[glencorgi]

For himself, Dunbar has almost given up on the megamedia, though he
says he could name 20 excellent and attractive trainers who could
make a show fly. He's got other ideas. One groups experts from many
fields -- a psychologist, a puppy trainer, a hostage negotiator and a
grandmother with the wisdom of life experience -- who would be
presented with a problem such as a husband who won't come home from
the bar after work. Each expert would devise a plan and the favorite
would be implemented on the show.

"All training is negotiation," Dunbar says, "whether you're training
dogs or spouses." Indeed, a recent article in the New York Times
titled "What Shamu Taught Me About a Happy Marriage" hit a nerve when
the author, Amy Sutherland, who writes on exotic animal training,
admitted using training techniques on her partner. Dunbar agrees with
Sutherland's premise that training is training is training. "You can
instill fear in your kids and get them to mind, but they won't
function better in the world and your relationship will suffer
greatly," he adds.

"Problems that need correcting are the thin end of the wedge," he
says, "with dogs and people." It doesn't take much, he claims. A
smile, a kind word. "You don't have to give M&M's all the time.
People -- and dogs -- are dying to be trained."

Dunbar has a 23-year-old son, Jamie, a wooden dory river guide, with
his first wife, Mimi, and says his family configuration is "very
Berkeley" -- both his current wife (and former dog-sitter), Kelly
Gorman, and his ex-wife are on friendly terms. Gorman, also a trainer
and a founder of Open Paw, an international humane animal education
program for pet owners and shelters, has done a good job of training
him, he reports. Currently in the midst of giving up his much-loved
cigars, Dunbar muses that Gorman is actually the better trainer of
the pair. Two of the couple's three dogs are hers: Dune, an American
bulldog, and Ollie, a rescue from Chicago Heights Humane Society. The
third, Claude, a 110-pound rottweiler-coon-hound mix from the SFSPCA,
is what Dunbar calls a "special needs" case. "We train him one day,
and the next day we start over again. He's more than not bright."

Despite a lack of publicity, Dunbar's recent talk on dog aggression
at a local bookstore brought out a full house of fans, many with pen
and paper at the ready. With little sign of any training controversy,
there is, however, evidence of Dunbar's status as local cult leader
by the standing-room-only crowd. During his hourlong lecture, Dunbar
explained the physiology of dog aggression in a way that showcased
his British humor. He easily charmed the audience with jokes and
witticisms; his dog impersonations, including a rear view,
full-bottom wiggle, kept the audience enthralled and grinning. Though
every move he made was carefully watched and met with nods of
knowingness, at times he looked a tad silly. He giggled, he gushed
and he panted. Having just returned from Tokyo, he contorted his face
in an impersonation of a Japanese dachshund. Could an American TV
audience have embraced this kind of goofiness?

At the end of the hour, Dunbar had to leave to get ready for yet
another seminar, this time in the Midwest, one of the few left to
which he has committed. With 850 full-day seminars behind him, Dunbar
is winding down touring. He's considering living in southern France
or traveling for pleasure, one of his passions. He's passing his
baton to others who will no doubt continue the struggle over
dog-training particulars. But without Dunbar's engagements to drive
the sales of his training guides and videos, it's easy to imagine
that flashier, more commercial materials will easily eat up his
market. Whether those will reflect his ideas -- or Millan's -- it's
hard to say.

At least half the audience still has questions for the expert, but
despite raised hands, Dunbar uses the last minute to reiterate his
training philosophy. "We need to thank our dogs for being good," he
says, launching into a wrap-up more spiritual than practical. "Every
morning I give thanks for waking up -- the alternative is not so
good. Too often, we forget to be thankful." Clearly, he's from
Berkeley, not Hollywood.