Circling the Square

On the second floor of a shoddy building surrounded by vacant lots and tattered billboards, two men and a woman have dedicated themselves to giving Dogdom an education. They realize the era is passing when dogs are judged on beauty rather than intelligence. Today, the untrained barkers, chasers, and nippers are outcasts, while the educated canine is acceptable everywhere. The school's slogan proclaims: "Modern Living Requires it...Goodwill of Neighbors Demands It."

The Turnquist System, on which the school is founded, uses "canine psychology to bring out the best in every dog." Instead of mere physical force, the instructors appeal to the student's emotions. The system has been highly successful in developing strong traits of love, trust, and obedience. It grooms citizens of "character and poise; produces a proud, spirited, champion."

The modern Socrates who originated the idea is a former Boston newspaperman, Bert Turnquist. In the late thirties he established the first School for Dogs, but soon after the outbreak of war Washington called him to head the instructional staff of the Army's canine corps. For his highly successful method of training dogs for war duty, he received a special citation. At the end of the war, he returned to Boston to re-establish "Canine College" under the name of the American Dog Training Association.

From the start it seemed that everyone who owned a dog wanted the animal to attend Mr. Turnquist's school. To satisfy the demand, he had to open two schools. One took care of the day students, while the other handled boarders. Now he takes pups in kindergarten and carries them on through a college course. For those who cannot attend day or boarding school, there are night classes. He has even started a Dog School Bus--the only one of its kind in the country.

Resourceful Mr. Turnquist seems to produce a solution for every problem. The most common difficulty, of course, is housebreaking. He remembers a gentleman who bought a small pup at the same time he was refurnishing his house with new carpets. The first day he came home, he found a small wet spot in the middle of the new living room rug. Seizing the quivering dog, he threw it out the window. Luckily, the window was on the first floor and the dog was unhurt. When the man returned the second day, he discovered a new puddle. Outraged, he again tossed the puppy out the window. By the third day he hoped he had trained the dog. Anxiously he entered the living room to find another, even larger blemish, but no dog. He had trained the pup well enough--trained him to jump out the window after misbehaving.

At school in Jamaica Plain, Turnquist handled the housebreaking a little differently. Reasoning that a dog is basically a clean animal, he developed a glorified barrel-doghouse and called it Kanine Kastle. The dog was confined to the barrel except for short walks at regular intervals. Faced with the prospect of living and sleeping in any mess he made, the dog quickly adjusted his system to a normal routine.

Regardless of his personal success in training dogs, Turnquist believes the major influence in making a canine a good citizen is his own master's "sympathetic understanding." The College's most popular class, called "Training You," emphasizes the education of the dog owner. Despite all the elaborate tricks and theories involved in training canines, the individual master is still the most important element.