The `Dog Whisperer' has a gift with canines -- and humans
By Matthew Gilbert, Globe Staff | July 26, 2006 By day, Cesar Millan is a mild-mannered fellow with a Mexican accent, a trim goatee, a bright smile, and graying hair. But by night, the star of ``Dog Whisperer" dons his alpha cape, swoops into the homes of distressed dogs, and heals them with a single `` shh." ``No dog is too much for me to handle," he announces at the start of every episode. ``I rehabilitate dogs, I train people. I am the dog whisperer." On the National Geographic Channel series, Millan is inflated into nothing less than a superhero who can soothe the yappiest of Yorkies and the snappiest of beagles just by vibing them out. Like Superman with a leash in his hand, he is shown bringing peace to the vast Dog Nation of Los Angeles. Millan is also exalted for bringing good things to the National Geographic Channel, now on the map thanks to his popularity. Starting this Sunday at 9 p.m., the channel bows to Cesar with ``Dog Whisperer Week," six nights of episodes that include three new hours. But what is so enjoyable about ``Dog Whisperer" is not Millan's glorified image, which has also been hyped by his Hollywood connections (Oprah alert) and his best-selling book, ``Cesar's Way." When you put the buzz out of your mind, Millan is just a human-scale guy who has found an earthy style of manifesting power that works remarkably well. The power he emanates toward dogs on ``Dog Whisperer" requires no magical ``whispering" ability and no esoteric secrets. As vignette after vignette reveals, we all have an alpha cape somewhere in our closets. And that message of empowerment makes for addictive viewing. Again and again on the show, Millan instructs owners to establish themselves as the leader of the pack by projecting ``calm assertive energy" toward their dogs. Interestingly, when Millan projects his own energy with dogs, it's an almost - invisible shift. Nothing obvious happens to his affect, except an occasional shoosh when a dog defies him. He appears to believe in his leadership so strongly that he doesn't need to exhibit it. He's not suppressing his intensity, though; he is conducting it through his every pore. And his quiet is awesome. So often, both with dogs and people, we yell and scream to establish dominance over them. But in those cases we're coming from positions of powerlessness, compensating with noise and bluster. Millan gives us a portrait of true confidence, and it's low-pitched and modest -- almost sedate. ``You can say as much as you want," he warns the overwhelmed owners of fighting Yorkies on Monday at 9, ``but they're picking up what is . . . inside of you." The dramas on ``Dog Whisperer" also find Millan deploying his calm assertive energy toward the owners. In conversations, he untangles the dysfunction between the anxious dogs and their concerned owners, then reminds the owners of their own role in the problem. Over and over, he tells them that their dogs want to be led. Certainly some dogs cannot be helped, but in so many cases -- the ones that make it onto the show -- the owner has more control than he or she realized. If ``Dog Whisperer" is a study in power, it's in natural power. Millan has said that he had no formal training, and that he learned his approach on his grandfather' s farm in Mexico. The simplicity of his methods almost attest to that. But he has been criticized by training experts who are wary of his occasional use of physical reprimands or his distaste for those who treat their dogs like children. During every episode of the show, National Geographic reminds viewers that it's not recommending we try Millan's methods at home. During one of the new episodes, one owner uses Millan's ``shh," and Millan steers him away from directly copying him. ``Everybody has his own sound," he says. That criticism is bound to grow as Millan tours the country filming
segments for the third season of ``Dog Whisperer," which begins in |