Biology Reference
In-Depth Information
Canadian Kevin George is a conjurer, a dog trainer, a people trainer. Before he was a mas-
ter dog trainer, before he tried his hand training an elephant and a bear, before he was a cop,
before he was a rodeo clown or a shiatsu massage expert, Kevin was a kid who loved ma-
gic, who loved learning how to make his fingers furl and then unfurl like birds set free, who
plucked coins from behind ears. That love of magic stuck around, through decades of train-
ing dogs to bite bad guys, to search for drugs, to track lost children and criminals, to find
them alive and sometimes dead.
Every solution in foundation training stems from a unique problem. Back in 1978, Kevin
had a patrol dog who didn't want to search properly. It was all a big yawn to the German shep-
herd. Kevin wondered whether he could use magic to motivate his dog. He wanted to teach
the dog to search with enthusiasm, to quarter back and forth properly, to cover the search
area thoroughly. To be interested instead of cynical. To stick his head in confined spaces. It
was a tall order. Kevin filled that order with magic cardboard boxes.
Since I was Solo-less at a dog seminar in Seattle, I was tapped to be Kevin's magician's as-
sistant for his show, “Box Magic.” Kevin practices the purest kind of magic: the art of misdir-
ection and the craft of sleight of hand. He teaches people to teach their own dogs. A trainer's
job is to try to train the handler, and the handler's job to motivate the dog. But the handler
has to be motivated in order to motivate the dog. “Any fool can take a great dog and make it
greater,” Kevin said.
To train people to motivate their dogs, he gets them started thinking inside the box. It
was hot that fall day in Seattle. Kevin sat in the minimal shade, and I followed his orders. I
knew I wasn't going to be sawed in half or have knives thrown at me. All that was needed
for Kevin's magic show were some dogs and handlers and five cardboard boxes in a parallel
line on a lawn, three or four feet apart. I looked inside them. I felt around. They were empty.
There wasn't a scent source in any of them.
As the magician's assistant, I probably shouldn't betray the magician's secret, but Kevin did
give permission. My job as magician's assistant, after putting out the boxes, was to stand there
holding dogs, expressionless as a butler. Every single dog—from the blind English spaniel to
the squat guy who looked like a puggle (a designer-dog cross between a pug and a beagle)
to the pretty little Chesapeake Bay retriever named Truffle—became gullible marks in Kevin
George's game of five-box monte.
Kevin, a short, humorous, white-haired, generously proportioned pasha, directed the
handlers to make fools of themselves. “If you can't act like a crazy person, you will not be a
good dog trainer. Don't be scared to do things that make you interesting to the dog,” Kevin
told them.
I held the first dog, and the handler started acting insane. She played the role of the monte
scammer. She shook the dog's favorite toy in front of his nose. She then ran away, screaming,
