How Rover Took Over

I THINK I FIRST GOT THE SENSE that something amazing was going on one day last winter, when Wendy Whiting invited me along on her training session with Mike and Michelle Monreal and their two dogs. The couple had first called Whiting a few weeks earlier to help them get a handle on the out-of-control Rottweiler they’d just adopted. Whiting, who runs a Queen Village dog-training and pet-sitting business called Proper Paws, described it to me as one of her most challenging cases: The dog had bitten one of the owners, and was also wreaking havoc on the behavior of the otherwise agreeable Bernese mountain dog the Monreals had brought into their lives a year or so earlier.

But when we arrived, just after work on a Wednesday night, things had improved dramatically. In the wake of Whiting’s first two sessions with the couple and their errant brood, there was no more biting and no more intimidation.

So instead of some death-defying inter-species face-off, the ensuing session featured an odd sort of ballet on the sidewalk outside the couple’s Bensalem home. At Whiting’s direction, Mike, 24, a union carpenter, walked the lumbering Bernese up the block one way. And Michelle, also 24 and a bank branch manager, walked the snappish Rottweiler the other way. Whiting watched closely, peppering the owners with tips on ways to make the journey go more smoothly: Chin up! Hold the leash close, like a lady with a purse! If they pull ahead, turn right around — show ’em you’re leading the walk!

“You guys have to practice this stuff,” Whiting said as the session ended. “Five, 10 minutes a day. Every day. No excuses.” When we got back in the car, she seemed a bit apologetic, as if I’d been expecting some telegenic Cesar Millan spectacle — though she should have been pleased that her work had reduced the likelihood Michelle would have her hand chomped off by that nervous Rottweiler.

In fact, the outing was a perfect illustration of something a lot more novel than snarling animals. No, not the onetime advertising account executive’s preternatural skill at calming a savage beast. And not the fact that carpenters are willing to pay $400 to $600 for six sessions with her. Not even the related revelation that in the two years since she offered me pointers for handling my own dog, Whiting’s Proper Paws has grown from just her and her cell phone and a Xeroxed instruction sheet to include epic plans for national franchising and a local training academy.

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