WAG THE DOG

I WALKED into a video rental store yesterday – serious; these outlets still do exist; and could not help but pick up a copy of Robert De Niro’s Wag The Dog.

Nothing to do with some sniffy curiosity state of mind – just that I still could not quell away the canine capers of the past week.

You must have heard all the bawlin’ and the howlin’ that was directed at one individual’s effort to chip away at the canine barrier between man and dog.

The name of 30-year-old Syed Azmi Alhabshi will now reside in doggie longevity for his good intentions; but bad execution. He had intended for the Malay community to shed their inhibitions when confronted by dogs; but opted for the vast open space of Central Park in Shah Alam to set the scene for the occasion.

In the event, the wide expanse would have served as a possible venue for his own public lynching from some frenzied mob.

Response to his misguided venture was no doubt loud, but it was amplified when tweets and comments in social media was picked up by broadsheet buglers and transmitted further by tabloid tattle.

Their abhorrence for the venture was turbo-boosted by the clerical clout of muftis and religious figureheads. It got into toxic territory when right-wing groups took to their soap box with flailing arms and motor mouths demanding Syed Azmi's head!

I have a good mind to feature a blank bubble in the next instalment of Snoopy to see what the four-legged Spaniel thinks of all the human hair-tearing.

What should he have done?

I for one would like to remove the fear of dogs; amongst Malays!

The majority of Malays as a race, shudder at the sight of a Doberman dashing in their direction. They feel queasy at the sight of the Queen of England having a gaggle of Corgis sniffing at her ankles on some Royal Walkabout.

One of my favourite television pastime is to watch the efforts of Cesar Millan and Barbara Woodhouse.

It is by watching their method of handling dogs that is my biggest takeaway from watching their master classes.

OK, I am not so naive think that the 30-minute slots are not without a huge dollop of stage-management. Even the blood shed by Cesar (this must be the most appropriate name for a dog handler) when a nippy beagle sank its fangs into his right wrist looked a little too richly red for me.

In all man-monster encounters though, the message I learnt is clear – man must show he is master in such confrontations.

I have since put this theory to the test and have been able to go about jogging in my neighbourhood unmolested – by the pack of strays that appear to proliferate in many parts of our urban residential areas in the city.

Having settled into a moderate gait and listening to the saxophone blast of Gerry Rafferty’s Baker Street, I noticed a mangy mutt making a spirited dash towards me from a side lane.

The normal reaction is to run – nay try to outrun the animal; but that would be useless as man was never made to outrun animal; even if your IC bears the name Bolt!

So all the tips I consumed from endlessly watching Dog Training by Barbara Woodhouse on the BBC came flooding back.

Firstly; Stand Your Ground!

Then; Show you have no fear.

Followed by; Verbalising

Hopefully; You have made a friend, so run with the dog.

That was exactly what happened. I stopped in my tracks (rather than run away from my pursuer); stretched out my hands (a sign of welcome rather than fear) ; and shouted STOOOP!!! (which tells the animal who is boss).

It worked!

The on-rushing dog stopped, barked madly but did me no harm.

From then on, I approached the dog, stretched out an arm in friendly gesture (I must add, not actually resulting in physical contact ...I do not want to suffer a similar fate with Syed Nasir) and called out to it...here Spotty; here Spotty (which was the doggie name that immediately came to mind as it had four brownish spots on its tummy).

From then on, my weekend 5km runs always has Spotty as my canine companion - bodyguard?