I can remember only one thing from the first psychology course I took in college – Pavlov's dog. This Russian scientist, Pavlov, determined through experimentation that by ringing a bell consistently, right before he fed his dog, that within just a few weeks, the dog was conditioned to start salivating at the mere tinckle of the bell, food or no food. This stimulus-response experiment earned him a Nobel prize and a place in psychology textbooks throughout eternity. I found the whole thing kinda cool.
A few years ago, a friend of mine won the national championship in bird dog field trials. Well, he didn't, but the dog he raised and trained did. It was absolutely amazing to watch him and "Sally" work as a team. Ron would blow his whistle once and the dog would hunt to the left. He'd blow it twice and Sally would move to the right. Another signal would make her move toward him and yet another to move away. Sally was conditioned to do whatever her master instructed her to do. I once watched her running all out, at full speed, when Ron whistled the command to stop and the dog literally locked up her legs and slid to a complete stop. "How do you get her to be so obedient?"
"Just like Pavlov's dog," Ron quipped. "When she was in training, I'd praise her and give her a treat every time she honored my command. When she didn't follow my command, I'd scold her." Evidently, years of stimulus and response had paid off.
When I was teaching high school many years ago, I'd do the same thing with students. Praise and reward for doing good things – reprimand and punishment for doing bad things. Eventually, most students would "get it" and learning would actually take place. Of course, I'd probably get fired in today's educational environment for any of the above activities.
I even "conditioned" my wife when we first got married. Early on, we had an agreement that the last one out of bed had to make the bed. She worked nights and I taught school during the day, so she slept later and always made the bed. That lasted for a few short months before she started leaving the bed unmade many mornings. When I'd get in from work and the bed was made, I'd say sweet things to her, lavish her with affection, and even offer to make dinner. If I came home and the bed was unmade, I'd simply go about my routine without any of the sweetness. In this whole time, I never mentioned the bed to her, but after only a few days, she subconsciously made the connection and always made the bed. This worked great for a few years and I oftened used this story in college classes when teaching prospective agriculture teachers. But, one of my former students was visiting with my wife at a get-together one time and asked her about the bed-making experiment. Needless to say, Judy was not amused about being treated like Pavlov's dog. I've made the bed a lot since then.
Even though I've used and taught this principle for close to 40 years, I'd never really thought much about my "conditioned responses" until last week. Since my hay baler caught fire and burned completely last summer, I had to purchase a new one over the winter and used it for the first time last week. I changed colors of baler and, thus, and entirely new set of "beeps" had to be learned and unlearned. For instance… my old baler only beeped the first time when the bale was fully formed. I was conditioned to stop immediately and wait for the automatic mechanism to wrap it in netting. My new baler beeps for the first time when it is "almost ready", meaning I've got about 30-50 feet more. If I stopped one time at the first beep, I must have stopped 50 times, expecting it to start wrapping. I would eventually remember the new signal and go on until it was full. Three beeps on the old baler meant "Danger, shut down the machine immediately." Three beeps on the new rig means "Eject bale now." Again, I must have shut down the machine two dozen times before it sunk in that I simply needed to eject the bale and move on.
The old baler would have a simple, short, beep when the tailgate came back down and locked ready for starting the next bale. The new baler doesn't make a sound, but simply shows you a cute, little picture on the monitor screen that shows the tailgate down. I must have wasted two hours that first day, waiting for a beep to send me on my way.
One of my neighbors actually sat in his truck on the road along my hayfield trying to figure out what I was doing; stopping before the bale was formed; turning off the pto for no apparent reason; and sitting for long periods of time before beginning the next bale. Knowing I was learning to operate a new baler, he drove out into the field, stopped me, and asked, "Jerry, is it hard to teach an old dog new tricks?"
Unamused, I answered, "Ask Pavlov."
Jerry Crownover farms in Lawrence County. He is a former professor of Agriculture Education at Missouri State University, and is an author and professional speaker. To contact Jerry, go to www.ozarksfn.com and click on 'Contact Us.'
