The Dogfather

know Durango.”
    Inspiration struck. “I do know Mr. Guarini,” I said. “Do you ever see him going around getting in stupid little fights with everyone?”
    “Mr. G.’s got a smile for everyone. Most of the time.”
    “Exactly. Does Mr. Guarini ride around in his car glaring out the window and baring his teeth at people and snarling? No. He relaxes. So does Durango. Durango is a self-confident alpha leader. Top dog. There is nothing wrong with him, and you can stop worrying.” Wondering whether I was going a bit too far, I nonetheless added, “In fact, you can take pride in Durango. He sounds to me like the Enzio Guarini of dogs.”
    "You think so?”
    “I’m positive,” I lied. “I’m sure that if the need ever arises, Durango will show his strength. In the meantime, enjoy him. He sounds like a good dog.”
    I expected the caller to end the consultation there. He didn’t. After a little um-ing and er-ing, he said in a reluctant tone, “Mr. G. says I gotta cut his balls off.”
    “Durango’s, I presume.” No, I didn’t say it aloud. What I said was, “Mr. Guarini knows a lot about dogs. And, uh, analogies, uh, comparisons aside, dogs are, after all, dogs. Durango won’t hold it against you. In fact, he’ll never know. So, yes, you should do what Mr. Guarini tells you to do.”
    Purely by chance, the second little incident, another phone call, also occurred when I happened to be working with dogs. Do we detect a pattern here? Actually, I was training only one dog, Kimi, but my focus was again on aggression. Specifically, Kimi was learning to be a good girl in the presence of our cat, Tracker, and by our, as I was determined to convince Kimi, I meant hers, mine, and Rowdy’s. The only way to ensure that a dog will be safe around cats is to raise the dog with cats from puppyhood. It also helps to start with a mild dog of a non-predatory breed, meaning neither Kimi nor Rowdy nor any other malamute who hasn’t grown up with cats. Tracker was a permanent resident of our household because, having rescued her, I’d failed to find any responsible person who was even remotely interested in adopting her. If you ignored Tracker’s head, she was an attractive-enough-looking black cat, but she was missing a chunk of one ear, and a squiggly pink mark disfigured her face. Worse, her typical expression was sour, and she was fond of hissing at people. To protect her from the dogs, I kept her in my office, and I have to say that she was a nasty officemate. Whenever I wanted to use my computer and had to dislodge Tracker from the mousepad, she spat at me and often scratched my hands. Still, as I had to work at reminding myself, Tracker was not only one of God’s creatures but my cat, and in confining her to one small room, I wasn’t offering her an enviable existence. Also, it galled me to admit even to myself that I was incapable of teaching the dogs to accept her.
    At the moment, Tracker was on top of the refrigerator, where she was going to linger because I’d supplied her with a plateful of Kitty Kaviar, which is shaved bonito and Tracker’s favorite treat. Rowdy was safely locked in my bedroom, and Kimi was on a loose leash and wearing a snug fabric muzzle that allowed her to eat the morsels of roast beef I was giving her when I caught her displaying calm behavior toward Tracker. In the old days, we tried to catch our dogs doing something wrong so we could correct the behavior, usually by jerking on a choke chain. Now, we’re equally vigilant in watching for good behavior, which we reward with positive reinforcement. I was using the same method I’d been teaching to Enzio Guarini, what’s popularly called “clicker training” and technically known as “operant conditioning with an event marker.” The event marker—the click—came from the little plastic and metal clicker I held in my hand. Each time Kimi glanced at Tracker without stiffening her legs, raising her hackles, or showing any other sign of excitement, I sounded the clicker and immediately followed the click with a treat. Just when I’d seen Kimi display a new and welcome behavior, the damned phone rang. For the first time, Kimi had calmly looked up at Tracker and then immediately turned her eyes to me in clear expectation of the click and treat, both of which I delivered.
    “Yes!” I told her. “That’s it! You’ve got it!”
    Oh, well, any good trainer knows to end a session on a note of success. I hustled Kimi into the