Lately, the television at Mom’s house has been set most often to the National Geographic channel. As a result, I’ve got to see quite a few episodes of The Dog Whisperer.
I’ve developed a little crush on Cesar Millan.
If you’ve never seen the show (and I’d not until recently; we don’t get NatGeo at Chez Chili), the upshot of the concept is that people who have unmanageable canines call this man as a last resort. Their dogs are aggressive, they pose a threat to neighbors and children, they restrict their owners’ ability to have visitors in their home or to take the dogs out for walks. People get to the end of their proverbial ropes and they call in the Dog Whisperer.
In walks this man. He’s calm. He’s assertive. He’s observant and no-nonsense. He’s got a great sense of humor and he’s cute, to boot.
His tag line is that he rehabilitates dogs, but trains people. Within minutes, he’s got the crazed, seemingly possessed dogs settled and calm and submissive, and the owners are sitting there with their jaws in their laps amazed at the immediacy of the change. The confidence that this man exudes, even when he’s faced with snarling teeth, is quite attractive.
Not to mention that he’s cute.