Sadie and I cruise around Boulder nearly everyday running errands and socializing, socializing, socializing. During our adventures we’ve encountered many dog-loving Boulderites, and more than a few who fancy themselves as having near magical powers with dogs.
Some say outright, “You know, I’m a dog whisperer. Dogs listen to me like they do the guy on TV.” This concerns me because if this man and others like him are imitating the guy on TV, I worry for their dogs.
Others simply describe their uncanny acumen with dogs. Take Anne, for instance, whom Sadie and I met while standing in line at the drug store. She said that dogs, all dogs not just her own dogs, understand her. She tells them what to do telepathically and they do it. “I’ve never needed a trainer or read a book about dogs.”
Now, before you rush off a reply telling me that you or someone you know has such a talent, please know that I am sure such people exist. And, they are amazing. (I wish I were one!) I just don’t believe there are many of them. And I certainly don’t believe there are as many doggie wizards in Boulder as there are people here who apparently fancy themselves as such. Which makes these self-proclaimed wizards all the more curious and sometimes downright entertaining.
Take Sam (not his real name), for instance. Sam works at a shop selling all manner of things Asian. He notices Gigi, our trainer, and me hanging around outside the shop door while Sadie enjoys a sniffing break. She had been working hard at overcoming some of her challenges—entering and hanging out in small spaces such as dressing rooms and traversing ever changing floor surfaces—and deserved some well-earned chill time.
Sam excitedly invites all three of us into the store. A sign of theses economic times, it’s a slow business day. There’s not a customer in sight.
Sam says he loves dogs and immediately regales us with stories about his two adorable mutts, Butler and Drake (not their real names), and how he skillfully, and without any assistance from a trainer, established himself as the alpha leader of his pack in no time at all!
Gigi and I furtively exchange glances. What does Sam mean? That he alpha rolled his dogs into submission? Or, is he just using unfortunate popular language to describe an otherwise great relationship with his wonderful dogs?
Uncertain how to interpret Sam’s language, my inner mama bear instinctively raises the threat level to orange. Just in case Sam tries to play alpha to Sadie (we’ve encountered sort of thing before), I ready myself to run interference.
Despite Sam’s boasting and my being on guard, Sadie seems more or less at ease, which delights me to no end. She peruses the brass Buddhas lining the wall, sniffs the foreign scents woven into the Oriental Rug, and, from time-to-time, inspects Sam’s pants. To his credit he doesn’t immediately reach down to pet Sadie’s head. Some dogs would welcome such familiarity, but not shy Sadie. The top of her head is reserved for those she loves.
Since Sadie seems comfortable and Sam’s behaving appropriately, despite his alpha-talk, Gigi asks him to offer Sadie a piece of freeze-dried liver. Not surprisingly he says yes. Great, I think, Sadie’s about to chalk up another positive experience with a stranger.
Sam takes the liver from Gigi. Then, as if the liver possesses some mysterious power, Sam shape shifts into a dog trainer versed in the exaggerated gestures of physical comedy!
“Sit!,” Sam booms, making the word sound more like a Shakespearean proclamation than a cue. Sam’s eyes open saucer wide as he unnaturally elongates his torso, bends forward at the waist and repeatedly sweeps his arm in half circles jabbing at the ground with his index finger!
Oh dear. Just as I’m about to pull the curtain on this act by stepping between Sadie and Sam, Sadie, bless her heart, simply backs away from Sam a couple of feet, then ‘sits’ and looks directly at him. Sam, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice or care that Sadie had backed up. Good now he’ll offer the liver to her and we’ll be on our way.
But, wait. There’s more!
“Staaaaaaaaay,” Sam warbles as he springs his trunk upright and briskly raises his right arm stiff and parallel to floor, his hand upright in the stop position. He reminds me of a delightful Italian traffic cop I once saw who was clearly more into directing traffic as performance art than he was concerned about cars colliding in the intersection. Fortunately, as far as I know, there were no accidents and the show went on day after day.
Then Sam crouches over at the waist, scrunching himself up as he slinks backwards gliding one foot at a time in a faux moon-walk. His arm and hand still extended. “Staaaaaaaay. Staaaaaaaay. Staaaaaaay. Staaaaaaaaay.”
Sadie staaaaays! She could ruuuuun off. But she doesn’t. Sam is after all moving away from her which no doubt relieves some of the pressure she might be feeling. Her ears are forward. She’s still in the game.
Now about ten feet away from Sadie, Sam waves the freeze-dried liver at her the way you might wave your arm to attract someone’s attention six blocks away. Yes! He’s bribing her! Whether he intends to or not, he’s making this exercise easier for Sadie. She sees the liver in his rapidly moving hand. Is it a good enough reward to continue playing along? It is. Sadie remains in place.
“Cooommmme!” he bellows in an oddly welcoming tone, rather like a benevolent king inviting his subjects to pass through the castle gate to enjoy a feast. Sadie considers the cue for a moment. Then she takes her time walking towards him, gently plucks the treat from Sam’s hand and eats it.
“Wow, Sadie. What a brave girl!” I jump in with more treats.
Gigi’s holding the door open and waves good-bye to Sam.
“Thanks, we gotta run. (Which we did. Our hour with Gigi was nearly over.) You have a beautiful store,” I call over my shoulder as Sadie and I trot out the door, Sadie leading the way with her tail erect.
I liked Sam. In his own special way he was very dear even if he was over-the-top in his interactions with Sadie. And, as you know from my last post, “Please Don’t Blago My Dog!”, Sadie and I have encountered many seemingly ordinary people who transform into their own unique version of a master dog trainer as soon as they clutch the treat I have given them to give to Sadie.
But, Sam is unrivaled. I never before and haven’t since met a doggie wizard like him.
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Wow! I have run into people very inappropriately demanding behaviors from my dog a few times before (the crazy drunk dude in the park) but Boulder seems to have a LOT more of these folks than silly old Lexington, Kentucky for which I am very grateful 🙂 Actually I have honestly found that more often than not, people ask me when I give them a treat to give to Jellybean if she can just have it or if she has to do something first. Maybe I have a more forbidding air about me than you do? Or it could be that Jellybean is so obviously nervous and 1/2 the time won’t even take a piece of liver from a stranger. I dunno.
Oh, dear. I cannot imagine the giggle you and Gigi had.
You are a funny, funny lady!! We have an actual “Wizard” in our area, a “professional” – who is about as gifted a trainer as “Sam”. Half of the visit with him is looking at his scrapebook of him pictured with other “wizards”. And it just occurred to me, that you never hear really GOOD trainers make proclamations about their skills. A good barometer maybe?
Thank you! And, I agree. Great trainers just do the job excellently, the not-so-great brag. Glad you enjoyed the post.