n. – trainer as in for dogs
It wasn’t that long ago that I was the head of a department that brought in millions of dollars in international advertising revenue working with high-end luxury clients worldwide. Today I was taking directions from a dog trainer a good generation behind me in age.
The economic crisis was partly responsible for the change in my life. Advertising budgets being cut causing revenue to drastically decrease was one of the reasons that the office I ran, once the in-house sales team for one of the largest international magazine publishers, was outsourced to a media rep firm. The city I lived in and loved, New York, is now one I love to visit since a great work opportunity brought my French husband to Paris. So it is here in my new home that I have been spending my time carving out a new niche, a new identity for myself.
At the moment, my role is nurturing, rearing and training a puppy. It may sound trivial, but anyone who has dedicated themselves to it as I have will tell you it is no small feat. I am humbled by the patience and discipline that it takes along with the respect I have for someone who is an expert in his field, the dog trainer, just as I used to like to think I was an expert in mine, an advertising executive.
Once the boss, I am now the trainee. In fact sometimes I think I have more to learn than the puppy himself. I was so proud today when I told the trainer that I taught the dog “attends” or wait in addition to “assis” or sit. He tells me “Down,” (because like most French people he has trouble pronouncing Dawn for some reason) “Felix doesn’t understand French, there is no point in teaching him the word for wait.” “But you’ve taught him the word for sit.” I insist, confused as to what I’ve done wrong. “Exactly, and the word for sit is enough – to wait on top of that doesn’t mean anything.”
It’s amazing how we complicate our lives. The trainer is absolutely right. As long as the dog is sitting, he’s not moving, therefore he is naturally waiting. The puppy doesn’t need many words, which doesn’t come naturally to someone like me. I used to spend hours meticulously drafting emails whether it was to convince a client that our titles were the right environment for their products or to explain the rationale for our negotiations. Now it has come down to several “mots clefs” or literally translated, key words: “laisse,” leave or stop; “prends,” take it; “assis,” sit; “avance,” go; “couché,” lie down and “c’est fini,” it’s finished, to signify the end of the game or exercise.
Once ecstatic at landing a million dollar marketing campaign, I’m now thrilled at the sight of my puppy peeing anywhere outside of our apartment. Once exhilarated by gaining a new client through endless prospecting, I’m now elated when my puppy follows me in the park without his leash. There is a different, but undoubtedly far more profound feeling of accomplishment that my new role brings me. And while I have the time to dedicate myself to it, I want to excel at it. I want to make the trainer proud, but more importantly I want to make my puppy the best that he can be.
Mind you, not everyone is pro trainer. Many think it unnecessary and a waste of money. I think that for the basics of dog psychology, it’s been very helpful. I see how affective the theory of rewarding or “récompense” is. My puppy will do anything for those tasty little treats the trainer keeps in his pocket hanging on his hip. On the other hand, they make the dog thirsty and after a session with the trainer, my pup poos and pees more than ever! But I don’t follow all of the trainer’s rules. I still pick my puppy up and put him on my lap from time to time (just don’t tell him.)
So while Felix may not bring me much in terms of revenue, he brings me everything in terms of loyalty and unconditional love. As for the housetraining and leash training and all the rest, it will come with time and perseverance. There is an expression here, “Petit a petit, l'oiseau fait son nid.” Little by little, the bird makes his nest."
C’est fini.
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 14, 2010
En baver des ronds de chapeau
Exp. – have a tough time of it
The trainer used this expression about the dog and I see what he meant. While I tried to get a better handle of the expression by looking it up, I couldn’t really find a satisfactory explanation of its orgins, but because “baver” is the verb for drool and “ronds de chapeau” is the noun for hat brim, it makes sense that this would be a difficult thing to do – unless you’re standing upside down, which is what it feels like sometimes when training a pooch.
We human adults take so many things for granted. But when I now take Felix for his walks, I realize how many perils lurk outside. The streets are filled with trash, even in our pristine neighborhood. I really don’t know why it’s so hard to reach one’s arm out and throw something in the many trash bags that line the street. I remember once in New York when I was in the subway, I watched a woman drop her metro card on the ground. I called after her because I genuinely thought she dropped it by mistake, but she gave me a look to say “I don’t need it anymore.” My jaw sort of dropped unconsciously as I looked a foot past her where there was a trash can. She got the message, picked up the card and threw it away.
I watched a woman here the other day open up her packet of cigarettes as she crossed the street and just drop the plastic wrapping on the ground. That plastic wrapping is not only litter, but now a possible choking hazard for my dog. I’m constantly pulling wads of paper, cigarette butts, metro tickets, you name it, out of the dog’s mouth. He also loves leaves and pigeon feathers. I sometimes feel I’m walking a dustbuster.
As I’ve mentioned before, the French love their dogs, but apparently they don’t love cleaning up after them so much. This leaves another obstacle to navigate, which I was always cautious of before, but now I have the added concern of my dog’s open mouth ready to ingest anything he sees.
Felix is happy to have the attention of anyone, man, woman, child, fellow dog. Total strangers want to take his picture and hold him. Today while we were walking, a woman stopped to tell me how adorable he is. She went on to tell me about her dog that had died. When I asked if the dog was old, she explained that she had actually eaten something that killed her and started to cry. It broke my heart to see such profound sadness in her eyes. I told her she should get another dog to which she replied that she was too old. That broke my heart even more. She wished me all the best with Felix and I tried to take comfort in the fact that maybe for just a few moments he gave her some happiness, but her sadness lingers with me as I write this.
Just as it’s readily apparent when people love dogs, it’s equally so when they do not. I always wonder what goes through the minds of people who glare in disgust at my little innocent ball of fur. I wonder how unhappy they must be to look at something that makes most people’s heart melt with such contempt. What amuses me the most though is the expression on Felix’s face as they march past him as if to say “Wait, don’t you think I’m cute – what’s wrong with you?”
My dog is napping now – a time when the world goes quiet and I can tend to things that need to be done. Sometimes he dreams and according to the trainer, only predators dream because they feel safe when they’re sleeping. Sometimes I feel like napping, too because when the little whirling dervish of energy comes alive, I need to be fortified. Another thing the trainer explained to me is the role of the alpha male (or female in my case). He said that when puppies get too unruly, the alpha will simply turn away from them or even turn their back on them completely. Another trick they use is to yawn signifying that they’re bored with the behaviour. But after dealing with a puppy at play, I actually believe the alphas yawn because they’re just really tired!
The trainer used this expression about the dog and I see what he meant. While I tried to get a better handle of the expression by looking it up, I couldn’t really find a satisfactory explanation of its orgins, but because “baver” is the verb for drool and “ronds de chapeau” is the noun for hat brim, it makes sense that this would be a difficult thing to do – unless you’re standing upside down, which is what it feels like sometimes when training a pooch.
We human adults take so many things for granted. But when I now take Felix for his walks, I realize how many perils lurk outside. The streets are filled with trash, even in our pristine neighborhood. I really don’t know why it’s so hard to reach one’s arm out and throw something in the many trash bags that line the street. I remember once in New York when I was in the subway, I watched a woman drop her metro card on the ground. I called after her because I genuinely thought she dropped it by mistake, but she gave me a look to say “I don’t need it anymore.” My jaw sort of dropped unconsciously as I looked a foot past her where there was a trash can. She got the message, picked up the card and threw it away.
I watched a woman here the other day open up her packet of cigarettes as she crossed the street and just drop the plastic wrapping on the ground. That plastic wrapping is not only litter, but now a possible choking hazard for my dog. I’m constantly pulling wads of paper, cigarette butts, metro tickets, you name it, out of the dog’s mouth. He also loves leaves and pigeon feathers. I sometimes feel I’m walking a dustbuster.
As I’ve mentioned before, the French love their dogs, but apparently they don’t love cleaning up after them so much. This leaves another obstacle to navigate, which I was always cautious of before, but now I have the added concern of my dog’s open mouth ready to ingest anything he sees.
Felix is happy to have the attention of anyone, man, woman, child, fellow dog. Total strangers want to take his picture and hold him. Today while we were walking, a woman stopped to tell me how adorable he is. She went on to tell me about her dog that had died. When I asked if the dog was old, she explained that she had actually eaten something that killed her and started to cry. It broke my heart to see such profound sadness in her eyes. I told her she should get another dog to which she replied that she was too old. That broke my heart even more. She wished me all the best with Felix and I tried to take comfort in the fact that maybe for just a few moments he gave her some happiness, but her sadness lingers with me as I write this.
Just as it’s readily apparent when people love dogs, it’s equally so when they do not. I always wonder what goes through the minds of people who glare in disgust at my little innocent ball of fur. I wonder how unhappy they must be to look at something that makes most people’s heart melt with such contempt. What amuses me the most though is the expression on Felix’s face as they march past him as if to say “Wait, don’t you think I’m cute – what’s wrong with you?”
My dog is napping now – a time when the world goes quiet and I can tend to things that need to be done. Sometimes he dreams and according to the trainer, only predators dream because they feel safe when they’re sleeping. Sometimes I feel like napping, too because when the little whirling dervish of energy comes alive, I need to be fortified. Another thing the trainer explained to me is the role of the alpha male (or female in my case). He said that when puppies get too unruly, the alpha will simply turn away from them or even turn their back on them completely. Another trick they use is to yawn signifying that they’re bored with the behaviour. But after dealing with a puppy at play, I actually believe the alphas yawn because they’re just really tired!
Sep 1, 2010
Chien
n. dog
Chiot
n. – puppy
We did it. We broke down or “craque” as the French say and we bought a puppy. His name is Felix and he is just a little over two kilos of pure heaven. He is a blonde, miniature wire-haired dachshund. His name is Felix because this is the year of the F. As I explained in an earlier post, the French have a “rule” that a pet’s name corresponds with a letter of the alphabet. I use brackets because I’m not really sure how it could be enforced. My husband liked Winston, but in fact there is never a W year – I believe it stops at T and then resumes again at A based on the fact that U, V, W, Y, Y and Z names are less common. Anyway, we actually like the name Felix, which is why we went with that. His middle name is Winston.
Anyone who has a dog and even those who don’t, know the incredible amount of work a puppy is. While he’s cute enough to eat when resting, he can quickly turn into a mini spawn of Satan when insisting on chewing the furniture or eating the leaves of my ficus tree. Sometimes I think he believes his name is NO.
I use “no” since it’s fairly universal – “no” and “non” sound the same and it’s more the tone you use vs. the word itself. But I have to consider my key words carefully since not everyone is going to be speaking to him in English. Since I want him to be well behaved and well adjusted, we have invested in some training sessions for him. I have already learned far more than I thought I knew, having had pets as a child. The important thing is to think like a dog and not like a human.
I am the Alpha Male I keep telling myself. Well for now since my husband is away. I will be the Alpha Female when he gets back. There’s no question though that my schedule now revolves around the puppy’s. I just took a 15 minute nap on the floor since he’s sleeping in his bed. Unlike him, I don’t have the luxury of napping for three hours at a time during the day. So like a new mother, I am feeling the effects of sleep deprivation. And especially so because I am a big sleeper!
“Faire la grasse matinée” is an expression here that means literally “to make a fat morning” or to sleep in. “Une grosse merde” is another less polite way to put it. I’ll let you figure out the translation for that. I never thought I would see the day when I was actually thrilled to sleep in until 7am. I also never thought I would get so excited to see a poop on a sidewalk. You see Felix loves to walk outside only to come home and do his business in the apartment. While watching another dog pee outside the other day, my husband said Felix is thinking, “That’s so rude – I go in my apartment!”
It’s a process. The trainer told me not to coddle him since he already has a Napoleon complex. Well of course he does, the poor thing only comes up to my ankle! I like the trainer though very much and I trust him even if I feel like he’s training me too. He talks to me sort of the same way he talks to the dog. It’s ok though because I don’t have a Napoleon complex and I will do anything he says if it means my dog will be good and housebroken.
Everybody and I mean everybody will give you their opinion on raising a dog. When to walk him, how long to walk him, how often to walk him, when to feed him, how often, collar leash vs. harness leash, crate vs. bed, wee wee pads vs. none and so on and so on. But the beauty of it all is that you meet the nicest people and the French are especially dog friendly. There is an instant connection with fellow animal lovers. I just made a coffee date with a neighbor who owns a big Boarder Collie.
My in-laws are already treating Felix as their grandson with fur and I think we’ve inspired my brother-in-law and his girlfriend to get a puppy and upgrade from their guinea pig or “cochin dinde,” literally translated as pig from India. “Cobaye” is the word they use for a guinea pig in the experimental sense. I already made my first play on words since getting the dog. When our friend was over the other night, I asked “Qu’est ce que tu veux aboies?” instead of “Qe’est ce que tu veux a boire?” meaning what would you like to drink and substituting the verb for to drink with the verb for to bark. I was quite pleased with myself, although apparently from the reaction, it wasn’t one of my better repartees!
Well the little native is getting restless so time for our afternoon constitutional. We’ll see who we make friends with next. Woof.
Chiot
n. – puppy
We did it. We broke down or “craque” as the French say and we bought a puppy. His name is Felix and he is just a little over two kilos of pure heaven. He is a blonde, miniature wire-haired dachshund. His name is Felix because this is the year of the F. As I explained in an earlier post, the French have a “rule” that a pet’s name corresponds with a letter of the alphabet. I use brackets because I’m not really sure how it could be enforced. My husband liked Winston, but in fact there is never a W year – I believe it stops at T and then resumes again at A based on the fact that U, V, W, Y, Y and Z names are less common. Anyway, we actually like the name Felix, which is why we went with that. His middle name is Winston.
Anyone who has a dog and even those who don’t, know the incredible amount of work a puppy is. While he’s cute enough to eat when resting, he can quickly turn into a mini spawn of Satan when insisting on chewing the furniture or eating the leaves of my ficus tree. Sometimes I think he believes his name is NO.
I use “no” since it’s fairly universal – “no” and “non” sound the same and it’s more the tone you use vs. the word itself. But I have to consider my key words carefully since not everyone is going to be speaking to him in English. Since I want him to be well behaved and well adjusted, we have invested in some training sessions for him. I have already learned far more than I thought I knew, having had pets as a child. The important thing is to think like a dog and not like a human.
I am the Alpha Male I keep telling myself. Well for now since my husband is away. I will be the Alpha Female when he gets back. There’s no question though that my schedule now revolves around the puppy’s. I just took a 15 minute nap on the floor since he’s sleeping in his bed. Unlike him, I don’t have the luxury of napping for three hours at a time during the day. So like a new mother, I am feeling the effects of sleep deprivation. And especially so because I am a big sleeper!
“Faire la grasse matinée” is an expression here that means literally “to make a fat morning” or to sleep in. “Une grosse merde” is another less polite way to put it. I’ll let you figure out the translation for that. I never thought I would see the day when I was actually thrilled to sleep in until 7am. I also never thought I would get so excited to see a poop on a sidewalk. You see Felix loves to walk outside only to come home and do his business in the apartment. While watching another dog pee outside the other day, my husband said Felix is thinking, “That’s so rude – I go in my apartment!”
It’s a process. The trainer told me not to coddle him since he already has a Napoleon complex. Well of course he does, the poor thing only comes up to my ankle! I like the trainer though very much and I trust him even if I feel like he’s training me too. He talks to me sort of the same way he talks to the dog. It’s ok though because I don’t have a Napoleon complex and I will do anything he says if it means my dog will be good and housebroken.
Everybody and I mean everybody will give you their opinion on raising a dog. When to walk him, how long to walk him, how often to walk him, when to feed him, how often, collar leash vs. harness leash, crate vs. bed, wee wee pads vs. none and so on and so on. But the beauty of it all is that you meet the nicest people and the French are especially dog friendly. There is an instant connection with fellow animal lovers. I just made a coffee date with a neighbor who owns a big Boarder Collie.
My in-laws are already treating Felix as their grandson with fur and I think we’ve inspired my brother-in-law and his girlfriend to get a puppy and upgrade from their guinea pig or “cochin dinde,” literally translated as pig from India. “Cobaye” is the word they use for a guinea pig in the experimental sense. I already made my first play on words since getting the dog. When our friend was over the other night, I asked “Qu’est ce que tu veux aboies?” instead of “Qe’est ce que tu veux a boire?” meaning what would you like to drink and substituting the verb for to drink with the verb for to bark. I was quite pleased with myself, although apparently from the reaction, it wasn’t one of my better repartees!
Well the little native is getting restless so time for our afternoon constitutional. We’ll see who we make friends with next. Woof.
La rentrée
n. the return
It’s September 1 and also the first Wednesday of the month. This means that at noon, an alarm will go off – a left over from the air raids of World War II. I’m not sure if I find it comforting or distressing that they still feel the need to keep this system in check. It’s a bit like the boy who cried wolf or fire drills though because if there were really an emergency, nobody would pay attention just as they do now when it goes off.
The beginning of September also signals the “rentrée” or the return from vacation. It’s not to be confused with another word for return, which is “retour” because this is much bigger. It’s a mass exodus in reverse as Parisians swarm back into the city. Lights in apartments that have been dark all summer come back to life. The streets are no longer sleepy and tranquil, but bustling with activity, as cars are unpacked and homes are filled again.
It’s fascinating to me how a culture can all but shut down for an entire month. Fascinating and somewhat annoying for those of us who haven’t shuttered up our lives. It reminds me of that time in the afternoon in New York when all the cabbies go off duty. Can’t they stagger it? Do all three butchers within close walking distance have to close down at the same time?
For the next few weeks, everyone will ask how your “vacances” or vacation was. It’s sort of the equivalent of the first few weeks in January when everyone keeps wishing you a happy new year. If you haven’t taken a vacation, it’s best to just lie and say you had a great time, lest not be judged.
Last year, I actually liked the solitude of Paris in August. There’s no traffic, restaurants are easy to get into, parking places easy to find. This year however, I found it more desolate and inconvenient. But I suppose that’s because now I’m getting used to the pattern of life here and being in Paris in August isn’t the natural order of things. I suppose in some way, I did actually follow the pattern myself as I didn’t write anything in August. But I’m back along with the rest and can assure more to come…
It’s September 1 and also the first Wednesday of the month. This means that at noon, an alarm will go off – a left over from the air raids of World War II. I’m not sure if I find it comforting or distressing that they still feel the need to keep this system in check. It’s a bit like the boy who cried wolf or fire drills though because if there were really an emergency, nobody would pay attention just as they do now when it goes off.
The beginning of September also signals the “rentrée” or the return from vacation. It’s not to be confused with another word for return, which is “retour” because this is much bigger. It’s a mass exodus in reverse as Parisians swarm back into the city. Lights in apartments that have been dark all summer come back to life. The streets are no longer sleepy and tranquil, but bustling with activity, as cars are unpacked and homes are filled again.
It’s fascinating to me how a culture can all but shut down for an entire month. Fascinating and somewhat annoying for those of us who haven’t shuttered up our lives. It reminds me of that time in the afternoon in New York when all the cabbies go off duty. Can’t they stagger it? Do all three butchers within close walking distance have to close down at the same time?
For the next few weeks, everyone will ask how your “vacances” or vacation was. It’s sort of the equivalent of the first few weeks in January when everyone keeps wishing you a happy new year. If you haven’t taken a vacation, it’s best to just lie and say you had a great time, lest not be judged.
Last year, I actually liked the solitude of Paris in August. There’s no traffic, restaurants are easy to get into, parking places easy to find. This year however, I found it more desolate and inconvenient. But I suppose that’s because now I’m getting used to the pattern of life here and being in Paris in August isn’t the natural order of things. I suppose in some way, I did actually follow the pattern myself as I didn’t write anything in August. But I’m back along with the rest and can assure more to come…
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