Lack of professionalism is one of my pet peeves.  So is a complete disregard for time.  Add those to a complete and utter lack of common courtesy and consideration for other people, and what you’ve got is a very disgruntled Dorothy.  In all actuality, though, I’m not even sure that term covers it.  I’m still in a state of shock.

Most of you already know that I had an awful time trying to find a trainer for Dixie once the PetSmart classes didn’t work out.  In mid-February, I found one and emailed her.  There was no response.  I called and left a message.  Still nothing.  After several attempts, I finally got her on the phone and set up an appointment. I thought everything was fine.

It wasn’t.  The next day, she called back and announced that she just didn’t have the time to handle another client.  But to her credit, she handled the situation so I wouldn’t be left in the lurch.  She called her business partner and made arrangements for her to tend to Dixie’s training instead.  I really didn’t  care as long as we got the help we needed, so I was good with that.

That didn’t work out either.  The woman was supposed to call me the next day, but never did.  Fortunately, the first trainer got wind of the situation and emailed me - not only with a hundred apologies, but several other referrals.  [It seems that her partner was going through a rough patch and just couldn't see her way fit to handle another client either.]  So, armed with the list, I checked each website until I found what I thought would be a good match.  The private class curriculum was exactly was I was looking for - and best of all, she was only 40 minutes away.

I waited until noon on Sunday to give the woman a call.  Her husband picked up the phone instead, and announced that she was still in bed.  [Okay…so he's a good husband who knows the benefit of letting his wife sleep in.  There's nothing wrong with that.]  He took my name and number, and promised that she’d give me a call that afternoon.  She didn’t. 

I gave it three days, called back, and got her husband on the phone again.  Only this time, I was at least able to speak with her.  She went on and on about how she couldn’t possibly see us until the end of March.  Her son was coming in and she wanted to visit with him.  At that point, I should’ve just called it quits and found another solution - the woman was obviously out of her mind if she thought I was going to give Dixie six more weeks to tear up the house - but I didn’t.  Instead, I played my trump card.  I told her how our new dog had chewed through a cigarette lighter and damned near blown up the house.  I waited.  There was a pregnant pause.  And after a couple of heartbeats, she agreed to see us on Friday, March 6^th.

The day finally came and we got there early.  There was another client ahead of us, so we waited in the car.  Not just for a few minutes, mind you, but for nearly an hour past our scheduled time.  If I said I wasn’t aggravated, I’d be lying.  But when we finally got into our first lesson, all that annoyance disappeared.  Dixie actually did make some progress that evening, and I managed to convince myself that the wait was worthwhile.  So at the end of the lesson, we scheduled her next appointment for two weeks later - an  appointment that was for last Friday at 12:30p.m.

During the time since the last lesson, Dixie really did learn some things.  She learned to lie down on command, and she pretty much got the “leave it” and “drop it” commands down as well.  That was all good stuff.  But what I really needed her to learn as well was to walk politely on the leash  since I have a bad back, and get into her crate without a bunch of trouble.  [When she weighed only 50 pounds, I could just pick her up and put her in.  But once she got bigger, I simply couldn't manage that.  Instead, I was having to take her with me on errand runs - and I knew that it would eventually be too hot for her to stay in the car.]

But I digress.  Last Saturday was “Girls Day Out” - a monthly date I keep with my dear friends Z [who's also my personal assistant] and Michelle [who owns Pets on the Potomac, the doggie spa where Dixie stays if Mark and I are out of town].  So, both women arrive at the house, and it wasn’t long before I was bemoaning the fact that I couldn’t get Dixie in her crate.  Michelle gives me a funny look and announces that it’s because I’m “too nice.”  And while I’m nearly doubled over with laughter at the remark - honestly, Folks…I’ve been called a lot of things in my lifetime, but “too nice” has never been one of them - she grabs Dixie by the collar, leads her toward the crate and says, “kennel up.”  And Dixie, my horribly stubborn dog who HATES authority, doesn’t give her any static.  She just wags her tail, gets in the crate and lies down.

What’s up with that?!

I couldn’t believe my eyes.  In fact, I had to try it a few times myself to make sure it wasn’t a fluke.  After all the trouble she’d given me.  After all the drama.   After all the guilt.  Hell…after having to actually take her with me to doctor’s appointments and all kinds of other places she  had no business going.  After giving up my freedom to leave the house alone because Dixie couldn’t be left to her own devices without fear of absolute destruction.  And all it took to get my life back was a firm “kennel up?!”

Mother of God!  I was thrilled beyond belief.  Five seconds was all it took to solve a problem that I - along with two other trainers - had been trying to fix for over two months.  I simply couldn’t get over it.  At that point, I knew one thing for sure:  Michelle was the person who needed to train Dixie.  She’d offered to work with her a little - yeah…I’ve got great friends! - but between running her own business and all the other stuff going on in her life, I just didn’t know if she’d really have the time.  [The last thing I wanted to do was impose upon her.]

So…last Friday, Dixie and I kept our 12:30 appointment with the trainer.  We drove the forty minutes and got there five minutes early.  We waited.   And waited.  And waited some more.  And finally…at five minutes to one…a man comes strolling down the hill toward us.  He introduces himself as the trainer’s son, says his mother had an emergency and completely forgot about our appointment.  That she’ll give me a call later and, of course, be happy to give us a free session.

I’m not holding my breath - and she’d best not, either.  The fact of the matter is that life happens.  It’s a given.  And anyone can have an emergency.  But responsible and considerate folks call and reschedule.  They send you an email of explanation.  At worst, they have someone else do it for them or leave a note on the door for you.  But she did none of those things.  And even worse, I realized that she was there all the time.  Yep…when I drove out of the training center, both her vehicle and her husband’s were sitting in their driveway.

So what’s the deal?  I’ll tell you what:  It’s entitlement issues at play.  It’s not that folks don’t know any better.  It’s not that their mothers didn’t teach them any manners.  It’s that they mistake empowerment for entitlement.  And as such, they not only think they’re entitled to treat others any way they please, but that those they treat poorly have no choice but to put up with it.

The fact of the matter is that no one’s entitled to anything they did not earn.  And I can promise you that even though the woman in question can choose to act anyway she wants, she will never - no matter what she does in this life - earn the right to treat others rudely, especially not those who are paying two dollars a minute for her time.  Moreover, I don’t have to put up with it.  And I won’t.  [Yep…this time she's screwed with the wrong person.]

After mulling it over a bit, I think the trainer needs some training.  And depending upon how I feel when I wake up tomorrow, I may just enroll her in the “Dorothy Morrison Program.”  Wonder how she’ll feel about that?!