My big dog Ali clearly thinks she is a Jack Russell terrier, but unlike my neighbor’s 15 pound pooch, Ali is 70 pounds of pure energy mounted on hind legs that would make a kangaroo proud. When I come home from work Ali runs to me, jumps up and puts her paws on my shoulders, the better to lick my face; when she does this we are literally eye-to-eye — and I am 6’3”. The trouble is that she greets everyone like this so if someone shorter than me comes into the house Ali’s greeting is enough to knock them off their feet.
Things came to a head a couple of weeks ago when the blind lady, dressed entirely in white, came to our house after Ali had been for a run in the back yard. The blind lady, who was there to give us an estimate on Venetian blinds for the guest room, got a bit churlish when she saw that her white sweater was suddenly decorated with a paw print motif, and on her way out, unsolicited, she gave us the name of a “Canine Personal Trainer” who she claimed could improve Ali’s behavior. The blind lady did not get the job but after the briefest of telephone interviews, Ludmilla Romanof, Canine Personal Trainer, did.
As soon as Ludmilla walked into the house I knew we were not going to be fast friends. Unsmiling and grim, she looked and spoke like Natasha from “Rocky and Bullwinkle.” She walked into our house, cast a cold, disapproving eye on her surroundings and said, by way of greeting, “Veer is Dog?”
“I’ve got her locked up,” I said, explaining that when Ali meets new people she gets excited and jumps.
“Dat is vhy I am here,” said Ludmilla. “Bring her out.”
I shrugged and let Ali out of the laundry room; as is her pattern she ran over to Ludmilla, tail high, and jumped up to say hello. Ludmilla responded by lifting her leg and planting her knee in Ali’s rib cage with enough force to knock Ali off her feet. Ali yelped and, tail down, retreated into the laundry room and resolutely refused to come out again.
For my part I was angry, but I had to bury my own anger because for one tense second I was afraid I was going to have to physically restrain my partner whose inclination was clearly to manually eject Ludmilla from the house. “The dog must learn who is boss,” said Ludmilla coldy.
“Not like that,” said my partner who after more than 30 years as a veterinarian has very strong opinions as to how to care for an animal. He absolutely believes that declawing a cat or using a choke collar for a dog constitutes “animal abuse ” and he did not respond well to seeing Ludmilla knee his dog. “I think we’re done for today,” he said shortly.
Ludmilla shook her head. “It is you who needs the training,” she said coldly as I escorted her to the door. She offerred a parting suggestion: “Perhaps you vould consider electric shock collar?”
“Buh-bye,” I said, opening the door.
Ludmilla shrugged. As she stood in the open doorway she reached into her pocketbook for her ringing cell phone and at just that moment, with her back to the living room, Ali ran out and jumped up on her shoulders with enough force to catapult Ludmilla out of the house and onto the front lawn.
Ali’s tail was up high again as I slammed the front door closed.
“That’s my good girl!” said my partner.