The Dogfather

bathroom, removed her muzzle, shut her in, and ran for the phone. I’m diligent about answering because I’m on many lists of volunteers for Alaskan Malamute Rescue of New England and the Alaskan Malamute Assistance League. The call I don’t answer could be from someone who abandons the effort to reach Malamute Rescue and dumps some poor malamute at a kill shelter instead. Or worse.
    This particular call had nothing to do with malamutes. It was another referral from Enzio Guarini. Like the call about Durango, this was a complaint about insufficient machismo, and before I get precise, I have to tell you that as a dog trainer, a dog writer, and especially as a volunteer for Malamute Rescue, I’ve dealt with thousands of dog problems. When my caller is someone new' to malamutes, I often have to do nothing more than provide information. A typical such call goes like this:
    New adopter of adult female malamute: Nikki’s so sweet and wonderful, and we love her so much, but we’re worried sick that there’s something terribly wrong with her, uh, hormones.
    Me: She lifts her leg.
    Caller: Yes!
    Me: That’s perfectly normal.
    If the dog is destroying the house, my advice is to increase the amount of exercise he gets and to stop giving him the run of the house. He jumps on people? Teach him a solid down-stay. And so forth. But with dog owners, just when you think you’ve heard it all, you learn better. Incredibly, incredibly, this caller was consulting me, a dog trainer , a specialist in behavior, because of his male rottweiler’s infuriatingly disobedient refusal to grow to the gigantic size the owner wanted.
    “My brother’s got a rottweiler that weighs a hundred and seventy pounds,” he informed me.
    “Your brother’s dog is too big,” I said. “The rottweiler isn’t supposed to be a giant breed. Your brother’s dog is incorrect. And at a guess, he’s fat. That dog would be laughed out of the show ring. The owner of the correct rottweiler is you.”
    For all I knew, my caller’s “correct” rottie was thirty pounds overweight and a total fright. Did I care? I did not. My caller was delighted with what I’d told him. And my caller was a Guarini associate.
    The third call came from Carla Cortiniglia, Joey’s widow, and inevitably concerned her memorable little coffin-dancing, bosom-nestling loudmouth, Anthony. Carla began by repeating the profuse thanks she’d offered me at the funeral. “Geez, first Joey, and then if it would’ve been Anthony, too, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”
    At worst, the undertakers would have raised Joey and then somehow raised Anthony from the ground; the rescue would have threatened the dignity of the service, but the dog’s life hadn’t been in any great danger.
    I said, “I was glad to help.”
    “Anthony’s got a mind of his own. He won’t listen to a word I say.” Carla’s proud tone was one that’s dreaded by every sensible dog trainer.
    I spoke honestly. “I have the feeling that you like Anthony just the way he is.”
    “I’m nuts about Anthony. You got that right! He walks all over me. But I really gotta do something.”
    “Dog trainers have a saying: If it’s not a problem for you , it’s not a problem. In other words, Anthony is your dog, and if you’re happy with his behavior, that’s what counts. Unless your neighbors are upset about something? Or he’s biting people? Or—”
    “I got a problem in my flower shop,” Carla said. “It’s my dream, you know? A flower shop. And as soon as I says to Enzio, ‘Enzio, what am I gonna do without Joey?’ he says to me, ‘Carla, what do you wanna do?’ and I says, ‘Run a flower shop.’ And he says, ‘Well then Carla, that’s what you’re gonna do. Which one you want?’ He’s a good man. And I says, ‘You know that one in the center of Munford? Just got redone, all clean and pretty? That’s the kind of place I got in mind. That’s my dream.’ And you know what? The next day, Enzio calls me and he says, ‘Carla? Your dream’s come true.’ ”
    My first thought, duh, was what an amazing coincidence it had been that the flower shop of Carla’s dreams had just so happened to be for sale. My second thought was that whatever Enzio Guarini ever wanted would become instantly available. “And Anthony?” I asked.
    “You gotta understand that Anthony, he’s with me all the time. Like they say, twenty-four seven. He’s my constant companion.”
    “Bosom companion,” I