walk. Jenny was, too. Once he took off after a cat and yanked her off her feet, leaving her with bloody knees. It was time he learned to trot by our sides.
I wrestled him to our spot on the tarmac, pulling him back from every dog we passed along the way.
“Class, on the count of three,” the instructor called out. “One… two… three.”
“Marley, heel!” I commanded. As soon as I took my first step, he shot off like a fighter jet from an aircraft carrier. I yanked back hard on the leash. He coughed and gasped as the collar tightened around his airway. He sprang back for an instant, then lunged forward again. I yanked back. He gasped again. We continued like this the entire length of the parking lot. He was coughing and panting. I was grunting and sweating.
“Rein that dog in!” the instructor yelled. I tried with all my might, but the lesson wasn’t sinking in. I thought that Marley might just strangle himself before he figured it out. Meanwhile, the other dogs were prancing along at their owners’ sides.
The instructor had the class line up and try again. Once again, Marley lurched like a maniac across the tarmac. With his eyes bulging, he strangled himself as he went.
“Here,” the instructor said impatiently. “Let me show you.” I handed the leash to her. She tugged Marley around into position. She pulled up on the collar as she ordered him to sit. Sure enough, he sat, eagerly looking up at her.
With a yank of the leash, the instructor set off with him. Almost instantly he barrelled ahead as if he were pulling the lead sled in a dog-sledge race. She corrected hard, pulling him off balance. He stumbled, wheezed, then lunged forward again. It looked like he was going to pull her arm out of its socket. I should have been embarrassed. But I felt an odd sort of satisfaction. She wasn’t having any more success than I was. My classmates snickered, and I beamed with perverse pride. I wanted to yell, “See, my dog is awful for everyone, not just me!”
I had to admit, the scene was pretty hilarious. The two of them reached the end of the parking lot. Then they turned and lurched back towards us.
The instructor scowled. Marley was joyous beyond words. She yanked furiously at the leash. Slobbering with excitement, Marley yanked back harder still. I could tell what he was thinking. “All right! Tug-of-war.”
When Marley saw me, he hit the gas. Filled with near-supernatural speed, he made a dash for me. The instructor broke into a sprint to keep from being pulled off her feet. Marley didn’t stop until he slammed into me with his usual exuberance.
The instructor shot me a look that told me I was in trouble. Marley had made a mockery of her class. He had publicly humiliated her.
The instructor handed the leash back to me. “OK, class, on the count of three…” she said, pretending the whole thing hadn’t even happened.
When the lesson was over, she asked if I could stay after for a minute. “I think your dog is still a little young for structured obedience training,” she explained.
“He’s a handful, isn’t he?” I said. Now that we had shared the same humiliating experience, I felt as though we were friends.
“He’s simply not ready for this,” she said. “He has some growing up to do.”
It was beginning to dawn on me what she was getting at. “Are you trying to tell me—”
“He’s a distraction to the other dogs.”
“—that you’re—”
“He’s just too excitable.”
“—kicking us out of class?”
“You can always bring him back in another six or eight months.”
“So you’re kicking us out?”
“I’ll happily give you a full refund.”
“You’re kicking us out.”
“Yes,” she finally said. “I’m kicking you out.”
Marley lifted his leg and let loose a raging stream of pee, nearly hitting his beloved instructor’s foot.
Sometimes a man needs to get angry to get serious. The instructor had made me angry. I owned a beautiful, purebred Labrador retriever, a proud member of the breed famous for its ability to guide the blind, rescue disaster victims, assist hunters, and pluck fish from big ocean swells, all with calm intelligence. How dare she write him off after just two lessons? OK, he was a bit on the spirited side, but his intentions were all good.
I was going to prove to that insufferable stuffed shirt that she could kick us out but Marley was no quitter. He would show her!
First thing the next morning, Marley was out in the backyard with me. “Nobody kicks the Grogan boys out of obedience school,” I told him. “Untrainable? We’ll see who’s untrainable. Right?” He bounced up and down. “Can we do it, Marley?” He wiggled. “I can’t hear you! Can we do it?” He yelped. “That’s better. Now let’s get to work.”
We started with the sit command, which I had been practising with him since he was a small puppy. He was already quite good at it. I towered over him and gave him my best alpha-dog scowl.
“Sit,” I said in a firm but calm voice. He sat. “Good boy!” I praised.
We repeated the exercise several times. Next we moved to the down command, another one I had been practising with him. He stared intently into my eyes, neck straining forward, anticipating my directive.
I slowly raised my hand in the air and held it there as he waited for the word. With a sharp downward motion, I snapped my fingers, pointed at the ground and said, “Down!” Marley collapsed in a heap, hitting the ground with a thud. He went down with gusto – as if a mortar shell had just exploded behind him.
Jenny, sitting on the porch with her coffee, noticed it, too. “Incoming!” she yelled out.
After several rounds of hit-the-deck, I moved up to the next challenge – come on command. This was a tough one for Marley. The coming part was not the problem; it was waiting in place until we called him. He was so anxious to be plastered against us that he could not sit still while we walked away from him.
“Sit,” I commanded. He faced me, and I fixed my eyes on his. As we stared at each other, I raised my palm, holding it out in front of me like a crossing guard. “Stay,” I said, and took a step backwards. He froze, staring anxiously, waiting for the slightest sign he could join me. On my fourth step backwards, he could take it no longer and broke free, racing up and tumbling against me. I scolded him and tried it again. And again and again.
Each time he allowed me to get a little farther away before charging. Eventually I stood fifteen metres across the yard, with my palm out towards him. I stood and waited. He sat, locked in position, his entire body quaking with anticipation. I could see the nervous energy building in him. He was like a volcano ready to blow. But he stayed. I counted to ten. He did not budge. His eyes froze on me. His muscles bulged. OK, enough torture.
I dropped my hand and yelled, “Marley, come!”
As he catapulted forward,
