Chapter Fourteen: Overwhelmed by Pressure

Chen Na’s reaction was entirely within Zhang Congwen’s expectations. People like her were never willing to admit that their own dog might have a problem—especially when it came to biting. Even if her dog bit someone right in front of her, she would still assure others, “My dog doesn’t bite,” when introducing it.

It was much like certain parents who have raised unruly children: even if their own child causes trouble, in front of outsiders they will insist, “My child is very well-behaved,” rarely acknowledging any failing in their own upbringing.

“For the sake of your family, and to prevent another incident like your daughter being bitten, it’s best that you follow my advice,” Zhang Congwen said this time, offering no explanation.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t provide a sound reason—on the contrary, he felt that doing so would only backfire. The explanation itself was simple: it all came down to the nature of dogs.

A dog is an animal, not a person. This wasn’t an insult, but a statement of fact. Pointing at a person and calling them a dog is an insult; pointing at a dog and calling it a dog is simply stating the obvious.

Because dogs are not human, they cannot comprehend human social norms. What they do understand are the social structures of their own kind, where rank and hierarchy matter. To a dog, vulnerable groups such as children and the elderly are either of lower rank than itself, or higher but open to challenge.

That’s why, when children or the elderly are left alone with a dog, biting incidents can easily occur. Maybe it won’t happen the first time, or the second, but who can say what will happen next time? Even human hearts are separated by a layer of flesh—how much more so the gulf between a person and a dog.

Of course, such incidents aren’t inevitable, but the risk undeniably exists. Especially with a dog that has already bitten someone—the likelihood only increases. Where there is a safety hazard, it must naturally be addressed.

But such words could never be spoken to someone like Chen Na. She didn’t have a proper understanding of dog ownership; saying these things would only antagonize her.

Zhang Congwen could already imagine how she would retort if he did try to explain: “Dogs are man’s loyal friends. I trust my dog more than people. I know my own dog best. My dog is practically human.” These sorts of sentiments were all too common among dog owners—and some even believed them wholeheartedly. Especially since Chen Na treated her Alaskan Malamute like her own son, she would never accept the notion that a dog is merely an animal. Even if she understood this deep down, she couldn’t help but put the dog on the same level as a person.

Instinctively, Chen Na felt resistant. She truly didn’t want to accept that her dog might bite. But remembering what Song Jiawei had told her—that Zhang Congwen was the most skilled dog trainer from the so-called “mythical” company—and thinking of her own daughter’s experience, she reluctantly agreed.

“Let’s begin the training, then,” Zhang Congwen said, exhaling as if preparing himself for a daunting task.

“In my observation, Andy’s problem isn’t a major one,” Zhang Congwen concluded. “The issue lies with you.”

The first part was fine, but as soon as he finished the second, Chen Na immediately demanded, “What do you mean? How can the problem be with me? I want you to explain exactly what I’ve done wrong.”

Just as Zhang Congwen expected, Chen Na was unwilling to admit fault.

This time, Zhang Congwen didn’t ask for Song Jiawei’s help. He addressed Chen Na sincerely: “Since you’re willing to hire a trainer for Andy, it shows you care about him and want him to improve. If nothing else, on that point alone you’re at least a competent and responsible owner, so I hope you’ll hear me out patiently.”

To his surprise, these words worked wonders, and Chen Na fell silent. It wasn’t that she was moved by what he’d said, but rather that his words accidentally mirrored Song Jiawei’s approach.

Originally, Chen Na hadn’t wanted to hire a trainer for her “dog son.” It was Wang Duoxian, her husband’s friend, who had arranged it after hearing her daughter had been bitten. Out of courtesy, she hadn’t refused. But after hearing Zhang Congwen’s words, her vanity was greatly satisfied.

Any harsh words she’d considered saying were now difficult to voice. She could only say a touch awkwardly, “Alright, tell me—what’s the problem?”

Zhang Congwen organized his thoughts and said, “Andy himself is a good dog, fairly stable in temperament. But the relationship between you and Andy is not quite right.”

“What do you mean?” Chen Na’s expression darkened instantly.

Zhang Congwen asked, “Can you describe the difference between Andy at home and Andy outside?”

After a moment’s thought, Chen Na replied, “Andy is energetic when we’re out—he won’t listen to me, and he never wants to come home. But at home, he’s very well-behaved: quiet, calm, never makes trouble.”

Clearly, she saw nothing wrong with this.

For a normal dog, even if it expends most of its energy on daily walks, it shouldn’t behave like this Alaskan Malamute. At home, the dog seemed completely spiritless, almost as if it were ill—far too quiet.

Zhang Congwen glanced at the Alaskan by Chen Na’s side as she fussed over it, then continued, “When you’re home, does Andy ever run around or play?”

Chen Na shook her head. “Except when I’m busy, I always keep him by my side. Andy is very obedient—he doesn’t mess around at home. Why are you asking this?” Her impatience began to show again.

Seeing that she considered the dog’s unusual home behavior a virtue, Zhang Congwen could only feel helpless.

“Now, do as I say: use your leg to push Andy away from you,” he instructed.

Chen Na hesitated for a moment but didn’t refuse. She nudged the Alaskan away with her leg.

“And then?” she asked.

Zhang Congwen frowned as he watched the Alaskan. He noticed that, after being pushed away, the dog seemed stunned, staring at its owner in confusion. When she didn’t respond, it circled in place, still gazing at her in bewilderment.

A normal dog might be briefly puzzled in such a situation, but that would soon pass. It would either try to return to its owner or find something else to do. It wouldn’t remain lost and helpless like this Alaskan—utterly at a loss.

It was obvious the dog had grown used to clinging to its owner all day. Being pushed away left it completely disoriented.

Now, Zhang Congwen was certain of his diagnosis. “You’re putting too much pressure on Andy. At home, you haven’t given him any space of his own.”