and joined the hunt while trying to soothe . But that only made him angrier, and a simple case of missing keys soon would become a full-blown 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.
2 For a book I was writing about a school for exotic animal trainers, I started spending my days watching students do the seemingly impossible: teaching hyenas to pirouette on command and chimps 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 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.
3 I began thanking if he threw one defy shirt into the hamper. lf he threw in nruo, l'd kiss him. 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 expend an American husband to begin regularly picking up his defy 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 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.

4 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 to keep him from crowding me while I cooked. I piled up parsley for him to chop or cheese for him to grate at the other end of the kitchen island. Soon l'd done it: no more hovering around me while I cooked.

5 I followed the students to SeaWorld San Diego, where a dolphin trainer introduced me to least reinforcing scenario (1. 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. lf a behavior provokes no response, it typically dies away. lt was only a matter of time before he was again searching for his keys, at which point I said nothing and kept at what I was doing. lt took a lot of discipline to maintain my calm, but results were immediate. I felt as if I should throw him a mackerel.

6 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. Couldn’t resist telling what I was up to. He wasn't offended, just amused. Then last fall, firmly in middle age, I learned that I needed braces. They were not only humiliating, but also excruciating. One morning, as I launched into yet another tirade about how uncomfortable I was, just looked at me blankly. He didn’t say a word or acknowledge my rant in any way, not even with a nod. I 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.

Результаты (английский) 1:

,,, paces behind me, irritated. Have you seen my keys? He snarls and stomps from the room with our dog, Dixie, at his heels. LN the past I would have turned off the faucet and joined the hunt while trying to soothe. But that only made him angrier, and a simple case of missing keys soon would become a full-blown 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. And don't say a word. I'm using a technique I learned from a dolphin trainer.2 For a book I was writing about a school for exotic animal trainers, and started spending my days watching students do the seemingly impossible: teaching hyenas to pirouette on command and chimps is a skateboard. And 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 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.3 and began thanking you if he threw one defy shirt into the hamper. LF he threw in nruo, l'd kiss him. 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 expend an American husband to begin regularly picking up his defy 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 the husband, and 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.4 On a field trip with the students, and 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 that 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, and came up with incompatible behaviors for this keep him from crowding me while I cooked. And piled up parsley for him to chop or cheese for him is a grate at the other end of the kitchen island. Soon l'd done it: no more hovering around me while I cooked.5 and followed the students to SeaWorld San Diego, where a dolphin trainer introduced me to least reinforcing scenario (1. 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. LF a behavior provokes no response, it typically dies away. lt was only a matter of time before he was again searching for his keys, at which point I said nothing and kept at what I was doing. lt took a lot of discipline to maintain my calm, but the results were immediate. I felt as if I should throw him a mackerel.6 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. Could not resist telling what I was up to. He wasn't offended, just amused. Then last fall, firmly in middle age, I learned that I needed braces. They were not only humiliating, but also excruciating. One morning, as I launched into yet another tirade about how uncomfortable I was, just looked at me blankly. He didn't say a word or acknowledge my rant in any way, not even with a nod. 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.

Результаты (английский) 2:

,, Paces behind me, irritated. Have you seen my keys? he snarls and stomps from the room with our dog, Dixie, at his heels. ln the past I would have turned off the faucet and joined the hunt while trying to soothe. But That only made him angrier, and a simple case of missing keys soon would become a full-blown drama starring the two of us and our poor nervous dog. Now, I focus on the wet dish in my hands. I do not turn around. I do not say a word. I'm using a technique I learned from a dolphin trainer.
2 For a book I was writing about a school for exotic animal trainers, I started spending my days watching students do the seemingly impossible: teaching hyenas to pirouette on command and chimps is a 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 is that I should reward behavior I like and ignore behavior I do not. After all, you do not get a sea lion to balance a ball on the end of its nose by nagging. The same goes for the American husband.
3 I Began Thanking if he threw they defy shirt into the hamper. lf he threw in nruo, l'd kiss him. I was using what trainers call "Approximations, rewarding the small steps toward learning a whole new behavior. You can not expect a baboon to learn to flip on command in one session, just as you can not expend an American husband to begin regularly picking up his socks to defy 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 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.

4 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. and behavior That would make the undesirable behavior impossible. The birds could not alight on the mats and his head Simultaneously. At home, I came up with incompatible behaviors for to keep him from crowding me while I cooked. I piled up parsley for him to chop or cheese for him to grate at the other end of the kitchen island. Soon l'd done it: no more hovering around me while I cooked.

5 I followed my the students to SeaWorld San Diego, where a dolphin trainer Introduced me to least reinforcing scenario (1 RS). When a dolphin does something wrong the trainer does NOT 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. lf a behavior provokes no response, it typically dies away. lt was only a matter of time before he was again searching for his keys, at Which point I said nothing and kept at what I was doing. lt took a lot of discipline to Maintain we are calm, but results were immediate. I felt as if I should throw him a mackerel.

6 Professionals talk of animals That understand training so well they use Eventually it back on the trainer. We did the same animal. When the training techniques worked so beautifully. I could not resist telling what I was up to. He was not offended, just amused. Then last fall, firmly in middle age, I learned that I needed braces. They were not only Humiliating, but also excruciating. One morning, as I launched into yet another tirade about how uncomfortable I was, just looked at me blankly. He did not say a word or acknowledge my rant in any way, not even with a nod. I started to walk away, then I Realized what was happening, and I turned and asked, Are you giving me an LRS Silence. You are, are not you? He finally smiled, but his LRS has already done the trick. He'd Begun to train me, the American wife.

Результаты (английский) 3:

paces behind me,,, irritated. have you seen my keys? he snarls and stomps from the room with our dog, dixie, at his heels. in the past and would have turned off the faucet and joined the hunt while trying to soothe. but that only made him angrier, and a simple case of missing keys soon would become a full - blown drama starring the two of us and our poor nervous dog. now, i focus on the wet dish in my hands. and don't turn around. and don't say a word. i'm using a technique i learned from a dolphin trainer.2 for a book and writing to you about a school for exotic animal trainers, and started spending my days watching students to the seemingly impossible: teaching hyenas pirouette that he command and chimps's skateboard. and listened to, ratp, as professional trainers explained how they taught dolphins that flip and elephants that paint. eventually it hit me that the same techniques might work on that stubborn thing but lovable species, the american husband. the central lesson i learned is that i should reward behavior and like and ignore behavior and don t. after all, you don't get a sea lion that balance a ball on the end of its nose to nagging. the same goes for the american husband.3 and began thanking if he threw one defy shirt into the hamper. if he threw in nruo, l 'd kiss him. and you using what trainers call 'approximations, rewarding the small steps toward learning a whole new behavior. you can 't expect a baboon that learn to flip on command in one session, just as you can't expend an american husband that begin regularly picking up his defy socks to praising him once for picking up a single sock. with the baboon you first and then a bigger reward hop, hop hop, then an even bigger. with the husband, and 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.4 on a field trip with the students, and listened to a professional trainer describe how he had taught african crested's stop landing on his head and shoulders idea. he did this to training the leggy birds that land on mats on the ground. this, he explained, is what is called an incompatible behavior. a simple but powerful concept. rather than teach the's 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 to keep him from crowding me while i cooked. and piled up parsley for him to chop or cheese for him to grate at the other end of the kitchen island. soon i 'd done it: no more hovering around me while i cooked.5 and followed the students's seaworld san diego, where a dolphin trainer introduced me to that reinforcing scenario (1. r. p.). 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 and behavior. if a behavior provokes no response, it typically dies away. it was only a matter of time before he was again searching for his keys, at which point i said nothing and kept at what i was doing. it took a lot of it's maintain we calm, but results were immediate. i felt as if i should throw him a mackerel.6 professionals talk of animals that understand training so well they eventually use it back on the trainer. we did the same animal. when the training techniques worked so beautifully. couldn't resist telling what i was up to. he wasn't offended, just amused. then last fall, firmly in the middle age, and learned that i needed braces. they were not only humiliating, but also excruciating. one morning, as i launched into yet another tirade about how uncomfortable and you just looked at me blankly. he didn't say a word or acknowledge we rant in any way, not even with a nod. i 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 train me, the american wife.