Inkie, Alex and Vinnie

When I was in second grade the neighbors across the street from my house - an incredibly nice, brilliant, Indian family whose patriarch and matriarch were both warm, kindhearted doctors, and whose sons were geniuses of the highest level - adopted a black lab puppy named Inkie that instantaneously took a shine to me and my dog at the time, Alex (an epileptic American Cocker Spaniel). Specifically, Inkie loved my shoes and would follow me around until she had the opportunity to bowl me over, pin me down and tear off one of my slip-ons, sneakers, sandals or whatever my chosen footwear for the day would be. If I was by myself Inkie had no problem whatsoever obtaining a brand new chew toy from off my very foot, but if Alex (a much smaller dog even when Inkie was only a puppy) was with me it was a different story altogether.

If I was alone, Inkie would find me in the middle of a field on my way back from building another fort in the woods or as I was walking home from my neighbors house down the street, and as soon as she saw me she would sprint towards me as fast as she could. When I was in range she would leap up and knock me down. While she was hovering over me she would sometimes sit on my chest while she tried to take my shoe from me, but other times it was just a quick "snatch and run" attack and the shoe would be gone before I knew what happened. I lost 4 good pairs of shoes to that dog and at least 5 others were chewed up and given back but were still wearable.

If my dog was with me, Inkie would see us from her spot underneath a pine tree atop the hill across the street from my house and slowly make her way towards both of us. Her head would be down, her tail would be low and slowly wagging back and forth and her tongue would loll gently out of her smiling mouth as she sauntered over to say hello. Alex, despite his obvious lack of size, never bristled at her appearance, never growled at her, barred his teeth or even so much as barked. They would greet each other the way dogs do (nose-to-butt-and-back-again), and after a few seconds Inkie would fall in line behind Alex and myself and the three of us would be off to play ball in the larger part of my yard. Alex in front, me in the middle and Inkie in the back.

As the two dogs played the Labrador Retriever would consistently give the ball to my epileptic Cocker Spaniel. If Alex so much as looked in Inkies' general direction, my furry neighborhood nemesis would move away from the ball immediately and Alex would pluck it up and sprint back to me. I noticed this little "glitch" in Inkie's behavior, so the next time I was walking through the field towards my house and saw Inkie charging toward me I would desperately call for my dog to come out and defend me; which he did, each and every time it happened until Inkie lost all desire to chase me down and drag away my docksiders. I didn't know then what I know now, but my old buddy the epileptic Alex was in fact a calm-assertive pack leader who didn't take much guff from anything, especially this upstart young pup who needed to be taught some manners.

Flash forward to 2004 and I'm sitting in the living room of the house I was renting with two of my friends after a night of drinking that would be considered criminal in 38 states, and we're watching this little Mexican guy named Cesar Millan on the National Geographic Channel "rehabilitate dogs and train people" and a light bulb went off in my head. "That's what Alex was doing!" I exclaimed loudly to my hungover and confused roommates who had no idea what I was talking about. "My old dog, Alex, he used to do that to my neighbors dog whenever it tried to knock me down and take one of my shoes," they looked like they were starting to get it, so I continued, "Alex would knock Inkie down to the ground just like Cesar does and wouldn't move until the other dog relaxed." I looked at their faces and saw what I can only describe as an ecstatic look of confirmation that all the time they had spent watching the Dog Whisperer with Cesar Millan had not been wasted on a fairy tale world where dogs could be easily corrected by a look, or a noise (tssst is now my favorite word) or a gentle touch in the right place. "That's freaking great," my roommate Mike said as Cesar rolled an especially aggressive Pit Bull named Emily onto her side, "did it look just like that?" "No," I said, "Alex was a dog."

To watch Mr. Millan with dogs is what it must have been like to watch Picasso paint or to listen to Mozart play the piano, because he does it so effortlessly that it's almost impossible to comprehend how much is actually going on, and I always suspected there was much more happening in front of me than I was able to understand. It took a brilliant article by genius writer Malcolm Gladwell called "What The Dog Saw" from the May 22, 2006 issue of The New Yorker to open my eyes to what was actually going on. I'll spare you the details, but suffice it to say, Mr. Millan exudes leadership on such a primal and poetic level that dogs almost have no choice but to happily follow him around, and the amazing thing, and the thing that always startles me no matter how often it happens, even the dogs that fight him the hardest seem to love him the most when their dance together comes to an end. It's truly beautiful to see, but something I hope I never have to experience first hand with my own dog.

Watching the show now, I'm sickened by the state of affairs in the pet world. A lot of owners, even those that claim to watch the show religiously, have no clue what they are doing and rationalize their behavior away as if it never existed in the first place. I can't say I'm the patron saint of dog owners, but I can say that I care enough about my dog to give him the most balanced life I can. Vinnie, my dog, and I are buddies for sure, but I work hard to establish my leadership role each and every day, and so, to her credit, does my wonderful girlfriend who walks him like a freaking pro, much better than I do.

I wish I could devote 4 hours a day to walking Vinnie, but that's unrealistic and would lead to me being out of work and destitute. To make up for it we bought him a backpack which we make heavy with weights so he can work off more energy while getting a good mental work out and tending to the nature of his breed (Siberian Husky) by making him feel as if he is doing a job. The walks last around an hour and cover just under 3 miles of territory, and my girlfriend and I try to make it "100% perfect" for the entire time we're out with him. We have our bumps, though, and every once in a while Vinnie starts to act up; which, thanks to watching Dog Whisperer with Cesar Millan, we are able to identify as something we are doing incorrectly by not meeting one of his needs.

Luckily, Vinnie isn't an aggressive dog by nature, but he does get bored which could lead to problems, so even when it's time for a treat we try to challenge him as much as possible with a stuffed Kong or bone that he has to think about while he eats. I love my dog and he deserves the best life he can possibly have, and despite the "flaws" that I have which are projected onto him, I know that deep down I am doing a good job and that my girlfriend and I have a good dog that loves, appreciates and respects us as his pack leaders. Our pack isn't as large or tight knit as Mr. Millans', and Vinnie is no Daddy, Junior or Mr. President, but he is my best non-human friend and after having him more than a year now I can't imagine my life without him. Thankfully he is in perfect health, has a fantastic temperament and there are very few things we have to actively work to correct, but that doesn't make it any easier.

I wish more owners would take the time to not just watch Cesar work his magic, but to take the heart the example he sets and use that "magic" to their benefit. There is nothing better than a well-behaved, well-balanced dog to give you that unconditional love and respect that so many of us crave, but don't receive from the people in our lives, and those of us that are lucky enough have it both ways (like me, sorry, world) it's a blessing that can't be denied.



The more I think of the times Inkie stole my shoes the more I have to come to terms with the fact that it was all my fault from the very beginning, because I never corrected her (neither did her owners, mind you) or even made an attempt to stop her from dominating me; which is what she was doing. It took a tiny, little, epileptic dog to get her off my case and subsequently position himself as the leader of the Jimbolaya pack. As time went on Inkie, Alex and I spent a lot more time together trekking through the woods, playing in the snow, walking the trails near my house and, basically, doing what young boys and dogs do. When the three of us were together I'd always come home with a few scrapes here or there from getting stuck by a pricker bush and Alex would be covered in mud and burrs and Inkie would trot home happy, hungry and exhausted, but things do change.

I was growing up and growing away from Alex as I became more interested in talking to my friends than hanging out with my dog, and Inkie, sadly was getting flat out neglected by her owners who just didn't have the time or patience to take care of her, and, I suspect, didn't want a dog in the first. It wasn't long before Inkie became the "neighborhood dog" that depended on the kindness of her neighbors and their dogs to give her the life support she desperately needed, and Alex played a huge part in that. He would help her find mice in the fields and would run and play with her when she was out and about with us, and when it came time for Alex to come inside and sleep for the night, he always did so nearby the door so he could listen for his friend; on more than one occasion I woke up to see Alex sleeping on his bed in the mudroom of our house while Inkie slept pressed against the door on our deck directly opposite of him. It was heart warming and touching and nobody seemed to mind, but things change.

Alex's epilepsy became too much for my family to handle after one afternoon when he tumbled down the stairs to our basement and very easily could have broken several bones or worse, luckily my sister's friend's father was a vet who made an emergency stop at our house in a matter of minutes and helped us right the ship. My mother had the unfortunate job of spending the most time with Alex, feeding him, grooming him and the like and just couldn't take the added stress and worry as his condition became an issue, so she found a family willing to take him in and, with very little protest from me, handed him over on a cloudy Friday afternoon while I was at a friend's home playing football. She told me, when I got home, "that no boy should see his dog being given away," and that was that.

The next morning, patrolling the grounds by the deck in our backyard was Inkie looking for her buddy to come out and play as they had done so many times before over the years. She waited and waited, pacing back and forth the entire time until I came out of the house to say hello and let her know the bad news. She was sitting down as I approached barely able to contain her excitement, her tail wagging happily. I knelt down in front of her, patted her head and with tears starting up in my eyes I tried my best to tell her that her friend had left and wouldn't be coming back, but the words didn't mean much. My energy told her everything she needed to know. The two of us sat there for a time before she trotted off alone.