The Baseball Wisdom of Dogs

These puppies would make fine bench coaches

Welcome to Warning Track Power, an independent newsletter of baseball stories and analysis grounded in front office and scouting experiences and the personalities encountered along the way.

In a bottom-of-the-ninth, two-out-and-nobody-on, home-team-trailing-by-eight-runs hack of desperation, the Angels are swinging for luxury-tax liberation. Later this morning, the waiver claim results on a number of potentially impactful complementary players will be announced. The Angels reportedly requested outright waivers on six players, some of whom they acquired just one month ago in exchange for top prospects. For the $50,000 waiver fee, any team can claim any or many of these players. In turn, the team awarded the claim would receive the player and pay the remainder (about one-sixth) of the salary, and the club in Anaheim would derive some financial relief.

I could explain the formalities of the waiver wire, claiming priority, and how outright waivers differ from the complicated and discontinued August trade waivers, but you would likely fall asleep before you could — hey, wake up! — find the “unsubscribe” button to this newsletter. How attempted salary dumps by surrendering teams impact the playoff race remains to be seen; how the Angels machinations impact the integrity of the game this season and in the future remains to be seen. That’s not what this story is about.

It’s fitting, though.

The waiver wire excitement added an unexpected distraction to the season. If you follow baseball daily, it probably entered a conversation or two over the last 48 hours. There’s been additional noise for sure.

In a makeshift enclosure, penned in by off-white temporary folding walls no more than four-feet high, two dogs sniffed, hunted, and even obeyed for treats while children and adults alike shouted commands.

Sit! Sit! Lie down! Liiiiiiie down! Siiiiiiiiiiiit! Good girl!

The atmosphere, the passion of those encouraging the pups, the desperate calling of orders; it all felt very familiar. I couldn’t quite place it.

Until finally I did. The cacophony epiphany.

You see, a couple weeks ago, the Warning Track Puppy and her sister, Honey, graduated from doggy training school. Sometimes I think they succeeded despite their humans — at least this human.

Over the seven weekly meetings, I may have learned more about myself than I did about my dog. Sometimes, perhaps, I like to control situations more than I need to — more than possible. Perhaps.

The best classes were when my son, not yet five-years-old while school was in session, actively involved himself. Was I trying to train the dog, or was I trying to train my son’s behavior around the dog? And why was I so damn overbearing?

Nothing in that class was more authentic than my boy and me talking over each other, both commanding the dog in slightly different ways. We may have been asking for the same outcome, but it sure didn’t sound like it. That’s when it hit me.

This was Little League for dogs.

Keep your eye on the ball! Get a good pitch to hit! Keep your back elbow up! Bend your knees! Lay off the high stuff!

The promise I made to myself while coaching softball last spring was to limit advice to one cue per player. I was aware of all the noise around the game. I heard the well-intentioned encouragement. As you all know, there’s a lot of it.

Now I was guilty of overloading my dog.

Sit! No, Vivian. Focus over here. Over here! Sit. Hey! Hey, Vivian… siiiiiiiiit!

Then my pup would tangle with her sister; those girls can really get after it.

Hey, Vivian. Hey, Viv! Viv! Come! Come, Vivian!

How different really was my behavior during this class at Petco from that of parents who dream of their kids one day playing at Petco? With Fall Ball beginning in a couple weeks, the pups serve as a good reminder as to how to coach, how to instruct, and how to just let them play.

Vivian, keep your eye on the ball. It’s gotta be a pitch you like! Keep your weight back, girl! Chin down, tail up!

I’m better around gloves and cleats than leashes and collars. And as the photo below shows, too, you don’t want to ask me for advice about lawn care.

While contemplating this piece and the Angels capitulation, I keep singing a verse of “The Weight” by The Band to myself.

Crazy Chester followed me, and he caught me in the fog.
He said, “I will fix your rack if you’ll take Jack, my dog.”
I said, “Wait a minute, Chester, you know I’m a peaceful man.”
He said, “That’s okay, boy, won’t you feed him when you can?”

I wish I could have seen some of the reactions when the (confidential) waiver bulletin arrived in inboxes around the league. The Angels have become Crazy Chester. They’re offering almost a quarter of their active roster to any team for not much more than meal money.

Won’t you feed them when you can?

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