Of Birds and Beagles

by Leslie O'Kane

  “This is Allida Babcock, a dog therapist who has the best mind for understanding what’s going on in Fido’s mind that I’ve ever come across,” Jana said, addressing the audience. I couldn’t help but smile; Jana was such a nice person! “She’s going to talk to you about a different type of dog training...behavior basics for your family’s Fido. Please join me in welcoming her.”

  A few scattered claps could be heard above the chatter of conversation and general milling. “Thank you,” I said into the hands-free mic that she passed to me. “Jana and I met a few months ago when she came to my office to discuss her business of training and raising hunting dogs. Hunting is the one area of canine behavior that I’m thoroughly in the dark about.”

  “Is that a polite way to say that you’re a hunting hater?” a middle-aged man in the audience called out to me. He was wearing a khaki hunter’s vest, so there was no question where his allegiances were.

  “I wouldn’t say that. But I don’t hunt myself and don’t own any hunting-related equipment. I do own two dogs.” Pavlov followed me to the center of the stage. “This is my German shepherd.” I grinned at my beloved pet. “Pavlov, take a bow.”

  Pavlov went into a down-dog position, chest and forelegs flat on the stage, standing on her rear legs. This was one of those cute tricks I’d thrown into Pavlov’s vocabulary, strictly because it caught an audience’s attention. She then rose and sat beside me. The trick worked as intended; several people said, “Aww,” and several more clapped.

  “Just like a trained monkey,” a woman grumbled. I locked gazes with her. Some dog owners immediately object to seeing how extensively well-trained Pavlov is. They equate training to military-like sternness and coldness. She, too, had a beagle with her. With characteristic energy and wanderlust, her beagle had wrapped its leash around two legs of the chair next to hers and was now trying to claw its way free of the collar. I’ve worked with many a beagle. They are a clever, independent, easily-bored, and food-motivated breed that truly require obedience training.

  “Would you prefer living with an untrained monkey, or a trained one?” I asked her.

  “Neither.”

  “How about living with an untrained dog versus a trained one?”

  She did a double-take at her pet and his struggles with the leash, but answered, “Trained, of course.”

  “Me, too.”

  She flicked her wrist at my dog. “Do you have Pavlov there bow to you when you enter the house?” she asked snidely, subtly trying to work the leash free from the chair legs by pushing it down with her foot, while jiggling the seat.

  I smiled at her, truly appreciating her indignant behavior. She’d caught the attention of the hunters, who’d stopped their chatter and reclaimed their seats to listen. People were also beginning to fill the back rows. “No, I’ve trained Pavlov to sit two steps away from the door when she hears me start to enter the house. If I decide I want to immediately put on my slippers, I’ve trained her to fetch them for me. Most of the time, though, I prefer to see my dog happily and patiently waiting for me to greet her.”

  “Well, my dog’s thrilled when I get home. Jumping all over the place.”

  “So’s mine. She doesn’t jump and run around when I greet her, though, until I let her know that’s what I want her to do. I turned toward Pavlov, smiled and said, “Let’s play!”

  Pavlov hopped up and did her canine happy dance—playing keep-away as I tried to tag her. Then I gave her a treat and a big hug. Afterward, even the cynical woman was smiling.

  “The golden rule of dog training is to treat your dog like a dog, not like a child. There’s an expression I’ve seen on Facebook that annoys me: ‘Dogs are people, too.’ Have you seen that?”

  Several people nodded.

  “Although it’s true that we love our dog as much as we love some of our own family members—”

  “More!” a man called out.

  “I hear you,” I acknowledged with a wink, then continued, “The thing is, they aren’t people. They don’t think or behave like people, and you can no more expect your dog to behave like a person than to behave like a squirrel. Here’s a much wiser saying: ‘Treat your dog like a person, and he’ll treat you like a dog.’ Which is to say, he’ll treat you like a dog that he needs to train. Here’s the bottom line, and I can’t overstate how certain I am that it is the unconditional truth. Dogs are not merely nicer to live with when they’re well-trained, they are also happier.”

  I paused for a moment to let my statement register with the audience. It was a simple point that they’d no doubt heard many times, but it was truly difficult to put into practice.

  “As natural-born pack animals, dogs innately attribute a rank to themselves within the members of the household. When your dog ranks himself ahead of the human members, you continually give your pet mixed messages. Our dogs are not eagerly awaiting the day they will be promoted to captain...or lord and master of their estate. They’re happiest when they know that all is well...that you are the boss of their domain. They are delighted when they know that they’re pleasing you.”

  I read skepticism on some of the faces. “We humans would all prefer not to be neurotic, wouldn’t we?” I asked.

  I saw smiles and nods from the audience members.

  “The same is true for dogs. The fastest way to make a dog neurotic is to spoil him...to let him have the run of the place and not train him to obey you.”

  A teenage girl had her hand up, and I said, “Yes?”

  “But I like to spoil my dog. I like it when she hops onto my lap.”

  “Yeah,” the younger-looking boy beside her interjected. “What about, like, when we want to cuddle with our dog on the couch?”

  “You can cuddle with your dog on your lap or your sofa as often as you like and still be the top dog.” I gestured at the couple sitting next to them, obviously their parents. “Not counting your parents, who are absolutely the top dogs of your household, every minute of every day.”

  “Oh, you betcha,” their mother said, rolling her eyes.

  After pausing while we all laughed, I added, looking at the boy, “As the alpha dog...the leader of the pack...you get the comfy spot, every time. And then you invite your dog to join you, or to hop onto your lap.”

  I scanned my growing audience to see if anyone else had a raised hand before I continued. I had to struggle to hide my annoyance when I spotted Kelsey, with Magoo sitting on her shoulder, behind the back row. She was standing next to Russell, who gave me a sheepish grin. Kelsey’s grin, on the other hand, was annoyingly smug.

  Chapter 4

  My momentary anger at Kelsey’s demeanor vanished when, to my amusement, I noticed that two English pointers—presumably bird dogs—were pointing at Magoo. The dogs were on leashes, and their owner was facing me and probably hadn’t noticed his dogs’ stances.

  Just then, Magoo started barking at the dogs, sounding exactly like Bailey. Confused and scared by a bird speaking their language, the pointers immediately broke from their point stances and started barking at Magoo.

  “Don’t they know the difference between a parrot and a pheasant?” Kelsey grumbled, then raised her hand.

  “Yes?” I said.

  “Can I hire you to train my parrot not to bark like a dog?” She was using a pleasant tone of voice, but she was obviously trying to upstage me.

  “I’m afraid my area of expertise is limited to dogs.” I scanned the audience and asked, “But does anybody here need me to train their dog not to chirp like a bird? Anybody?” Once again I got a big laugh from the audience.

  “Hey!” a woman called from her seat, pointing at Kelsey. “That’s the bird that attacked a beagle! The poor dog needed a batch of stitches! Get that damned thing out of here!”

  I groaned as yet another argument erupted between Kelsey and various members of what was once my audience. As the person with the microphone and therefore the loudest voice, I knew I should say something to restore order. But I honestly didn�
��t have the first idea of what to say. There is a reason that I choose to work with dogs. I know how to train dogs not to bark, and how to get their attention; not so with my fellow human beings. Ironically, I had only just then reached into my pocket to demonstrate using my clicker to get dogs’ attention. I realized now that I was unconsciously pressing it with my thumb. Pavlov was staring up at me, waiting for my instruction.

  I decided to bail. “Baxter McClelland?” I said into the microphone. “If you can hear me, can you please come immediately to the stage?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Kelsey growled at me. “I’m leaving.”

  “Good riddance!” three people shouted at once.

  She grabbed Russell’s arm and said something into his ear. He nodded, looked at me, and held up his index finger. I assumed that he meant he would be back in a minute. He ushered her toward the exit.

  Just then, Baxter approached, and I saw Russ do a double-take, although he continued to usher Kelsey and Magoo out of the building. Baxter climbed onto the stage with me. I removed the headset-style microphone and covered the microphone piece for good measure.

  “She’s back?” he asked me.

  I nodded. “Hopefully she’s leaving for good this time.” The damage had already been done to my audience, though. Virtually everyone was deserting their seats.

  “I can’t believe this,” he said quietly in my ear. “I’m trying to get insurance for my future pet-fundraiser events. When this gets around, I can kiss that goodbye.”

  “That reminds me. I need to go talk to Tracy.”

  “Okay. Let me have the mic. The vet’s done treating Bailey,” he said. “He only needed five stitches.”

  “Oh, good.” I handed him the headset.

  “Greetings, everyone. As I’m sure you gathered from her presentation, Allida Babcock is a highly sought-after dog therapist, and, unfortunately, I’ve been forced to send her off to work with a client now. Let’s all give her a big hand.”

  There was a smattering of applause. I patted my right thigh—Pavlov’s signal to heel. “Thank you,” I called out with a wave at the kind souls who’d clapped. I retrieved the leash where I’d left it by the front of the stage and fastened it on Pavlov’s collar. With Pavlov’s pace in perfect synchronization with mine, I headed toward the scene of the crime—the lure-chase arena. Halfway there, I spotted the volunteer who had chastised Kelsey earlier, and asked if she knew where the injured-beagle owner was.

  “She left the building a minute or two ago,” she replied.

  I thanked her. Then, with Pavlov once again matching my pace, I trotted the length of the building. My hope was that I could still catch Tracy in the parking lot. In truth, I’d be happy just to avoid running into Kelsey once more.

  I scanned the parking lot, unable to spot Tracy or her car. I stamped my foot in frustration when I saw that, not only was Kelsey still here, she was still taking with Russell. They stood by the open passenger door of what I assumed was her car. I crossed the parking lot, thinking unkind thoughts. Kelsey gave me a sideways glance but continued her conversation with Russell—who had his back to me—without acknowledging me.

  “Russ,” I interrupted, as soon as I was in earshot.

  He pivoted.

  “Have you seen Tracy?”

  “No, I—”

  “Isn’t Rusty a cutie?” a voice asked from within Kelsey’s car. I leaned down to peer at the speaker. It was Magoo, who, to my annoyance, was belatedly wearing a halter with a leash. The other end of the leash was fastened to a car seat for parrots, complete with a perch and a cup of water.

  “Whoops,” Kelsey said. She winced but then laughed. “That will teach me to share my private thoughts with Magoo.” She winked at Russ.

  “I see that Magoo has a harness and leash after all,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even. “Why didn’t you use it?”

  “I force him to wear it when he’s in the car. For safety reasons, obviously. He hates it, though. It’s equivalent to the cone-of-shame injured dogs have to wear.”

  “Like the one Bailey will be wearing, because you took off Magoo’s leash and left it in your car?”

  “I already apologized for my error in judgment, Allie,” she said, hanging her head for a moment in a phony sign of contrition. “So, anyway, sorry to Bogart your boyfriend, but I was just telling him that I need your help with a situation in my neighborhood.”

  Pavlov sat down beside me, rather slowly, so I bent down to touch the tarmac and make certain he wasn’t searing himself; the temperature was high today, especially for October. The asphalt was quite warm to the touch, but not dangerously so.

  “Involving a dog?” I asked.

  She nodded. “A Doberman. Who belongs to my ex. He puts him in my yard when we’re both at work, because he lives in an apartment nearby. His dog barks at the neighbors whenever they’re outside, and he’s terrorizing Squirrelly Shirley’s Dachshund. And that gets Magoo to bark, as well.”

  “Thanks for thinking of me, but no. I’m not comfortable with the idea of taking this on. You aren’t even the dog’s owner. Plus, I’m one-hundred percent on my friend Tracy’s side. Given the circumstances, you should have given her a counter-offer of a thousand dollars and apologized profusely.”

  “I don’t have a thousand dollars to spare in my account, or I would have done precisely that.” She furrowed her brow. “Couldn’t you at least come over tomorrow and meet Toofroo and Fang?”

  “I’m assuming Fang is the Doberman, and Toofroo is the Dachshund?” I petted Pavlov, also checking that he wasn’t panting or looking uncomfortable; he’d had a drink of water and relieved himself when we first arrived.

  “Yes.”

  Drat. I would have loved to work with an owner with the sense of humor to name a Doberman pinscher “Toofroo.” Not to mention one who would name a cute little Dachshund with a characteristic two-inch tummy-clearance

  “Fang.”

  “Please, Allie? I’d really like to get something worthwhile out of my coming here today. Besides, I suspect you could be the voice of reason to help calm the bird-bites-beagle brouhaha.”

  “Kelsey’s got a point,” Russ interjected. “You know how Tracy is. It would be best for her if you can convince her to forgive and forget.”

  “I’m free any time tomorrow morning,” Kelsey continued, “and I’ll make sure Fang is there. And Shirley practically never leaves her house, so she’s all but guaranteed to be available.”

  Reluctantly, I granted her an appointment, albeit while making it clear that I would charge her my consultation fee and merely advise her on how to work with Fang. Beyond that one visit, I further explained, it was highly unlikely that I would decide to work with her or Fang, or with her ex and his dog, for that matter. And, furthermore, I was going to be supportive of my friend Tracy, regardless of whatever interactions I had with her and Fang.

  “It was good seeing you again,” Russell said to Kelsey, backing away before she could hug him. “I haven’t had the chance to talk with Allie about some things, so...bye.”

  Judging by her crestfallen expression, the suddenness of his late-in-coming brushoff caught Kelsey by surprise. “Okay, well, maybe we’ll run into each other again soon.”

  “Yeah. Take care of yourself.”

  We pivoted and headed toward Russ’s car. I decided then and there that I just wanted to go home—to Mom’s house in Berthoud. Russ took my hand and said softly, “I didn’t want Kelsey to overhear, but while your friend, Baxter, and Kelsey were chatting, Tracy told me she was going to do a live broadcast from the Pets! Pets! Pets! Expo soon.”

  I froze in my tracks, Pavlov’s leash slackening as he, too, stopped. “But someone told me she’d left, already.”

  “One of them is mistaken,” Russ said with a shrug. “I’m assuming Tracy knows her own schedule better than whoever told you that.”

  I sighed, looking back at the building. I was going to have to tell Russ to take Pavlov back home, so I could
locate Tracy and try my best to encourage her not to fly off the handle, if only for Baxter’s sake, after all the work he’d done on the event. “Did she say when, specifically?” I asked.

  He glanced at the Swiss Army watch I’d given him for his birthday. “The show started a minute ago.”

  I cursed. “Too late now. I was hoping to convince her not to talk about the bird biting her dog.” Which Baxter would undoubtedly have appreciated. “If she’s already on the air, she’ll have already launched into a tirade.”

  “Oh, Geez. You’re right. I should have gotten us away from Kelsey sooner. Sorry.” He hesitated, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Do you want to go back in? Try to give her a kill-it sign if she’s already broached the subject?”

  I envisioned how my running inside and dragging my index finger across my neck when she spotted me might play out. There was the very real possibility that Tracy would immediately want to interview me on air as a witness. “No, I don’t think that would help matters. I’ll make a point of calling her after she’s off the air and arranging to visit Bailey as soon as she gets home.” We continued the short walk to the car. “Is it all right if we head straight to Mom’s?”

  “Sure,” he replied.

  We got into our respective seats, Pavlov occupying all of the Corolla’s back seat and Russ behind the wheel. The instant Russ started the engine, I turned on the radio, holding my breath.

  “But first,” Tracy said on air, her voice indignant, “Have I ever got a bone to pick!”

  “Here comes the tirade,” Russ said, pulling out of the space. “You were almost right about her timing. She must have spent the first several seconds explaining to the audience that she was currently at a pet show in Denver.”

  “—takes a lot for me to be angry with an animal,” Tracy was saying. “If I know one thing about pets, it’s that they are the innocent ones in whatever they do. It’s not as if they chose to live with their particular owner. And some pet owners deserve to be talked-about on media platforms.”