A newly painted sign stood in front of Dooley’s dog pen. Although the hand painted letters had run a little on the old piece of scrap plywood. The message was clearly readable, even if a couple of words were misspelled. "Dooley’s Dog Training Services" was written in bold headlines across the top of the plywood. The next line down read, "Dooley Ray, Dog Whisperer and Behavior Specialist."

"We can handle the worst kind of dog behavior problems," Dooley announced proudly to anyone who would listen and everyone in earshot; whether they would listen or not. He proudly pointed to old Rufus his beagle hound who had been broken from all his bad habits. Rufus was so well trained that he did almost nothing at all. How could a dog get into trouble when all he did was eat table scraps and sleep in the shade?

After much begging and pleading by Dooley, Uncle Artford Mayberry had agreed to let him try his hand with old Major. Old Major was his best foxhound, but he had developed a terrible habit of loafing behind the other dogs when they were chasing foxes. Old Major was running dead last every time he took him out hunting with the members of the local fox hunters, card players, and liars club. Many times there would be 20 dogs or more in the race and old Major had become an embarrassment to Uncle Artford. He was taking a lot of teasing from his hunting buddies.

"I don’t see how he can do him any harm," he reasoned. Dooley eagerly started what he figured to be a weeklong task.

Dooley’s methods took three forms. "We appeal to the total dog," claimed Dooley. First he would place his hand on old Major’s head and transmit psychic energy into his brain. This psychic transmission usually lasted about three minutes, or until old Major ran off to do something else, whichever came first. Next, he would carefully lift old Majors right ear and whisper instructions in dog talk, since he could talk dog talk perfectly. He would instruct old Major about what he was doing wrong and what changes he could make to improve himself. Lastly, he would feed old Major a fried sausage he had slipped out from breakfast that morning as a reward for listening.

Dooley laid his hand on Major’s head and transmitted. Major bolted after Aunt Myrtie’s cat and ran it up a tree. Dooley carefully lifted his ear and whispered to him about how he shouldn’t chase cats and how he needed to run faster in the fox hound races. He gave him a piece of the fried sausage as a reward for listening and Major clearly seemed interested in Dooley’s training methods.

Dooley put his hand on his head again and started psychic transmission. Old Major spotted Spud Ledbetter passing in his truck and chased him out of sight. Dooley repeated the ear whispering and sausage feeding. Major was really getting into the training sessions, especially the fried sausage part.

Dooley went through the whole process again, pulled major out of Aunt Alvie’s flower patch, where he was digging a hole, and once again whispered and rewarded. All week long, his training sessions went about the same way with old Major becoming ever more pleased with the fried sausage rewards program.

After a full week of intensive training, Dooley pronounced him cured and personally guaranteed that Major would never suffer the shame of running last in another fox race. Uncle Artford took him home, with some obvious doubt showing on his face. Old Major looked to have gained about five pounds from his training sessions.

The next fox race did not go as expected for Uncle Artford and he claimed Dooley had completely ruined his best foxhound. "All he will do now is chase cats, run cars, dig in flower gardens, and sit and beg for something to eat," exclaimed Uncle Artford at the top of his voice. "He has done quit running foxes altogether."

Dooley’s training methods seemed to have worked to perfection. Old Major never ran behind in another fox race as long as he lived. Dooley didn’t get much business after that, so we never knew for sure if his training would work on other dogs.

Many folks seem to have been broken from attending church these days. Something has happened to cause them not to go any more. Dogs may not know better, people do.