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When I adopted a dog, I was prepared for the typical accidents in the house: an occasional chewed shoe and possibly some erratic leg humping.
The last thing I expected was that I would
develop a crush on my dog trainer. My
female dog trainer. She was
magical. She made dogs lie down, shake
hands and crap in a designated area. I
couldn't do that with my kids, so it's no wonder that I would fall deeply in
love with her.
I met our dog trainer, Becky, when I adopted our dog, Orlando. He was so handsome and stunning. I immediately knew I had to have him, which
is why I was so confused when my husband said, "We can't adopt the first dog we
see." Uh, duh, I just did. Bam! Orlando was instantly mine.
As part of the adoption agreement, we had to do things like agree to have
him be an indoor dog, keep identification tags on him at all times and take
him to training. These all seemed like
totally reasonable requests, especially
since I would have agreed to pretty much anything to get this dog. Breastfeed him? Give him my kidney? Become a vegan? Yes, yes, yes! I would do anything. Orlando was that special.
Because I follow rules, I immediately took Orlando to a basic obedience class—and
that is where I met Becky. She was the
instructor and I fell in love with her (not to the degree that I fell in love with Orlando … I mean I didn't try
to breastfeed her or anything). But I was captivated by how she led the
class. Becky glowed. OK, OK. It was a room filled with just adopted dogs and their misfit owners, so I
guess I only had a few options to bestow my love upon. But I selected Becky.
I could have turned into a crazy dog lady and acquired more dogs in a pathetic attempt to continue seeing Becky. But my husband was getting suspicious.
Becky educated the class on the importance of socializing your dog. Take your dog to new places, explore new
smells, sights, etc. This will make your
dog balanced and not a freak of nature that bites every time a man with a hat
walks by. Orlando used to hate black men with hats, which is ironic because
Orlando is black. Orlando's racist ways
completely vanished, thanks to Becky's training.
Homework was assigned to us in class. Each week we were expected to take our dog out and about, capture it on
film (I suppose a sketch would have worked, but too hard with the leash and
all), and email the picture to Becky so she could see that we were all
socializing our dogs. I took this
homework VERY seriously. Not because I wanted
to cure Orlando's racist ways, but mostly because I wanted to impress
Here are some examples of what I would turn into Becky on a weekly basis:
I honestly took all of those pictures of Orlando within a six-week training
class. This led me to my next
problem. I did such a good job of
entertaining this dog that he had separation anxiety when he wasn't with
me. It makes total sense looking back,
but at the time I was like, "Wtf is wrong with this dog?!?!"
Anywhooo, we were talking about Becky. I love Becky. She had this amazing spirit and energy that
made me want to be around her. My
husband started getting suspicious. He'd
say things like:
"Orlando seems pretty well trained. How many more sessions of this class are you going to take?"
"I like the name Orlando. Why do you want to change it to Becky?"
"I think it's normal for them to lick their balls. You don't need to call and ask Becky."
So the class ends and Orlando has learned a lot. He sits, lays, spins, shakes hands, high-fives,
stays and doesn't bite black people. That's all I can really ask for. He's a dog.
I could have turned into a
crazy dog lady and acquired more dogs in a pathetic attempt to continue seeing
Becky. But my husband was getting suspicious and I was having a hard time explaining how a dog leash had become my go-to fashion accessory. I decided to simply appreciate the fact that Becky was just a kickass woman who I was lucky enough to mom crush on for six weeks of dog training.