By Cindy Wolff

Dogs stand in a wide circle, barking, snarling, straining at the end of a leash held by their owners in a yard behind Leatherman's Feed & Seed on Knight Arnold.

The dogs are riled. They are psyched. They are learning to be guard dogs.

The man they want to bite is 58-year-old Gilbert Boney.

"Shut those dogs up," Boney yells at the people standing in the circle. "Do it now!"

People choke their dogs.

"Quiet," they yell. Both man and beast obey.

Before guard dog training every Saturday, Boney teaches obedience for $10 a session. No clickers and treats, just a hard yank with a choke collar, submission and a pat for being good.

Boney believes the problem with dogs in Memphis, particularly pit bulls, is a people problem -- young boys who get these dogs for the wrong reasons.

"They misuse them," Boney said. "It's a macho thing. They're a bunch of thugs. If they have discipline problems in their own life, don't you think they're going to have a dog that has problems? If they can't control themselves or their dog, then they leave the yard. That's all there is to it."

Boney walks to the center of the circle of 15 dogs, at least half of them pit bulls. He's dressed in a black hooded sweatshirt, ball cap, dark jeans and a padded bite sleeve on his arm. He takes a piece of rubber hose and begins to beat the sleeve.

Thwap. Thwap.

He circles the dogs, glaring, kicking at them, conjuring a demon hidden beneath the fur of man's best friend.

One by one Boney tells the owners to sic the dogs on him. The dogs lunge. They chomp on the sleeve, ugly, vicious. Their owners stand behind them.

Sometimes all it takes is a one-word command, like to a German shepherd that releases every time.

Some pit bulls let go, but many hang on. Their owners lift them on to their back two legs by their collars, cutting off their air. They let go.

"Good dog."

-- Cindy Wolff: 529-2378