10 a.m. on a Sunday morning sounds a bit early to attend a party. I prefer those that kick off at cocktail hour for obvious reasons. But come to think of it, I wasn’t the invitee to the event in question. I wasn’t even the plus one.
The invitation was addressed to our puppy June and served as the inauguration of our friend and dog trainer Julie Iovine’s canine obedience company, Good Dog Training; as well as a test run for the splendid dog ring she built on her property in Columbia County.
I’m not sure whether Julie would concur with my use of the term obedience since the word smacks of discipline and even coercion. Her philosophy is grounded in, well, here it is in her own words: “Positive reinforcement plus lots of games to build core skills (confidence, flexibility, optimism, etc.)” she wrote in an email.
I may not be 100% on board with that school of thought – I’m more of the “Rolling up a newspaper and threatening the dog when she does something unforgiveable if a baseball bat is unavailable,” kind of guy. Then again, I have no say in the matter.
Had it been up to me we’d have observed a suitable mourning period after our last dog Wallie died. Say three to five years. But my wife apparently decided that sharing a home with me alone was a future too dismal to contemplate. Hence our new puppy.
She’s the same breed as our previous pet – a Bracco Italiano, a Fettuccini Alfredo-loving bird dog. Actually, I have no idea what her preferred diet is because the one rule we made before her arrival and have strangely and impressively stuck to it is to feed her dog food. We turned Wallie into a genial monster by allowing her to lick our plates after meals. Understandably, she’d start to whine in the middle of dinner. That’s no fun, especially if you’re entertaining guests.
I’m also skeptical of the effectiveness of dog training, having nothing to do with the trainer. Julie Iovine is nothing if not qualified. She seems to have brought the same energy, focus and creativity to the subtle art of seamless canine companionship that she did to her Yale undergraduate education and her previous career as a journalist with the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal.
That included attending a dog training camp in England, a yearlong apprenticeship program and a three-hour written exam that culminated in a degree from the Certification Council for Professional Dog Trainers.
My problem is with my wife and me. It seems that if you don’t relentlessly reinforce the training with treats and stern love the animal’s feral instincts will kick in. I’ve yet to meet the dog that will meekly obey when you command it to return to your side if it’s picked up a critter’s scent in the woods or decides to supplement its diet with stuff like deep poop.
I know. It’s not pretty. But it is what it is.
Also, we were reasonably laid back parents with our children. We breathed a sigh of relief when they showed no interest in joining things like traveling youth soccer leagues. We hoped they’d go to good colleges but not enough to try to game the system. How could we be expected to turn into tiger moms and dads with a puppy?
With the exclusion of the fact that June ate one of Debbie’s expensive sandals, decimated a new path light I’d just had installed at significant expensive while horsing around during a play date, and the house resembles Sing Sing because of all the gates we’ve erected to corral her mischief, she’s a good dog. She’s gentle with our year-old twin grandchildren, and she’s positively mellow compared to our last Bracco.
That good breeding, of which Julie and Debbie but certainly not I deserve some credit, was on vivid display at the dog party we attended Sunday morning. Kudos to June’s companionable playmates as well. I heard nary a cross word between breeds. They included a wooly fox terrier. An Italian truffle dog. And Sammy, Julie’s black lab.
“Puppies need to learn to play with other dogs of all ages,” the trainer explained as they did just that while she monitored them closely. “Lying down. A relaxed tail. Shaking off. Great signs,” she added.
She threw the party in part to introduce her business. But also to test her new dog ring and to gauge the needs of both owners and their pets. There's a few kinks yet to be worked out. For example, who’s responsible for scooping the poop? Julie thought that she would if a pet answered nature’s imperative during a training session, but that responsibility would fall to the owner during a free play period.
She thought better of that rule a few days later. “Of course the owner is responsible for cleaning up after their dog,” she told me.
And we were. And we did.
Ralph Gardner, Jr. is a journalist who divides his time between New York City and Columbia County. More of his work can be found be found on Substack.
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