I think I have determined a good future career for myself. After much soul-searching (during which I found that old pair of jeans I thought I lost in ’94, as well as several of the morals I misplaced when I started college) I realized that the job I am well-prepared for, the one for which I am uniquely qualified, has been staring me in the face all along. I need to become a dog psychologist.
I grew up with neurotic dogs. My father even had a copy of How To Live With a Neurotic Dog, by Stephen Baker (a book I highly recommend, by the way.) I had one dog who would not go to the bathroom unless you turned your back and looked the other way. She could have eaten an entire box of Ex-Lax, but if you were watching her, she would quietly sit there and suffer, with that unmistakable look of “Do you mind?” That was the same dog who knew that “vet” is spelled V-E-T, and would hide under the bed if those three letters were mentioned sequentially. Another dog I had the privilege of knowing lived under the impression that if there was a body of water anywhere within a one-mile radius, that body of water needed to have a dog in it. This remained true even if that body of water (which happened to be the only body of water for miles) was a septic tank. Needless to say, that experience did not turn out well, for the dog or for the rest of the family. That same dog was also deathly afraid of thunderstorms, and had evidently decided that the thunder and lightning were incapable of harming him in the bathtub. Thus, every thunderstorm was weathered from the safety of the porcelain cocoon.
Now I’m all grown up, and I have a dog with… shall we say… issues. To him, chasing a ball is not a sport, it is a do-or-die mission that he must conduct until he drops from exhaustion. If he’s left alone in the house, he often shows his displeasure by either (a) leaving a big smelly present on the rug, or (b) finding anything edible (yes, beeswax candles and dry spaghetti noodles are edible) and destroying it in the most graphically violent way possible. He likes popcorn, but popcorn doesn’t like him (or the rest of us.) His insecurity borders on pathological, such that at times it feels as if I have grown an 82-pound hemorrhoid.
Yet, something like this 
makes it all worthwhile. Indeed, I have lived with, loved, and even treated all of these canine companions, and I’ll probably continue to do so. So why, I thought, don’t I make money at it? I think there are probably enough crazy canines out there with wealthy owners to keep me in kibble for years. I’m thinking $75 an hour, and you get to keep any presents the dog leaves me.
August 6th, 2007 at 12:57 am
I gave my sister a copy of “How to live with a neurotic dog” for X-mas a few years ago to help her through the travails of life with her sheltie, Puppy.
My sister later passed the book back to me when Termi(nator) and Rocky - 2 black & tan short-haired dachshunds - decided to adopt my partner and me. Termi and Rocky are now 18 months old and still can’t quite grasp how poorly their 2 adults are trained…
August 6th, 2007 at 4:10 am
Umm…I don’t think you can qualify as a dog psychologist, unless you can actually “fix” the dog; not just endure it while it continues to be messed up.
After all human psychologists…wait a minute, maybe you do qualify.
August 6th, 2007 at 8:06 am
Trina: it’s a great book, and explains things quite clearly, doesn’t it? I need to get another copy, I think.
Pinhole: I was tentatively planning on just prescribing high doses of medication (for the owner, not the dog) and letting the dog describe in detail how neglected and put-upon he/she is. No plans to ‘fix’ anyone.
August 6th, 2007 at 8:44 am
Or you can skip all that tedious education that’s required for prescribing meds. Just stroke your beard and look wise, toss bits of kibble to the dog-patient, and keep the owner-patient well soused in gin. Isn’t that how the old-time British aristocracy managed to live with so many hounds and corgis? Just a thought…
August 6th, 2007 at 9:34 am
Jen, that’s perfect. If I can land a position with the aristocracy, my financial well-being is a done deal. And the gin, of course, is also used to medicate the doctor.
August 6th, 2007 at 1:10 pm
You might consider a slightly different pricing scheme though, like maybe treating the dog for free but charging $200/hour to put up with the neurotic but wealthy owner.
August 6th, 2007 at 2:52 pm
But if I do that, aren’t I just becoming a people psychiatrist? And I really have no interest in treating people. Dogs - yes. People - no.
However, $200/hr is enough to make me reconsider my position on these things…
August 7th, 2007 at 4:47 pm
Wolf- are you sure that the dogs start out neurotic?
August 7th, 2007 at 11:45 pm
I… I… I…
I don’t know what to say. Nobody’s ever asked that before.
Um… maybe?
August 12th, 2007 at 6:32 pm
I gotta tell you…this post, the linked posts…made me laugh very hard and what a pleasure it was to laugh like that again. If I were a dude or a dog, I probably would have farted I’m laughing so hard.
August 13th, 2007 at 9:54 am
Glad you liked it, Laurie, and it’s good to see you here. And farting while you’re laughing is definitely OK, if not completely encouraged.