Carol’s Column

Guru Spock moves over...

FOR all my childbearing years Dr Spock was the guru in my life. He lay at the side of my bed and advised me on every move.

For example, at four weeks, I noticed my oldest unmarried son was covered in pimples. I was horrified. I wanted to send him back from whence he'd come.

Quickly, I consulted Doctor Spock, turning to the pimples page. "Don't worry," he reassured anxious mothers. "If your baby comes out in a rash, he is probably too hot. Take off his clothes." I did, the pimples disappeared instantly. Dr Spock was never wrong.

Twenty years later, I have another guru in my life. Arthur Markowitz.

Several months ago, my spouse brought home a minute puppy that had been rescued from a Hillbrow dustbin. Today that puppy has grown into a huge, uncontrollable hound that resembles a hyena. Called Mahoney, she has a predilection for plants, piano legs, kitchen doors and shoes.

In fact it was a pair of shoes that almost sealed her fate.

While the rest of Parkwood was sleeping, Mahoney moved into my husband's wardrobe and consumed three and a half pairs of shoes. Which left him half a shoe to wear to work.

"This is the last straw," he yelled upon discovery. "Either that dog goes to training, or it lands up in the great big dogbox in the sky."

I needed help immediately. "Take Mahoney to Arthur Markowitz. He's an expert dog trainer, he wrote the famous book 'This is your Dog' and he's amazing," said my good friend Betty. "He performs miracles with dogs."

Which is why Mahoney and I found ourselves early on Sunday morning attending a dog training class at Zoo Lake with Arthur Markowitz and 10 other canines of varying shapes and sizes.

Each owner was securely leashed to his or her dog.

"Can you help me?" I'd said to Arthur Markowitz before the lesson as I'd dragged a protesting Mahoney towards him. "My dog is psychologically disturbed, probably because she was thrown away at birth."

Arthur, a smallish, gentle man with a twinkle in his eye, had smiled and replied that after a few lessons I wouldn't know my dog.

We stood in a line, not altogether a straight line, but a line nevertheless. "Dogs do not reason," said Guru Markowitz, "they just respond to commands."

"What kind of dog is that?" asked the owner of a spaniel called Suzie. "She's a hyena/Leonberger cross," I muttered.

"How exotic," said someone else.

The owner of the sleek black hound on my right confided that her dog was anorexic and off all her food.

"Perhaps she just wants to lose a little weight for summer," I murmured. "Don't worry, slim is in."

In an hour, Mahoney was heeling, walking and sitting. Not necessarily at the same time as the other dogs, but it was the thought that counted.

When they walked, she sat. When they sat, she ran. When they heeled she lay on her back, stuck her legs straight in the air and played "dead dead".

"You have to be patient," said Arthur. "Patient, firm and loving. You can never give a dog too much love. If Mahoney does something well, always congratulate her profusely. Talk to her, communicate with your dog."

At the end of the lesson, we had to walk in a circle. Mahoney walked, but in the opposite direction to the other dogs.

"Communicate with her," said Arthur gently.

I bent down and communicated softly in Mahoney's ear.

It was magical. Like a grenadier guard, Mahoney perked up her ears, stood upright and trotted obediently after the others in perfect rhythm.

"You see, it works," said Arthur.

Mmmm.

He wasn't to know that I'd told Mahoney that if she didn't pull herself together and behave like a dog I would send her to bed without supper, I'd whack her on her rump and if she didn't watch it, she'd find herself winging heavenwards pretty smartly.

Today I sleep with Arthur Markowitz and refer to him constantly. There's no doubt, Mahoney is a changed dog.

I wonder if Arthur Markowitz would take my children too. And my husband.

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