Every so often those of us in the business of teaching get a reminder that we still have plenty to learn. For me, that memo came this last holiday season, as I trudged through two feet of snow.
A former client of mine got in touch with me and asked whether I was available to fly to the Washington area the week of Christmas and do some continuing training with her two German shepherds I had worked with once before. Oh, and she had a brand-new 6-month-old German shepherd puppy who needed some training, too.
I'm originally from New York but have lived my last few decades in California, where the weather is beautiful but rarely a winter wonderland. The idea of a week with three German shepherds and a snowy vista appealed to me, so I shuffled some things around to make it work.
Upon my arrival, I familiarized myself with the layout of the house and property, and mentally prepared for my mission: It was to be me and the dogs alone for a week in a house set back a good snow-covered mile from the nearest road. The problem with the two older dogs — both 6 years old and female — was their aggression toward each other. The pup displayed no signs of this inclination, and the owner wanted to keep it that way.
The first couple of days went great. No fights. No trouble. All three dogs responded to my instruction like the intelligent creatures they are. I kicked back with a cup of hot tea and basked in the glory of a job well done.
On the third morning the older dogs needed to go outside. As the three of us stumbled around in the bitter-cold darkness of 4:30 a.m., a dogfight broke out that would make the L.A. riots look like civil disobedience. Two fierce German shepherds going at it like wild animals. And me, trying to keep my balance and separate them in two feet of snow.
I'm no stranger to breaking up dogfights; it's part of my training and expertise. But this was something else. It was dangerous, and I was scared.
While making another attempt to pull them apart, I fell flat on my back. In that moment, I remember lying in the dark, the sting of snowflakes on my face, the sound of raw violence above my head, thinking: This is it. Here lies Matty. Dog trainer. Dog lover. Dog food.
Miraculously, I was able to get myself up, pull them apart and calm everyone down. Well, almost everyone. Once we were back inside, I stretched out on the bed in preparation for the oncoming cardiac arrest. And as I lay supine, certain of its imminence, the phone rang: The owner decided she wanted to spend Christmas with the puppy. Would I mind walking the pup to the roadside so she could have a friend swing by and grab him?
The puppy? Where was the puppy?
After a short search I found young Shep in the mudroom, along with my snow boots — now soleless, tongueless, laceless and toeless. And for dessert, he'd eaten his leash. I could only stare at him, my mouth agape. He stared back at me as if to say, "See, Uncle Matty. You don't know everything."
I called my wife: "You won't believe what happened. The dog ate my shoes."
She said, "That's the kind of stuff that makes people call you."
She was right. While I was wrestling with two out-of-control canines, the third dog I was training was feasting on my boots. This lesson had ample time to sink in as I schlepped the young pup the snow-covered mile to the road, in my slightly worn shoes.
Woof!
Dog trainer Matthew "Uncle Matty" Margolis is co-author of 18 books about dogs, a behaviorist, a popular radio and television guest, and host of the PBS series "WOOF! It's a Dog's Life!" Send your questions to dearuncle.gazetteunclematty.com or by mail to Uncle Matty at P.O. Box 3300, Diamond Springs, CA 95619. © Creators Syndicate