Several years ago an Irish woman named Fiona called me to come and work with a coon hound she had just rescued. She said she wanted the whole family involved but that her husband was in a band and traveled so he might not be there. I thought "cool, an Irish folk band".
This was a rich family in a rich neighborhood and when I got there neither Fiona or her husband was home, the nanny was, and I quickly discovered that the kids were terrified of the dog. This was a blended family with teenage, maybe college kids, and two under 10 year old kids; the younger kids were the ones afraid of the dog.
When mom (Fiona) got home she wanted the kids to get over their fear and suck it up. I think a kids fear is a kids fear, and is valid, especially a fear of dogs. I asked the kids what would make them like the dog and one stopped crying long enough to sniffle and say "if it was stuffed".
I suggested doggie day care for the pup so that it would be too tired to move when it got home. I suggested getting kids over to the house who weren't afraid of wild puppies and to try to visit some folks with older dogs who were more docile.
While I was there I taught the dog to sit and worked on teaching it not to jump. While I was doing that a guy in a blue jean jacket walked in the back door and the dog jumped on him in a joyful, “welcome home" greeting. I pushed the guy out (literally, I put my hand on his chest, pushed him out the door) and told him what to do when he came back in again if the dog jumped on him.
The guy followed my directions and went to the back of the house. I finished up the dog training session thinking that how coincidental it was that I also happened to have a degree in Child development and had worked in that field for years. Kids and dogs was kind of a sub specialty for me. I felt pretty good about the whole thing.
Moral of the story #1. A few weeks later Fiona called to tell me that the pup slept under the dining table while the kids ate (tired from doggie day care) and that the kids were way less fearful and starting to like the pup. Hooray!
Also a few weeks later I was cleaning a guys house (I always work multiple jobs) and I picked up a pile of CD's to dust under. The CD on the top had a picture of a guy in a blue jean shirt - the same guy I had pushed out the door at Fiona's house. She had written me a check and when I emptied my pockets that night I had just thrown it in the pile of other checks from the week.
When I got the deposit ready I saw that the check was from Fiona Prine. The guy I had pushed out of the house had been John Prine.
Moral #2 -In Nashville you never know who you're pushing around.