Training

So I decided to get a dog. I’ve always been fond of German Shepherds; my granddad trained them in the Air Force during Vietnam and then as a police Lieutenant. 

I went and picked up my sweet girl on Valentine’s Day and knew instantly that I wanted help training her to be a support dog. While aimlessly scrolling through some local yardsale sites I came across an ad for a local trainer. I checked out his page and much to my surprise I saw that he spent 8 years training dogs in the Air Force! I knew he was the one. 

From his photos I could tell that he was my type and I thought to myself, “Fuck. I’m in trouble.”

I messaged him and after some small talk about my goals for the pup we set up a date to begin training. I had to miss the first training session due to being snowed in while visiting my sister and when I got home my husband said, “I already know you’re going to think the dog trainer is cute. Better wear your wedding ring.” I laughed, but I knew he was right. 

The following week I met with the trainer in person. I must say, he was even better looking than I had originally thought. The hair…the beard…I’m in over my head. 

Things went well. We covered some basics. We made some small talk. And we set out to meet the following week. 

The week after was also pretty great. A little more advanced training. A little more small talk. And when he took a break from training to run this cute wooden comb through his beard – I swear to god my panties hit the floor so hard they cracked a tile. 

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