Dog Training The American Male (14 page)

He smiled through the tears. “I
love you. I’ll get rid of the dog.”

“No.”

“No? I don’t understand?”

“I’m giving him three months to
straighten out, then we’ll see.”

Jacob bear-hugged Nancy, her
blouse still harboring remnants of powder from the air-bag. “Three months is
great. By then you’ll love him so much you’ll never want to let him go.”

RUBY
KLEINHENZ

For Dr. Vincent
Cope, the morning had not gone well. Fifteen Medicare patients in two hours,
sandwiched around two cases of genital warts and a call from his wife reminding
him their son, Dylan, had early hockey practice tonight.

He checked the chart outside Exam
Room 3. Ruby Kleinhenz was one of his favorite patients – a fifty-two-year-old
divorcee with the body of a thirty year old. Since her divorce settlement, Ruby
had had new breasts implants, her teeth bleached, and a Lifestyle Lift—a
less-invasive face lift that had removed her sagging jowls and the last fifteen
years of aging.

Wanda joined the gynecologist as
he knocked and entered.

Ruby was lying on the exam table
in a dressing gown, her jet-black wavy hair highlighted with a ruby-red streak.

“Morning, Mrs. Kleinhenz. My
apologies for canceling our last appointment.”

“It’s okay, doctor. Were you able
to save her?”

“Save who?” Vincent glanced at
Wanda, who shot him a nasty look. “Oh, the emergency labiaplasty . . . yes.
Looking at her now—you’d never suspect she pumped three kids out of that vag.”

“Sign me up. I’m serious. I
wasted thirty good years with that no-good prick, Emilio, but boy did he have
to pay out the ass in the settlement. Let him keep the beach house, I told my
attorney, I want cash. A million for every bimbo I caught him with.”

Wanda’s eyes widened. “Exactly
how many bimbos did ya’ll catch him with?”

“Enough to buy a share of an
arena league football team. The Cougars—that’s me. I’m a Cougar and I’m on the
prowl.”

“Good for you,” Vince said,
scanning her chart, “just take precautions.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Mrs. Kleinhenz—”

“Ruby.”

“Ruby, you don’t need an I.U.D.
While you may look thirty-five, your ovaries are still fifty-two; they stopped
producing eggs years ago.”

“Yes, but my thirty-six-year-old
boy toy doesn’t know that, and I want to keep it that way. So fit me for the
I.U.D., then schedule me for that twat lip surgery, or whatever you call it.
The sooner the better.”

“You’re the boss.” He worked a
pair of rubber gloves over his hands, then helped Ruby secure her feet into the
table stirrups. “Wanda, hand me the speculum.”

Wanda was about to pass him the
instrument when they heard a commotion coming from the outside corridor.

“Mr. Cope, you can’t go back
there! Your brother is with a patient.”

“It’ll only take a minute . . . Vince?”
The door swung open and Jacob barged in.

“Jacob, get out of here, can’t
you see I’m with a patient.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Mrs.
Kleinhenz said, straining in the stirrups to look at the bearded young man.
“Hi, there. I’m Ruby.”

“Jacob. Vince’s brother.”

“Are you a doctor, too?”

“Ventriloquist. Vin, can I talk
to you a minute?”

“No!”

“Dr. Cope, he’s your brother.
Whatever you have to say, Jacob, you can say it in front of me.”

“Thanks. Vin, I need to borrow
some money—twenty-five hundred. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”

“It’s not for an abortion, is
it?”

“What? No! It’s for Sam.”

“Who’s Sam?”

“My German Shepherd.”

“You named the German Shepherd
Sam? Jake, seriously, you need help. What’s the money for?”

“I need to fence-in our back
yard. Maybe get Sam a dog house.”

“Get one with a spare bedroom so
you have a place to stay when Nancy throws you out.”

“This was Nancy’s idea; part of a
three month reprieve for Sam. You’d be saving the dog’s life.”

 “Speaking of saving a life, I
saw an interesting video on YouTube this morning of two cops scrambling to give
CPR to a naked Asian chick. Turns out it was just a sex doll.”

 Wanda turned to Jacob. “Asian? I
hear you like Asian women?”

Jacob’s neck flushed. “I happen
to enjoy the company of all women, thank you very much. Vin, can you spot me
the money or not?”

 “Not. This is a medical
practice. Not a bank. And the next time you interrupt me while I’m with a
patient--

Ruby slapped Vincent on his
wrist. “What’s wrong with you? Your brother needs your help to save an innocent
animal’s life.” She turned to Jacob. “Are you really a ventriloquist?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m hosting a black tie affair
next Friday evening at the Ritz Carlton. We’re still looking to add local
entertainment—is your ventriloquist act entertaining?”

“The cops thought so,” Wanda
muttered.

Jacob smiled nervously. “I do a
lot of policemen’s balls. I mean, I perform comedy for the cops . . . they
laugh a lot . . . it’s funny. Uh, how much does the gig
pay?”

“Enough to take care of your dog.
The show’s on the fourteenth at six p.m. You’ll sit at my table for dinner,
then you’ll perform during dessert.”

“Sounds amazing . . . wow.
Thank you.”

“Very generous, Ruby,” said Vin.
“Jacob, if you’d leave now so I can treat my patient.”

Ruby reached out and grabbed Jacob’s
hand. “Stay. These things can be tricky. You seem like the well-adjusted,
supportive type.”

“Yes. I’ve been told that.”

Vin rolled his eyes at Wanda, who
was holding her mouth to keep from busting out laughing. “All righty then.
Slight cramping here, Ruby, while I take the pap smear . . .”

ANITA

Nancy checked the time on the
white foofie dog clock.
Nine-oh- eight . . . she’s late.
Not a good way to start her first day with a new client.

Sam was out back, whining to come
inside.

 “Forget it, flea bag. Your days
of sleeping on my sofa are over.”

 The doorbell rang, sending the
dog into a jumping frenzy.

 Nancy left the kitchen, heading
down the hall. She paused to check her face in the hallway mirror, then opened
the door.

 Standing on the front stoop was a
gum-chewing white woman in her mid-thirties, her short, mouse-brown hair
spiked, her slender neck tattooed with three Japanese letters. She was wearing
a black strapless tube-top, silver Capri pants and high wedge heels. Slung over
her shoulder was a leather backpack.

“Anita Goodman.”

“Don’t we all. Sorry, I’m Nancy
Beach.”

“Nice ta make your acquaintance.”
The accent was a nasal Bronx, the handshake firm. Anita entered, looking
around. “So where’s the puppy?”

“The puppy? The
puppy’s
out
back.” Nancy led her to the kitchen where Sam was pawing and scratching at the
sliding door, muddying the glass as he attempted to gain entry and greet the
stranger.

Anita’s expression dropped. “That’s
not a puppy. That’s a dog.”

“No shit.”

“Okay, here’s the thing: Dogs are
like people—the younger you get them, the easier they are to train. This dog’s
gotta be what? Four or five? In doggy years, that’s like thirty. Ever try to
teach a thirty-year-old a new trick?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. But
I’d still like to try.”

“Not try—do. In order to do, I
charge thirty-five dollars an hour, plus any necessary supplies.”

“Agreed. Uh . . . how
many lessons do you think he’ll need?”

“We’ll know when we know, won’t
we? First, let’s see how trainable he is. You said on the phone your husband
picked him up at the pound?”

“My boyfriend, yes.”

“Based on my vast years of
experience, I wouldn’t set the bar too high. A lot of pound refugees were
beaten by their previous owners. What’s the expression? Life is like a box of
chocolates, you never know when you’re going to bite into a nut. Let him in,
but keep him restrained, these are new pants.”

“That’s the problem, I can’t
restrain him; he’s too big.”

Anita winked. “Girlfriend, trust
me—it’s not about the size, it’s about knowing where to grab hold.” Rummaging
through her bag, she removed a large chain. “This is a choke collar. When I
slip it around the dog’s neck and pull thusly,” she demonstrated on her hand,
“the noose tightens, restraining the bitch or butch as I like to call them.
Okay, what’s the animal’s name?”

“Jacob . . . I
mean
Sam
.”

“Let Sam in.”

Nancy slid open the door. Sam
entered like an excited locomotive, licking and jumping, spinning around in
circles.

“Sit, Sam! Sit. Sit!” Anita managed
to grab the dog by its neck and slip the choker collar over its head. “We pull
thusly—” she yanked the chain hard “—and the animal is restrained.”

Sam sat.

“Oh, I like that.”

Fishing again through her back
pack, Anita removed a small bag of dog treats. She took one out, the scent
exciting the dog.

“I’m a firm believer in the
reward system—rewarding your animal when it does something good. Who’s a good
boy? Sam’s a good boy. Give me your paw, Sam. PAAAAWW.” She held out her hand.

The dog raised its front right
paw.

Anita shook it, then gave Sam the
treat.

“There’s a good boy. Always
reward the desired behavior immediately, then repeat it right away . . . the
animal learns through repetition. Let’s try it again. Sam . . . paw.”

Sam placed his paw in Anita’s
hand.

“Wow, he did it by himself.”

“German Shepherds catch on fast,
they’re a smart breed, but virtually any animal can be trained—it’s all about
conditioning.”

DOG
TRAINING THE AMERICAN MALE

Lesson One: CONDITIONING

At precisely 5:57
p.m. Jacob Cope entered his home. “Nance, I’m home.”

He placed the newspaper on the
shelf by the hall mirror and kicked off his sandals as per Nancy’s wishes,
leaving them by the front door (a logical dispersal point, steeped in ancient
Japanese tradition).

His bladder full, he headed
straight for the hall bathroom. He unzipped, lifted the closed lid and seat and
urinated. He flushed the toilet, rinsed his hands, and removed the
neatly-folded hand towel from the rack to dry off, leaving the towel on the
sink (as a common courtesy to the next user).

He entered the kitchen to the dog
leaping and barking at the glass sliding door. “Hey, boy! I missed you.” Jacob
opened the door, unleashing the spinning, nipping, licking one-hundred and ten
pound fur-shedding motion of muscle. In between dog hugs, Jacob gazed outside.
The backyard had been transformed into a sixty by forty foot grass-covered
rectangle, bordered on all sides by a six-foot-tall wooden privacy fence. In
the right-rear corner of the yard was a dog house with a five foot tall
A-framed roof adorned in olive-green tar paper.