Martin Kihn - Bad Dog: A Love Story

House of Lies

A$$hole

The author has changed names and physical characteristics,
and combined some characters and events, in order to preserve
the anonymity of certain people in this story.

Copyright 2011 by Martin Kihn
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Pantheon Books,
a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and in Canada
by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

Pantheon Books and colophon are
registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Kihn, Martin.
Bad dog : a love story / Martin Kihn. p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-307-37987-0
1. DogsNew York (State)New YorkAnecdotes.
2. Bernese mountain dogsNew York (State)New YorkAnecdotes.
3. Bernese mountain dogBehaviorNew York (State)New YorkAnecdotes.
4. Dog ownersNew York (State)New YorkAnecdotes.
5. Human-animal relationshipsNew York (State)New YorkAnecdotes.
6. Kihn, Martin. I. Title.
SF426.2.K49 2011 636.700929dc22 2010035355

www.pantheonbooks.com

Jacket illustration by Chae Kihn
Jacket design by Peter Mendelsund

v3.1

Theres a book to be written on Zen and the art of dog training. Training requires total concentration. If youre not all there, neither is your dog. If youre jumpy, so is your dog.

Susan Conant, A New Leash on Death

To love and admire anything outside yourself is to take one step away from utter spiritual ruin.

C. S. Lewis

The American Kennel Club started its Canine Good Citizen certification program in 1989 to encourage dogs and their companions to be better members of society. To get certified, a dog must pass ten tests of obedience, good manners, and grooming. The AKC considers these ten tests to be only the beginning, but anyone who has ever loved a dog may have another word for them.

Impossible.

And I dont mean for the dog.

I S IT JUST ME, I ask my ninety-pound copilot, framed in the rearview mirror like a hairy Warhol Marilyn, or is everyone losing their minds?

Im sorry to say, she seems to be sorry to say, its just you.

Did we miss our turn? I cant see the signs.

And I, she says, cant read.

Now I will advise that when youre going somewhere that is not so easy to get to, dont let me drive.

There are few guarantees in life like the one I will make to you now: you will get lost. Very lost. So far from your destination youll be looking out the window as darkness descends, watching street signs change into another language. During my days as the worlds most ungrateful management consultant, I tooled around London in a rented Ford Fiesta with one of the firms partners, who spun on me after a string of boneheaded turns and said, Who was it that hired you again?

Losing her religion, my copilota five-year-old Bernese mountain dog named Holastretches herself out on the backseat of our alarmingly small car and moans softly, serenely, like a butterfly being sawn in half by wind.

Youre not helping, I say to her, as the Sprain Brook Parkway is glazed with a silver coat of fear.

Neither are you. Did you bring any cheese?

If youre driving, says the guy on 1010 WINS news radio, think about getting off the road. We have a severe weather warning. Its going to get ugly out there.

Not as ugly as White Plains, New York.

A gray blanket stuffed with old malls, it claims to be thirty minutes north of Manhattan. Ninety minutes after setting out, Hola and I finally slide into the parking lot of the Port Chester Obedience Training Club, where were scheduled to take the Canine Good Citizen test ten minutes ago.

The PCOTC is a legendary facility that relocated from Port Chester to an industrial district in White Plains without changing its name. It readies little woofers and their handlers for everything from crate training to all-breed shows, and five years earlier, Hola had the distinction of being the only dog in her puppy kindergarten class to be invited to leave. Twice.

Let it not be said that my dog is not a legend in the canine obedience world.

Shes a beautiful, tricolored purebred dog; a spectacularly fluffy, optimistic creature with true Broadway spirit and an explosive commitment to now.

I keep expecting her to stand up on her hind paws to make her Tony acceptance speech:

I remember when I was a little puppy, lying on my doggie bed watching Beethovens 3rd on DVD and thinking, I can do that!

And I mean no disrespect to her when I say that all things considered, taking the long view and giving her the full benefit of the doubt, she was a horrible bitch.

Storm clouds morph from a hazy gray to an oily, ominous rust as the volume of snow per square inch of air throttles up.

Hola, come! I say, holding open the cars back door.

Because I have enough cut-up raw liver in my snow jacket pocket to open a meat market, she jumps out.

I saddle her into her little harness, lock the car, check that I have her dog license, rabies tag, hairbrush, andthe critical itemher complete attention. Then I tuck myself into classic dog handlers heeling position, left arm bent with my hand on my sacral third chakra, body erect and as still as the truth.

Stepping off on my left foot, cuing Hola to heel, I start toward our destiny.

Miraculously, she follows.

Step, step. Head up. Sky down. My jeans feeling loose on my stress-addled torso, I can finally exhale.

We skate the iron ramp, negotiate past a boxer puppy in the outer swing doors, and I ask Hola to sit in front of the second set of doors so I can precede her.

Always lead, you see: follow a dog and you follow a doubt.

Hola, sit.

Remember: name first, command second.

I say: Grrr.

Aversive sound, meaning: Seriously, sit. Hola sits.

As I pull the door open, seeing the ring set up for the test, with the white PVC accordion gates, the official note takers and stewards, the distracter dog for the dreaded item #8 (reaction to another dog), a dozen or so of our training buddies nervously clamped to the walls watching the empty ring, the evaluator pacing the expanse of Mity-Lite polymer matting looking for stray treats left over from Family Manners class, the industrial warehouse roofing and the rusted crates and agility equipment strewn like an A-frame junkyard in the far ring, the beautiful goldens and Labs and Havanese stress-smiling in a united chorus of Hello, world!well, we have only one thought, Hola and me.

We are home.

Release word: Okay.

She trails me into the club.

What were doing here is a canine mystery.

If youd told me one year earlier that the two of us could trot into Port Chester as legitimate contenders for an American Kennel Clubsanctioned obedience certificationCanine Good CitizenId have thought you had rolled your brain in catnip and set it on fire.

Begun in 1989, the CGC is a test of training and temperament; to pass, a dog has to be able to sit quietly for petting and around other dogs, tolerate handling and distractions, walk on a loose lead through a crowd, prove it knows basic commands such as sit, down, stay, and come, and endure a few minutes separation from its owner without obvious distress.