A Doberman In Beverly Hills
Confessions of a Dog Trainer
I felt my luck turn as I made my way up San Vicente toward Beverly Hills. My new client Samantha sounded desperate.
She had a one-year-old, out-of-control Doberman, a gift from her travelling husband. A trainer hadn’t come with the gift so the dog was left in the yard and did what neglected yard-dogs do; bark, jump on people who come into the yard, dig and did I mention bark? Animal regulation had received an anonymous complaint and so here I was. If this went well, her Beverly Hills referrals could be my entre into the land o’ plenty.
I parked in front of a modestly expensive home, slung my Mary Poppins bag of dog training gear over my shoulder and hiked up the long path to the front door. A petite Philippine woman at the front end of middle age, answered the bell. She was smartly dressed in a Chanel jacket over a white silk blouse tucked into pleated slacks. A tasteful hint of expensive perfume greeted me as she invited me in with an anxious smile. The elegance was in stark contrast to the raging dog on the other side of the patio window pacing back and forth, barking at the intruder. Sam went to a box of tennis balls, grabbed one, opened the patio door and pitched it into the yard.
“That will stop it for awhile.”
As we settled into a couple of big plush armchairs, I began asking questions. People hire a trainer with the mistaken notion the trainer will come in and with a few tricks and a magic wand turn their dog into an obedient pet. But all good trainers know that you are training the owners as much as the dog and it became obvious fairly quickly that turning this petite, anxious woman into the kind of leader a Doberman needed would be a serious challenge.
As she was answering my intake questions her husband appeared and headed for the door. He was overweight with a rough bloated face and wore a slightly disheveled suit. Her refined demeanor and petite frame paired with his rough bigness had me wondering how they made it work. He barely looked at us as she explained who I was.
“Good luck with that dog,” he spit out and was gone. I wasn’t sure if he meant the Doberman.
When he shut the door behind him, she turned to me.
“I hate him!! I want out! He treats me like shit! I come from a royal line in the Philippines. If my family knew how he treated me his life would be worth nothing!!”
I generally try to avoid this kind of conversation with my clients but she was in a state. No way to steer her back to the training. I let her rip.
She had been the young and beautiful daughter of a prestigious family in the Philippines. Rodney, a handsome American lawyer had showered her with gifts, affection and relentless attention, so when he said he wanted to marry her and take her back to his house in famous Beverly Hills, she knew she’d hit the jackpot.
Upon arriving he changed completely, becoming cold and distant while sex became demanding and incessant. He let her run his house but not much else. Her desire to start a small business was out of the question. When I asked her whether she had any female neighbors she could befriend she laughed.
“Nobody talks to anybody in this neighborhood. But I will tell you there are many other women like me.”
She told me Beverly Hills was filled with older men and younger attractive wives. The women get older and the men trade them in for younger. I asked her how she knew this.
“By the moving vans. Furniture moves out but man stays. Old wife gets new house, old furniture. New young wife moves into old house, gets new furniture. Happens all over this place.”
I asked her why she didn't move back home and she told me it would be too humiliating.
I asked her why she didn't get a divorce and she told me she married a lawyer and would be left with nothing and besides, where would she get the money for a lawyer.
She began to remember why I was there.
“And that dog! That fucking dog! I think he got the dog just to punish me.”
“So you don’t like the dog?” I asked.
“I feel sorry for him. It isn’t his fault.”
A show of empathy was a good sign.
I explained, “The thing with dogs is that they want and need a relationship. But it has to be the right kind of relationship, the right kind of communication.”
She responded, “But I try and try and he doesn’t listen to me.”
I continued, “It doesn’t take them long to understand a word or sound. For instance, when the dog jumps up on you, you raise your hands, turn your back and sharply say “Off!” like you really mean it. After a few of those, you raise your hands and say “Off” before he jumps up. It stops them.”
Suddenly her eyes lit up.
“Do you train husbands?”
I laughed. This wasn’t the first time I’d been asked that question.
“Let me put it this way … I train people as much as I train dogs. Shall we get started?”
She smiled and said, “Let’s give it a try. If it doesn’t work, I’ll get rid of the dog.”
I wasn’t sure if she was talking about the Doberman.
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