Why I'm Obsessed With 'Dog Whisperer'

I went to see 'Cesar Millan Live.' Usually when a television writer tells you they went to a television-related event, what they mean is that a publicity contact provided them with tickets, an interview or a backstage pass. I went to see 'Cesar Millan Live,' but I bought the tickets myself.
I admit it, I love 'Dog Whisperer.' Still, when the commercials on the National Geographic Channel started running with Cesar's gleaming white smile telling me to stay calm and assertive, as he was on his way, I didn't give it much thought. But (proving that ads do work) it slowly seeped into my consciousness. What, I wondered, would Cesar do on a live stage that he couldn't do better in a taped environment? How many people would really go to an arena to see him? And finally, the thought that broke me: I wondered who on Earth would be in the audience. My curiosity to see who else would go to such a thing had me buying tickets for his Ottawa, Ontario show last week.
The two-hour drive to the Canadian capital was easy and uneventful. The first clue that I had underestimated Cesar's appeal came when we turned off the highway towards Scotiabank Place, and found ourselves in a traffic snarl that lasted half an hour. It seemed as busy as an Ottawa Senators game. An usher told me the show was sold out -- about 7,000 people came to see the Dog Whisperer speak.
The audience was made up mostly of families, and it struck me that 'Dog Whisperer' is really a very family-friendly show. It preaches self-confidence and patience as essential virtues, encouraging good morals and plenty of exercise. The crowd around us responded to Cesar's talk verbally, exclaiming that the dog he was describing was "just like Sadie" or admitting ruefully "I do that" when Cesar made fun of people who get their dogs all wound up for dinner. In this post-Oprah age, they showed their agreement by clapping. "Puppy mills are bad." Applause. "Adopt from a rescue." Applause. "Cats are spooky." Applause.
I had a great time, once I got over my vague embarrassment that I was there at all, but there wasn't much, content-wise, that I hadn't heard before. Did I say I love 'Dog Whisperer'? Let me be clear: I have an almost endless appetite for the show. I will watch five, six or more episodes back-to-back on a weekend afternoon. I will sit and watch an episode I saw the week before -- or even earlier that same day -- if the mood strikes me. I don't think there's much you could program against the show that would get me to change the channel. This is not the sort of thing I like to admit. I'm supposed to be a sophisticated TV critic, spending my time watching HBO, AMC and PBS. I love 'Dog Whisperer', but I know it's not the most thoughtful show. It's got the sensibility of a Disney production, with about as much plot variation as 'House': Dog is bad, Cesar comes, dog is good.
But I have an excuse. I have a dog. And I think about my dog all the time. Probably more than I should -- my beloved would definitely suggest my curiosity about "what she's thinking" could be verging on the pathological side. Mostly, my dog is a good dog, but every now and again she does something that worries me -- growling at another dog who tries to share her water at the park, peeing every time my deep-voiced friend says her name, or pacing obsessively around guests. 'Dog Whisperer' is the only place I can see people as consumed by these trifling events as I am. Not only that, a genuine expert is taking them seriously.
And isn't that what specialty channels are all about? Giving the obsessed a small corner of the TV-scape where they can feel normal? Those who love cooking (and eating) have The Food Network. Those who love weddings have all those wedding shows. And those who love renovating have the home decor shows (OK, this metaphor is not working. No one loves renovating, do they?).
At least, that's what I thought. Then at the end of the live show as the lights came up, I turned to the teen boy and his father who sat next to me and asked them what kind of dog they have (hoping, of course, to get the chance to show them pictures of mine on my phone).
"Oh, we don't have a dog," the kid told me. Now that's what I call obsessed.

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