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Diary of a Dog Trainer
by Debbie Connolly
Intro: I love writing and have written up a lot of my clients stories. It seem though that nobody ever sees the humour in the work and both client and dogs are sometimes really funny. I am also single, and my dogs are not totally without blame for the situation. I thought you might enjoy some extracts of some stuff I am working on that amuses me, I hope it amuses you too. My friends enjoy this stuff and we have fun reading it over wine. These are not the whole passages from each month, just highlights, more soon if you enjoy them!
January 2000
February 2000
March 2000
January is a funny month for dog training. The majority of clients call because their dog has savaged a relative they haven’t seen since last Xmas. Some don’t call because the dog has bitten a relative and they realise that could be the easy option for not ever needing to see the relative again. I have thought about training dogs to only bite mothers-in-law and selling them. I am sure that is a gap in the dog market?
The problem with dogs is they don’t buy calendars. They are not religious nor do they think birthdays are anything special. Therefore they do the same things every day which usually is fine but on a special occasion makes you cry. So I got up this morning with the idea that this year I would find a man. I wasn’t going to spend another New Year’s Eve alone with my dogs. They are good company, they don’t argue back, don’t hold grudges and love me, but sometimes it isn’t enough. So I decided this year I am going to make it happen. I will find a man who doesn’t mind being second to the dogs and cats and who loves them more than himself. I also thought if he was a vet or just rich that would be an added bonus. Being rich would cancel out the requirement for being a vet you understand. A farmer is another possible option but they work long hours (which is good, you don’t have to see them much) but mean with money (which is bad, I have lots of pets).
When I go on dates and tell the guy I am a dog trainer, they always give me a look which suggests they think I have a bum bag and tweed skirt hidden somewhere. Then they think I train obedience and suggest that teaching dogs to sit and lie down is simple. When I tell them I deal with aggressive, loony dogs for a living they revise the tweed skirt dream and replace it with a chains and leather option. This usually perks them up no end. Sadly once they see the real costume of clothes with paw prints on (ones that need washing off, not ones that are part of the pattern), flat boots I could break your leg with and a voice that can carry 500 yards into the wind they lose interest.
So my initial preoccupation is how to change my life this year. What can I do to find a man? I suppose I could stop being a dog trainer? Would I become a nice, girly girl? Would I lose the “fishwife” voice so useful for training, but totally inappropriate for instructing during sex. I look round at the dogs. It’s already 10.30, my hangover needs more tablets and the dogs need a walk. Back to the boots and pawprint fashions.
A man appears in the distance, I’ve seen him before, he has a mad collie that makes mine mad. It runs barking at them and they get very annoyed. As I have 4 dogs with me and he has just one, he seems to think that I am wrong when mine answer back. The fact his starts it seems to be irrelevant. I try to avoid him and I go away but his dog sees us and starts running. I grab mine in a panic and manage to rip my jacket. I shout at his dog and so he shouts at me.
“F*** off you w*****” I say, “get that f****** dog under control or next time I won’t grab mine.”
As he walks off, swearing at me I realise he is actually rather nice looking close up, but shouting “call me” just doesn’t seem appropriate.
The first client of the year came on the 3rd of January. She was a small woman with a big dog. She rang me on Xmas Eve and I was rather rude about her ignorance even though she was crying because her dog had just bitten her Mum and she had gone to hospital mouthing threats of cutting her out of the will unless she killed the dog. I wasn’t convinced this threat was worth bothering about until I saw her expensive clothes and car and realised she was only about 22.
The dog was gormless, it was some sort of mastiff cross, drooling enough liquid to solve the Ethiopian drought. She put a hankie on her knee when we sat down as it wasn’t worth letting the dog ruin the clothes if Mummy wasn’t paying for the dry cleaning any more. Basically the dog was a spoilt brat. It shared her food, bed, car and life. She did hardly anything without it and yes she was single. Fighting the urge to tell her that if she wasn’t careful she’d grow up to be me I instructed her in better rules and boundaries for the dog. She cried a little when I go to my “dogs don’t feel gratitude” lecture but luckily she had another hankie and dabbed her eyes as she left, thanking me.
The same week a gorgeous man arrived with a very ugly dog, a little crossbreed. He got out of the car alone apart from the dog and I thought “thank you God”. I fluttered my eyelashes a bit and told him how lovely his dog was (through slightly gritted teeth). I had strategically placed my hands over the most obvious paw prints and either I looked sexy or slightly disabled.
This wonderful scene was then rocked as another car pulled into the car park and a gorgeous blonde got out. The client smiled and said
“Oh good my wife has made it”
He then went and kissed the gorgeous blonde whilst I tried to think of ways to make a dog kill her that didn’t look deliberate. I put out my hand to shake hers, it didn’t matter if they saw the paw prints now.
I hate February, it always seems a pointless month. Often cold, but really never as important as January with its “welcome to the New Year” feel. I see it as a necessary evil to get to March when the real weather starts. The dogs never quite know whether to start dropping their winter coat or not. They usually do, just to worry me in case I think they are cold.
The first clients last February were a really odd couple. The wife had called me about their Bullmastiff who was very aggressive. Her husband had this stupid idea that a big dog was basically meant to be tough and until it sent him to hospital he just didn’t get it at all. They arrived and got this huge monster out of the car, its eyes rolling and showing me a lovely set of teeth.
“What made you buy that slavering lunatic?” I said, feeling a bit scared.
“I didn’t, I married him” she laughed. I knew then we’d be fine.
The dog was mad as a hatter, it loved throwing itself at everyone and biting them. Of course most of that was the husbands fault as he kept wrestling and play fighting with it, a big no-no that men seem to think is somehow proving their gladiatorial techniques. It usually ends in tragedy with the dog biting someone and ending up dead. So the usual lectures ensued about men and their egos and how saying to a dog “here, grab hold of me” does not impress girls nor does it impress the dog.
Then I got an ex army guy with a Labrador he had totally ruined. It had bitten his kid because he just wouldn’t stop play fighting with it. Despite lots of advice he wouldn’t change. After an hour of listening to his crap I told him and his wife I knew what the answer was, it was very simple.
“What is it?” she asked hopefully.
“Divorce” I announced confidently. Strangely enough about 6 months later she rang me to say that she had in fact divorced him. Hurray!
Rescue was difficult this month. I got a call from a very elderly couple about a dog they had found 5 months earlier as a stray. It was a small crossbreed, about 11 months old and mental. It literally rang rings round everybody and snapped and snarled too. They turned up with it to sign to over to me, very emotional. The woman was sadly a bit senile and it was very upsetting but this dog was horrible. It went for me as I took the lead off the guy. He wanted a promise I wouldn’t put it down, but I can’t say that until I’ve assessed it. The two rescue volunteers with me were crying too. One cried more when the dog bit her leg just as she was saying how cute it was.
The people left , the dog went into the kennels we carried on. Two days later the man is on the phone wanting the dog back as his wife was distraught.. It turned out their previous dog had died and this little hooligan they found sitting in the garden a few days later. They thought God had sent it as a replacement and they’d let Him down. I rowed for a while on this because as sad as it was they couldn’t deal with the dog. All the time I am having this conversation I have two volunteers jumping up and down telling me to give it back. So I am trying to poke them with a sharp agility pole to shut them up. Eventually the guy goes off the phone and the volunteers are crying again. I went off and had a stiff drink.
Then a man turns up with a terrier he has found down the lane and wants us to take it. I can’t because I am not the council pound and I give him directions. He started this by saying how sad it was people dumped dogs and how he just couldn’t drive past it, poor dog etc. All the time he was doing this he was misty eyed and looking mostly at one of the volunteers who admittedly was young, thin and gorgeous (mental note, sack volunteer). When he found out he’d have to drive another 20 minutes to the pound he suddenly found an urgent appointment to go to and said he didn’t have time.
“Well that’s a change around” I said, “what if I send her with you to show you the way?”
I pointed at the lovely volunteer. I figured I’d catch him out and even if he was an axe murderer I could get another volunteer (fatter and ugly of course).
“Mmmm….. well I guess I might just have time”
“Don’t bother” I said, grabbing the dog, “she’s busy, I’ll take the dog myself”
I rejoined some of my previous internet dating sites and found that a lot of the guys were still there that I’d seen before. Bit depressing, but I was still there too! So I contacted a few and then made a couple of dates. The first date I had to cancel at the last minute as I had to rush off to rescue a puppy. The second date kept looking at me strangely and I wondered if I had a smudge somewhere. I was wearing my really comfortable and expensive suit and thought I looked pretty good.
After about an hour the guy said.
“I really have to ask….. what exactly is that hanging round your neck?”
Oh bollocks, it was my best leather training lead. I was so on autopilot leaving the house that I had slung it round my neck. I was mortified but tried to laugh it off. I made a stupid bondage joke that I think terrified him and after saying “really I was just joking” about fifteen times I though it best to shut up. I never saw him again. I wondered whether I should start a singles club for professionals in the Animal Industry but I am afraid it might get misconstrued.
March is when I can start to think the winter is going. I don’t expect to get snowed in, just very wet. I decided I really needed to do some work with my own dogs as they were turning into the sort of dogs clients bring for training.
I had hosed down my yard and was just congratulating myself on how early I’d done my chores when I turned to find my gate open. Two of my 4 dogs were in the large paddock, 2 had gone. I put the first 2 back in and ran across the paddock to the main office and driveway in time to find a guy bringing in a dog for boarding. This guy was lovely, really worth drooling over and although boarding was nothing to do with me I tried very hard to find pathetic excuses to speak to him.
I stopped for a moment imagining that despite running to him like a thing possessed I probably now looked great. I didn’t as I’d just been hosing and my clothes were wet and I had mud splashes on my face. I knew this because he took a large step back as I reached him.
“Just cleaning” I drooled, “someone will be out in a minute, are you well?”
He still refused to come closer but he did smile.
“I’ve just seen 2 dogs at the crossroads, any idea where they might be from?”
What should I do? I wanted my dogs back and I didn’t want them run over but I’d have to confess they were mine so I did the right thing. I lied.
“I’ll go down and look, they might be escaped boarders or from the next farm, I don’t want them to get hurt”
This, I thought, meant I could make a strategic exit on a mercy mission and so still look good. Of course that didn’t happen. As I turned to leave, the two dogs in question, one of my Shepherds and his Collie assistant ran down the drive and jumped all over me, thrilled to be home.
“You must really look after the dogs well here” he smirked “they love you”
I had been on a few dates with a guy I met online, Sean but he lived quite a distance and a couple of dates hadn't gone brilliantly but he was still trying! Sean the Scotsman invited me to go visit him for a change. After a lot of arranging I decided that it was a good idea. It is a long drive and when I get there he insists on checking my car over to make sure it is ok. Bloody men. It is and I eventually get in and properly meet his cats. He had two, a tabby girl called Poppy and a black and white male called Bobby. I couldn’t help but point out that having two such similar names did not help when calling them. I lapsed into asking if they were vaccinated and neutered, how old they were and wanted to know what flea treatments and wormers he used. I realised he had stopped talking and I looked up at him. (I was on the floor, checking the cats over).
He said “Is this a date or a home check?”
Fair comment so I shut up. Had a good weekend, only marred by two things. One was that I decided one cat was too fat and advised on diet and the other was that horrible embarrassing moment when you have to decide which room you are sleeping in. Best not to tell you my decision.