Gang Aft Agley
It never fails to amuse people that know me to hear of an embarrassing moment that occurred in a class or working with an individual client. While I have no story to match the great English dog trainer, John Rogerson, who said a dog depantsed him in his very first obedience class, I have accumulated a sizable collection of curiosities and mishaps over the years. In theory, this could be the lengthiest blog I ever write. Early in my career there would be no way I could share any negative experience, as I would be frozen with mortification for days on end. Over the years, I have gained a different perspective.
Working with dogs has always had numerous ways to keep one humble. It could be looking over my shoulder behind the wheelchair in the mall to see a number of well formed (thank goodness!) droppings deposited, artfully and evenly spaced, in a long straight line, by a service dog in training. She had not lost a single stride, bless her wagging tail! It could be the dog who snuck around my back and snatched a treat out of my hand in front of a class. I was, at that moment, earnestly lecturing on the importance of impulse control- one should not reward so much as a nose twitch if a treat is held in front of a dog’s snout. It could be the dog, once interested in me, who performs a quick cost-benefit analysis, sizing up my empty hands and turning to her owner, who brandishes a piece of liver. It does give one some perspective to literally not be considered as interesting as a piece of chopped liver.
We dog trainers have a tendency to take ourselves very seriously. We tend to preach and pontificate. Indeed, there are a number of dog training sects- the Positive Folk, the Traditional Tribe and the Balanced Brigade. Each sect will espouse its own brand of dogma and swear that their method is the only true way for a dog to turn on the light. Jargon is a crucial element of each group, although each sect may draw from the almost inscrutable annals of Learning Theory. You may be overwhelmed by endless talk of quadrants, schedules of reinforcement, conditioning emotional responses, drives, pack hierarchy, alphas and omegas and so on and on. Indeed, one young service dog recipient stated her dog obeyed 89 commandments
One day, I attended a meeting at an animal shelter. My mind wandered far off as the speaker, a Traditional trainer, was explaining why monkeys do not make good service animals. He wrapped up his talk with a question directed to me. Upon hearing my name, I was jerked back to reality as if he had given me a sharp leash pop with a metal collar. I asked him to repeat the question. The question was, “what is lacking in the service monkey business?” My brain leaped into overdrive but went nowhere. I had to say, “I don’t know,” in front of the sizable crowd. For the life of me, I could neither think nor speak in the Traditional Tribe’s tongue. The answer, of course, was that monkeys were not submissive and it was difficult to provide proper leadership. I knew what submission meant to him and thought, “good for the monkeys,” as my face burned crimson with embarrassment. Had I been paying attention. my answer should have reverberated with the patois of the Positive Folk. I should have expounded on relationships, communication, commitment and feelings. Wait, what I meant to say is, working together, body language, a good work ethic and stress levels. There is a slight possibility this Traditional trainer thought he was kindly tossing me a soft pitch to knock out of the park. From day one, every Traditional novice would know the correct response. More likely, being a keen observer, he noted the vacancy sign in my eyes and shrewdly took an opportunity to knock me down a notch in his hierarchy. He liked submissive people ans well as submissive dogs. And I’m sure he could get an unfortunate monkey to submit and lead about if he put his mind to it.
My classes over the years have never been “drop in” but there have been occasions with an unexpected guest appearance. Once, during a class held outside a park recreation center, a guy drove up and headed to the building with a huge, off leash, pit bull. He proceeded to walk his dog, yet off leash, directly into the class. Every few steps he stopped and sat the dog. Now, I am very fond of pit bulls in general, but did not appreciate the menacing glare in this burly dog’s eyes. The control his owner had with his invisible leash seemed tenuous at best. After demonstrating five Sits, as he proceeded through the middle of the class, the guy and his baleful companion disappeared into the building. It had all taken place within the forever of fifteen seconds.
On another occasion, it was the first class meeting, for people only. As I was proceeding through the usual Positive Folk catechism, I noticed a large stray dog cantering purposely outside the fence of the warehouse parking lot. I was just about to discourse on the hallowed topic of the Leave It and Take It commands. The roaming rover entered the open gate and briskly trotted straight up to me, as if on cue. This dog and I proceeded to demonstrate the Leave It and Take It in several of its manifestations, as if we had been practicing it forever. He remained throughout the class, receiving treats and pets. After a bit of detective work, this wayward puppy pilgrim was safely returned home.
Another time, again, an orientation without dogs, I was addressing a multitude of questions people had about their individual dogs. Through the same gate the roaming dog had appeared, a fellow staggered up to me in a not so very straight line. He had obviously tippled a drop too much. But he, like the members of the class, was also seeking information. He had one question for me. With only the slightest bit of a slur he asked, “Do you really know what you’re talking about?” Again, I was put on the spot in front of a group. “Now, that is a very good question,” I responded, able to answer somewhat in the vernacular of Positive Folk speak. “Why don’t you have a seat, hang out a while and decide for yourself?” He went to the back of the class,and sat quietly for about twenty minutes or a half hour. He then got up and headed for the gate without expressing an opinion
We trainers of all three stripes strive to appear infallible. There is one truly peculiar exception- Zak George, a “reality” TV personality whose main training slogans could be “Oh, that didn’t go well, did it?” and “buy this stuff.” But we’re not going there, no ad hominem, today. We true professional trainers have spent years studying, practicing and perfecting the science and craft of working with dogs. But being somewhat human, we are subject to bad days. One morning, I was working with a client, teaching her dog a supposedly simple Sit. The trouble was that we both had the dropsies. Each time we instructed her dog to Sit, one of us would drop a treat on the ground and the dog would quickly Snarf it up. It turned out we did enough bumbling repetitions for the dog to hear the command Sit and and immediately put her nose to the ground to Snarf. The cue, Sit, had been miraculously transformed into the Snarf in one short training session! To command Sit and have a dog Snarf is not even a decent parlor trick, much less a shining example of training chops. Everything really doesn’t always go well, does it?
One question I am asked all the time, usually tongue in cheek but often enough with a slight glimmer of hope, “Do you do husband training?” “No, I do not,” is my response, “After 30+ years of marriage, I am often reminded that I am still a work in progress.” When My Beloved leaves town, I shed domesticity as rapidly as our old Lab, Druid, used to shed her coat. But I am not terrible, mind you. Like some dogs, I require a lifetime of gentle management to keep me on my best behavior.
I was reminded of husband training, one day, while attending a training seminar. I had arrived at the workshop a quart low on coffee and hours later was in the Men’s Room, fettered with a liquid tether to a porcelain basin, having consumed and transmuted way too much coffee into another substance. As I was poised there, the Men’s Room was suddenly overrun by a number of my female Positive compatriots. They too, had imbibed way too much coffee and had decided to forgo the lengthy line formed outside the Womens’ Room. I could not break my Stand without embarrassing consequences. There was no option but to Stand and Stay. Upon hearing toilet seats being put down, I naturally wondered if these trainers had trained their husbands to put the seat down at home after use. Better yet, had any of them housebroken their husband to that highest training level- a Sit on the pot before a pee? Another question was, did these trainers use all Positive methodology when teaching these two behaviors to their husbands?
Lysistrata is the most famous husband trainer of all time. Her acolytes ballyhood a most effective method of training. They simply withheld desired rewards in order to decrease the aggressive, warlike behavior of their husbands and to increase the peaceful behavior of said spouses. Lysistrata trained and redirected Greek husbands to eschew war in lieu of other behaviors.. There was plenty of time to contemplate these questions with that day’s quantity of transmuted coffee.
Timing is everything. Getting there on time is something else. There may be a genetic component to my being chronologically challenged. Imagine the surprise of a person when the dog trainer mysteriously materializes out of nowhere. He is standing on her doorstep, exactly one month to the minute, prior to the scheduled appointment. This client was more amused than amazed and we proceeded with the training. I never did figure out what caused the time rift. On another occasion, with another client, I arrived a day late and left a few dollars short. There was no good excuse for that day’s temporal warp. That experience was not so amusing and I no longer rely on memory. Once, I was lost in the beautiful hills of Sonoma County and running frustratingly late as I attempted to locate the address of an appointment. The day had already been ill-starred for a number of other reasons when I called the client to assist me with directions. Instead, she stated she didn’t have time to wait and abruptly cancelled the appointment. My threshold was extremely low by then and like the most peevish of reactive puppies, I promptly snarled an uncharacteristic but heartfelt expletive. A few seconds later, I heard a click as her phone disconnected. Poor timing on my part, indeed.
My very first experience as an apprentice service dog trainer was attending a graduation. My knees were literally knocking together at the terrifying thought of having to stand up and say something in front of strangers. Confidence grows with experience. As I look back, there have been exceedingly many more rewarding and interesting situations than situations gone awry. Of course, there was the time I was not paying attention while struggling to wrest a poop bag out of its confounding dispenser in a park. The dog I was working with lunged and launched me airborne to crash land, not so gracefully, in front of a startled audience. There was also the dog who ate the check with which I was to be paid.
However, flipping to the other side of the coin are a few additional scenarios:
There was a dog that was kidnapped and rescued in a timely fashion by his owner. He was snatched from his backyard yard in broad daylight. His owner organized and carried out a rescue mission before he could be sold.
My picture appears in People Magazine (the issue with Kurt Cobain on the cover).
My speaking onstage at graduations and being full of words
A shelter dog who was temperament tested and deemed aggressive and unadoptable but who proved her innocence, beyond any doubt. No dog would pass the test she was given. She avoided euthanasia, was transferred to a rescue group and adopted. I would take her out for evaluation, training and socializing.The first five outings she lay depressed and detached, facing away from me in the car. On the sixth field trip she put her head on my lap. That was special.
The call from a woman whose dog had not allowed her and her husband to have sex for six years. That situation would have required more of an intervention than just the dog trainer.
The household that had a rat, a cat and a dog, all playing and chasing each other, in turn.
It is a sign of the times when a guy shows up at class and presents his Covid vaccination records. He did not realize that it was his dog’s record that was required.
The appointment with a 94 year old woman, who had just brought home a Vizsla puppy. As I feared a total mismatch, the woman motioned me to follow her into the house. There was her puppy, tongue lolling out, happily trotting on a treadmill.
There is a Papillion who hides toys under furniture and has trained her owners to retrieve them on hands and knees. She has her brace of humans deliver the toys to paw as she perches on the couch.
It felt magic was afoot auditing a John Rogerson four day workshop at a farm in Illinois. There were twenty dogs enrolled and they had not been worked off leash. The final test was to have a helper hold a participant’s dog while the person was taken to the far end of a lengthy building, turned right and right again, then led a good ways up the opposite side of the building. Here the person was blindfolded and handcuffed to a propane tank. The owner was then instructed to call her/his dog. The key to the handcuffs was attached to the dog’s collar. Nineteen of the twenty dogs were successful in delivering the key to free their handler. The one that didn’t come when called lived on the property and was an Akita.
A woman works long hours with a long commute. She was raising two very young kids on her own. She had five dogs (a mother and four siblings, four months old). In addition, she had a ranch to refurbish and run by herself. “Pray for me,” was the last thing I heard from her.
A single incident stands out from all other experiences. One day, I was on my bully dog pulpit moralizing from the books of Almost All Things Positive. I was hitting on all cylinders that morning and feeling pretty darn full of myself. Suddenly, the entire class broke out with a shocked gasp, immediately followed by howls of delighted laughter. Puzzled, I followed the gaze of the students to my feet. There was a dog with a raised leg, piddling on my shoestrings. I closed my eyes for a long moment, frozen in total humiliation at this most felonious of felonies, this most mortal of transgressions. I was again speechless- the first time in many a year. I looked down into the dog’s serene eyes as his message soaked in. Sizing up the situation, he had taken upon himself the mission to deliver me from Hubris. At this revelation, I could not help but join in the ongoing laughter.
Training dogs has been the most rewarding of occupations. There are downsides, of course, as in all callings. But it is a lucky person indeed, whose job includes so many greetings of enthusiastically wagging tails. But I am well aware there will always be a dog out there prepared to take me down a notch. And knowing that keeps this trainer humble.