COMMENTS & CURIOSITIES:

Got a problem pooch? Fed up with your pup? Done with your dog? Not to worry. Call Vladislav Roytapel, a.k.a. “The Russian Dog Wizard.”

Do you have to fly him in from Kiev? Nyet. Mail him from Moscow? Not. Roytapel and his wife live in Newport Beach, which is closer and a lot warmer. Apparently, there is a long history of master dog trainers in Russia, which I was unaware of, but then, I’m unaware of almost everything.

Roytapel comes by his mastery of animal behavior honestly. His grandfather was a Soviet biologist who worked with farm animals to test the behavior conditioning theories of psychologist Ivan Pavlov.

Roytapel started his career as a professor of pups early, winning top prize in a dog training championship in Azerbaijan at the ripe old age of 12. He later spent 13 years as a trainer with the Russian military, training dogs to do everything from sniffing out explosives and gas leaks to delivering mail between military ships.

I’m not sure how a dog delivers mail from one ship to another but I would love to watch sometime. I suppose he could hold it in his mouth and get a really long running start before going over the rail but I’m guessing there’s more to it than that.

Roytapel came to the U.S. in 1995 and settled in Detroit. When he set up his first obedience school, Alternative Canine Training, it didn’t take long for the word to spread about the doggy miracle worker from Russia. Totally stressed out dog owners from across Michigan then from other states started to show up with problem pooches in tow.

Roytapel has a long list of grateful clients who were at their wits end with difficult dogs who behaved way beyond badly and had no idea what either “party manners” or “use your inside voice” meant. To harried pet owners, Roytapel was nothing short of a miracle worker who could turn the most hyper, out-of-control pooch into the canine version of Barry White.

How does he do it? Simple. He talks to them. No, not like that nervous dog owner we’ve seen on a late-night show who is desperately trying to get his dog to say “ma-ma,” which he swears his dog does all the time at home. This is an actual for-dogs’ ears-only language that Roytapel calls “doglish.”

For instance, according to Roytapel, the doggy word for “no” sounds like “haaaathh” and comes out somewhere between a growl, a hiss and a sneeze. “This is the same sound that the doggy mama uses when the dog is small,” Roytapel said.

I’m not sure exactly what’s between a growl, a hiss and a sneeze but apparently your dog will recognize it instantly and say, “Oh, sorry. You should have said something sooner.”

Granted “doglish” offers a limited vocabulary, but with just the right word or gesture or sound, Roytapel can make almost any dog sit up, put one paw over its heart and recite the Pledge of Allegiance. Not exactly, but that’s what it seems like to dog owners who have tried everything and still can’t get the little beast to stop barking, snarling and gnawing on every ankle that walks through the door.

Take Guy Lugo and Ashley Minami of Newport Beach. Their two Jack Russell terriers, Riley and Rusty, are just about as cute as you could be without a permit. But around people and other dogs, they were nightmares with paws. On their walks, whether they ran across a Chihuahua or a Rottweiler, Riley and Rusty were ready to dance, right now, let’s do it, you want some of this? Bring it on.

It got so bad that the couple started walking the dogs late at night, in the hope that no one and no other dogs would be around. “It was embarrassing and scary,” Lugo said. The couple was desperate. They tried everything from watching “The Dog Whisperer” on the National Geo network to talking to a number of local trainers, none of whom seemed too promising and some of whom wanted astronomical fees to make Rusty and Riley not seem like they had just slammed down a double espresso and a Red Bull everywhere they went.

Enter Vladislav “The Russian Dog Wizard” Roytapel. Rusty and Riley didn’t stand a chance. After just one session and a few words in doglish, Rusty and Riley were so mellow they were making each other sleepy. It used to be that ringing Lugo and Minami’s doorbell set off what sounded like a prison riot at San Quentin.

Now, after a few sessions with Roytapel, Rusty and Riley immediately head for a doggy pillow in the living room and sit there stone silent and totally bored with whoever walks through the door. And forget the midnight walks. Now you can take Rusty and Riley for drinks at the Biltmore or just a birthday party next door and they won’t eat a single napkin. Roytapel preaches that an obedient dog is the product of an assertive owner that knows when to discipline bad behavior and when to reward good behavior. I assume doglish is also helpful but you’d have to find an English-Doglish dictionary. Amazon.com maybe. Try there.

I think that’s it — tough love for dogs, a Russian dog wizard, and Rusty and Riley find redemption. Remember, there are no bad dogs: just dogs that don’t speak doglish. “Where is Timmy, Lassie? Where is he, girl? Show us.” “I’ve told you three times he’s stuck in the mine shaft. Do you people not understand simple doglish?” Woof. I gotta go.

PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs Sundays. He may be reached at ptrb4@aol.com.