César Millán is best known as ‘The Dog Whisperer’
By Linda Pliagas

The commotion begins as soon as they spot their visitor. They rush to the gate, their troubled eyes peering through a wire fence. They hold their noses high, as if to get a better whiff.

In all there are about 30 males with mile-long rap sheets. Some of them have attacked people or children, others have killed pets—all of them have a violent history. And this is their last chance for rehabilitation. No, this isn’t a maximum-security prison or a mental health ward. It’s a combination of both. Only here the patients don’t walk upright: It’s the two-acre Dog Psychology Center of Los Angeles—a sort of San Quentin for canines.

Feared and revered breeds—rottweilers, German shepherds, pit bulls and Doberman pinschers—make up the feisty pack. They bark, snarl and show off their incisors. Not one tail wags playfully.

Then the Alpha male enters their territory and the ocean of canine criminals parts like the Red Sea. They scramble to make room for César Millán, a handsome 27-year-old Mexican American with a piercing stare. He leads this reporter 100 feet through the dogs’ domain to a private, cross-fenced area that houses his office.

Here there are only six dogs, most of them his personal pets; no repeat offenders, no three-strike delinquents. “Dogs are my passion,” he says with a slight Mexican accent, tranquility and order filling the air.

The man known as “the Dog Whisperer” is in complete control.

Doggie Dogma: Exercise, Discipline Then Love

Since he was 11, the only thing Millán has wanted to do is work with animals. “I just wanted to be the best dog trainer in the world,” he says.

The third-generation canine curandero began studying canines on the fields of his Mexican rancho in Sinaloa, Mexico, learning the secrets of the trade from his father, who in turn learned them from his father. Yet neither his dad nor his granddad made any money from their skill. Early on, Millán realized that if he wanted to make a living working with canines, he was going to have to leave his country.

So a decade ago, he crossed the border to San Diego with $100 in his pocket—a nest egg he had spent within hours of arriving: “I gave [it] all to the coyote,” he says, laughing. Within days, he was cleaning up dog poop and clipping fur. From the beginning, Millán stood apart: While most dog groomers use noisy electric trimmers to style dogs, he used scissors.

The unconventional groomer soon saw his empty pockets fill with cash. Two years later, he moved again, this time to a place where dog care is ubiquitous and tres chic: Hollywood.
The move soon paid off. Today, actors Will Smith and Annie Potts, supermodel Rebecca Romijn Stamos, Gladiator director Ridley Scott, film producer Barry Josephson and ex-NBA player Dennis Rodman are just some of the clients who fork out $185 to $750 per hour for private consultations, or pay $2,500 per month for intensive therapy.

He trains the dogs in packs—their primordial social custom—with Millán acting as the group leader. It’s clearly not ordinary dog training. Millán doesn’t teach the pups to sit or roll-over; he rehabilitates.

“I teach them to follow,” he explains. When he takes the pack for their daily 6 a.m. exercise outing—usually to the hills for an intensive hike or to the beach for a long run—he doesn’t put leashes on them; he uses body language. If a dog rebels, he grabs the back of its neck in precisely the right spot to temporarily immobilize it, forcing it to the ground. It’s a natural method, one practiced by dogs in the wild to control rebellious behavior.

Ironically, many times dogs’ rebelliousness can be traced back to their owners, he says. Americans tend to view their dogs as having humanistic qualities, but “the right way is [to treat dogs like] dogs.” Still, “a lot of people go, ‘No, he’s my son.’ ” To change a dog’s aggression, Millán says, he needs to change its owner’s attitude. “Dogs need a leader, not a lover,” he quips.

In fact, canines really need just three things: exercise, discipline and love—in that order, he says. It’s a message that has spread in Tinsel Town, where some think Millán’s got enough bark to carry his canine philosophy across America. “He has an unusual gift,” says Kay Sumner, a movie producer who along with partner Sheila Emery are trying to land a television show for Millán. “César has a classic Latino look; he is a very handsome man. People are really interested in him.”

Sumner, whose giant and violent Bouvier des Flandres, Emmy, was rehabilitated at the Dog Psychology Center, says such a show would be insightful and helpful as well as entertaining. “There’s a dog bite every 40 seconds and people are wondering why,” she says.

The Dog Whisperer’s story is also going to print. Jim Pinkston, an agent and writer, says Millán’s life and knowledge of canine behavior is best-seller material. “I see César as being a major force in dog therapy. If the book is done the way we think it should be done … then it [can be] a very spiritual book.” Choose Your Pack Wisely

Thanks to what he knows about dog packs, Millán says, he’s a better husband to his wife, Illusion, and a better father to their sons, 8-year-old Andrew and 4-year-old Calvin.
Daryl Young, a dog trainer with the Beverly Hills-based Professional Dog Training Service, says Millán’s story and message are special. “I tell other dog trainers I see, especially those in the inner-city who are not as successful as César, ‘You know guys, César comes to this country, barely speaks English, [and] he learns. He comes to the kennels, cleans dog poop, washes dogs, learns the business and becomes a success. You guys have been here all your life and you won’t [take extra steps] to learn more about your industry.’”

In a few years, Millán transformed himself from a penniless, rural, illegal immigrant into a successful, business-savvy Angeleno on the brink of fame. Yet while his story may inspire others, his success is no great surprise, he says: “Whatever you put in your mind, you’ll get.”

Asked for a last bit of dog wisdom, he shares a bit of insight that’s especially relevant in the gang-infested South Central neighborhood where his rehabilitation center stands: “Choose your pack,” Millán exclaims. “Don’t let the pack choose you.”