My dog trainer is a druid.
I’m not kidding. Have you ever watched an episode the Dog Whisperer? No, it’s not natural for dogs to suddenly bow down to the master whenever Caesar Milan, or in this case, my dog trainer walks into a room. Not natural.
I watched my four dogs transform from the little monsters that eat my shoes and pee on the carpets to these wide eyed obedient sub missives.
My mind was blown. Was this lady going to turn into a two footed owl bear hybrid like in World of Warcraft? Was she going to cast entanglement on me if I reach for my phone to call the cops? Or more appropriately, was she a hunter from the RPG game, with the ability to tame animal?
Perplexed, I decide to watch. What if she turned my dogs against me, they would win, after all, I did forget to buy their snow boots.
I can’t believe I filled out a 3 page quiz for each of my dogs in order for her to understand each of their “personalities.”
I could have saved us both the time and just told her they all act like bitches.
Bitches I adore of course. I show them this by not kicking them out in the -15 weather when they chew on a pair of my brown suede Louboutins.
“Whenever your dogs do anything you don’t want them to, I want you so bark at them in the deepest voice you’ve got and say BAH.” It sounds like a savage roar. Bear, Nina, Sten and Skrillex kneel in front of her like that opening scene in the Lion King where they show off Simba.
What is this.
How does she do this for a living.
Right, because people like me pay her to.
“Try it,” she says.
You can imagine the obscenities running through my mind. But I love my dogs and I want them to stop stealing my son’s snacks from his backpack, so I try.
I could have sworn I saw her start to transform into that scary owl bear form a.k.a. a Moonkin, but she controls herself. She tries to calmly explain to me that I’m not speaking Dog and this is fundamentally screwing with their minds and is therefore making them stressed and depressed. I guess I could see it, they have been binging on the carbs lately. All I can think about is how I’ve ruined their lives, how now all four of my puppies could be suicidal. I’m going to die and go to a dog hell, where they don’t speak human and I’ll feel the same way they do now. At least they’ll give me good food, which is what I do for them, because that’s fair.
As she starts sniffing my dogs, my mind wanders to the last time I tried this failed experiment. It was in Egypt and an IT guy recommended I use a man named Ahmed the Dog Trainer. He came to my place in a matching fake Adidos track suit and electric shock collar. Didn’t end well for his suit.
“Yup,” and we’re back.
She continues to show me how important it is to be dominant, to be the Alpha. I’ve always been a bit of an egalitarian, she doesn’t find my sense of humour funny.
“Let’s try something else, whenever they do something they shouldn’t, I want you to spray them with water using this spray bottle.”
I start spraying the dogs, who think this is game, and they look cute, so I play with them. She sighs audibly and gives me the stink eye. Oh my God she’s going to cast a spell.
“Let’s take Skrillex for a walk first.”
Yes, I named my French Bulldog Skrillex.
She start’s going “BAH” every 5 minutes in public. As in people are looking at us like a bunch of Schizophrenics. And I can’t blame them, because their dogs start to obey the Druid. Every dog we pass relents in her presence. I’m starting to freak out. Gone is the respect my neighbours gave me as I watch my dignity float out of my soul every time I say, “bah.” Blah.
The scary part is that it works. Try it. Seriously.
All you have to channel your inner Moonkin, and speak dog.
After she (and I) have quite noticeably had enough – mainly because my iPhone had run out of battery and I could no longer check out my Twitter feed, she starts the awkward departure dance.
It looks a little like this – “Here are a bunch of pamphlets and leaflets to reference if you have any questions.”
“Ok! Thanks,” I reach for the door handle.
“Here is my assessment about how today went,” as she hands me what looks like a dissertation. I carefully place the holy document on the stand next to my door and nod, trying to give her the impression that I will read it.
I reach for the handle.
“And here is my cell number, home number and email in case you need me.”
“Great!” I open the door.
“And don’t forget to BAH!”
I can’t take it anymore.
“Alright great thanks! I’ll call you, take care, good bye.”
She finally leaves.
Twenty minutes later I hear tearing, I walk towards the sound only to find the dogs have eaten everything, her assessment, the pamphlets, and all of her contact information.
They earned their reward. Treats for all.
Sweet Dreams World.