Published in The Post-Star (D1)
10/01 /06
There's a thin line between crazy and gifted, and it looks a lot like the scars criss-crossing Dan Rossignol's arms and hands.
"I earned each one. Each one gave me a higher alpha status," he explained.
In the same nonchalant voice, thick with the unhurried vowels of northern Maine, he told a tale of climbing into a cage no wider than his shoulders with a massive stray dog that was recently trapped.
"Boy, did he give me the three-minute warning," he said, demonstrating the sideways, slit-eyed glare of a dog debating whether to attack. "I had to work quick."
His uncanny self-confidence is based in a simple belief.
"I like to think God has given me a gift," he said. "I can get inside most dog's minds."
Rossignol is a former fast food executive-turned-dog trainer who specializes in dealing with biting dogs and other tough canine cases, advertising his formula as "love + persistence = success."
Often, he's the pet-owner's version of "Supernanny," helping humans re-establish authority in households where they have allowed their dogs to rule.
"You guys have to put yourselves in the alpha position," he told a recent pair of clients, Richard and Carol Kenny of Lake George. They called Rossignol because their 9-month-old German shepherd, Dugan, wasn't obeying them.
"He's a good dog, but he thinks our hands are chew toys, and he doesn't listen to commands," Richard said.
Obedience is especially important to them, he explained, because their last dog survived a fall through the ice by responding to a call to "come."
Rossignol began the lesson by walking Dugan around the yard on a short leash, teaching him to heel -- or, as he says it, "fooz," using the German word (spelled "Fuss") for foot.
He later explained that he always uses German commands because the hard consonant endings "penetrate their ears more."
"Sitz," he told Dugan, using the word for "sit."
Apparently, the German shepherd was an English speaker. Dugan remained standing, his head cocked in curiosity.
"I don't say it tough enough? You see me as a wimp?" Rossignol asked the dog, laughing. Then he grew serious and barked out the command again:
"SITZ!"
Dugan sat.
Later in the lesson, Rossignol recommended putting Dugan in a crate sometimes during his owners' absence or at night.
"A crate gives him a place to defuse and really rest," he said, explaining that most dogs are relieved when they're taken out of the "alpha" position in a household.
"It's all about establishing control," he said. "As soon as you do that, the dog's gonna be calmer, because they feel there's someone sharing the responsibility. They don't have to be guarding all the time."
Later, the Kennys said Dugan was doing much better.
"He's still a puppy, but when we give him the commands, he listens right up," Carol said. "It's not a miracle overnight, it's a work in progress, but it's helped us a lot."
Dog whisperer?
It's impossible not to compare Rossignol -- with his neatly groomed silver hair and mustache, slightly foreign accent, and knack for canine impersonation -- to celebrity trainer Cesar Millan, star of cable television's "The Dog Whisperer." Rossignol said he's a fan of the show, and falls asleep watching it some nights.
"I like Cesar because he brought sensibility back into dog training," he said. "And when his show came out, my business doubled!"
Rossignol got into the dog business in 1988, after many years of running McDonald's franchises with his wife, Dolores. He was looking for a new challenge when he responded to an ad for a handler to work with police dog trainer Judy Sherman in Westfield, Mass.
She scoffed at his lack of experience, but he passed her test, which involved wearing a thick leather sleeve and an angry Rottweiler on his arm for several minutes. And he was willing to work for free.
Four years later, Rossignol was ready to start his own business, Ausdauer Dog Training. He makes house calls all over northeastern New York and western Massachusetts, sometimes bringing the toughest cases back to his home for a few weeks of intensive training.
Last month, he traveled farther than usual after a surprising phone call.
"I need you," the female voice said, introducing herself as Katherine Glanker.
"I said OK, where do you live?" he remembered. "She said, 'Memphis.'"
The next few days were like one of the episodes of "The Dog Whisperer" that feature wealthy celebrity clients. Katherine is a successful hotel executive whose husband, Frank, made his fortune as Elvis Presley's lawyer.
"Elvis wasn't really a pure kid," Rossignol reflected later. "There were many times when Frank would have to get him out of trouble."
In this case, Frank and Katherine were in trouble. They had recently taken in a young female Labrador retriever and their older dog -- also a female Lab -- had greeted the newcomer with alarming viciousness. Desperate for help, they discovered Rossignol on the Internet.
"Can you be here tomorrow?" Katherine asked. She bought his plane ticket and sent a driver to pick him up at the airport.
"We drove down this road, and there's a big fence for a couple of blocks, I figured it was a park or something," Rossignol said. "Turns out, it's their yard!"
He spent the next two days at the Glanklers' mansion, achieving a fragile peace between the dogs by the end.
"The older one was definitely not accepting any competition as the alpha female," he said. "If I had to do it all over again, I'd bring her here, teach her some manners from my dogs. There's only so much you can do in 48 hours."
Katherine eventually decided it would be best to find another home for the younger dog, but sent Dan a letter of praise.
"I don't see it as something that didn't work out, but something that ended like it was supposed to," she wrote.
"I have never been been treated so well in all my life," Rossignol said of his Memphis trip. "They were just beautiful people."
Back to business
Most of Rossignol's clients aren't wealthy socialites -- sometimes, they can't pay at all. He takes one free case a month from animal shelters, usually "a biter" that would be unadoptable without training.
"I am the only trainer in this area who takes biting dogs, but I tell you what, it's worth it," he said. "About 99 percent of them can be turned around."
Sometimes, the problem is as simple as leash-training and can be resolved quickly. Cases like that have more to do with the owner than the pet, Rossignol said.
"I'd say about 70 percent of what I train is humans, and 30 percent dogs."
On a recent weekday afternoon, he made a first-time visit to the Hudson Falls home of Angela Fagan, owner of a 2-year-old Staffordshire terrier named Gunner.
"He's the best dog I could ever ask for, he's not aggressive at all, but he just doesn't listen to me sometimes," she explained. "But I'm told I baby him, so maybe I'm part of the problem."
Rossignol took Gunner for several walks up and down the street, keeping the dog on his right on a fairly short leash. With every turn, he angled his body toward the dog, showing dominance.
Then he coached Fagan as she tried it.
"See -- now you're the alpha leader! You hot shot!" he told her. "Don't look at him. Nose up in the air like you own the whole world. Relax, 'cause you're the boss."
After about 20 minutes, Rossignol decided the lesson was over.
"Look at him," he said, gesturing at Gunner. "He's had enough. He needs a break."
The next day, Fagan said she was impressed.
"When Dan left, I was apprehensive that what he was teaching wasn't going to stick after such a short time," she said. "But I can definitely see a difference today."
There's only one breed that Rossignol said he still hasn't figured out -- chows.
"They think more like," he paused, his face registering distaste at the next word, "cats."
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To read more about Dan Rossignol's dog-training business, visit www.dantrainsdogs.com
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