![]() ![]() Four weeks later, Charlie was awarded his Level 1 Obedience Training Certificate, but both Charlie and I knew that it wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on.ĭesperate to gain some normality in the family dog dynamic, Charlie was assessed by a local dog whisperer, whose professional opinion was that Charlie was a “pistol” and offered to enroll him in his version of doggy boot camp, but the exorbitant fees made the dream of having a well-heeled canine companion seem out of reach. Fortunately, being the responsible dog owner that I was becoming, I had an extra poop bag.Īs I was stooping and scooping, I was sure I could hear a murmur coming from one of the other dog owners, “Such a mutt.” I smiled as I stood and tied my bag. The session ended with a Heel parade around the rubber mat promenade to which Charlie expressed either disdain or appreciation by squatting and doing his business directly on the rubber runway. The man in the topsiders gave me and Charlie homework. Not on the agenda was Charlie being more interested in sniffing other dog’s butts than following verbal and visual commands. The commands Come, Sit, Stay and Heel were on the agenda that evening. He directed us to find a seat, as the session was about to begin. A jovial man wearing topsiders and sporting a jaunty mustache commanded the centre space. Rubber mats formed a walkway around the perimeter of the room. All the other dogs were pure breeds, their priggish masters stationed about the training area. Upon entering the church basement, both Charlie and I immediately felt out of place. “Don’t worry,” I said, “Obedience school starts next Thursday.” I never saw my father jump so high when my wife screamed at Charlie, while Charlie licked his chops standing near the empty butter dish. During dinner preparations, a fresh pound of butter was placed in the butter dish and left on the kitchen counter. I signed us up.Īround that time, my father came to town for dinner and a visit. Fortunately, I learned that the community church was accepting registrations for an upcoming four weeks of dog obedience training, with sessions to be held in the church basement. Instead of the idyllic image of a man and his dog, our relationship felt more like it was turning into man giving his dog the finger. Weeks into welcoming Charlie into the fold, it became more and more evident that despite his loving demeanour, when it came to standard canine training, Charlie was incorrigible, if not certifiably untrainable. ![]()
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