My Fate is Decided By A Dog
Here follows an excerpt from Karl Mikolka’s anecdotal memoirs, still in preparation for publication:

Fulfilling my promise to my parents to finish school, I graduated in 1954 from the Humanistische Gymnasium in Vienna, a university preparatory school, which emphasizes a thorough, classical education with concentrations in disciplines such as Greek and Latin. With my Abitur, the equivalent of an International Baccalaureate Degree, I was qualified to enroll with advanced standing in courses at the University and pursue something useful such as Law or Medicine like many of my school-buddies. Or, I could have indulged in my mother’s wishes by becoming a concert pianist or banker. Instead, to my dear mother’s woe, when the question: ‘What are you going to do now?’ was asked one too many times, my deepening interest in horses took precedence and I decided to write to the late Colonel Podhajsky, director of the Spanish Riding School, requesting to be considered at the next opening for the position of Elévè. The French word elévè is the term used at the School for pupils or students in the first phase of training. Shortly after my application, I received an encouraging reply, informing me that a position might become available in the next six months. I was in seventh heaven.

When the time came for an interview, a meeting was set in September with the Colonel in Wels, Upper Austria, the exiled home of the Spanish Riding School from 1945 to 1955. Though Wels is not more than three hours by train from Vienna, it was necessary for me to travel one day earlier since the meeting was set for 7:30 AM in the Alpenjägerkaserne, a relic from the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy. The Alpenjäger (Alpine Hunters) were an elite military unit under Emperor Franz Josef especially trained to fight in mountainous terrain. This group earned tremendous respect and recognition during WW1 in the campaign in Italy. It was in the barracks of their former training center that the Spanish Riding School was temporarily in residence.

Located on the outskirts of Wels, an area of gently rolling farmland much like that of Wisconsin, the center contained a superb riding hall and sixty stalls built around a spacious yard where the cavalry once exercised and where now a Rossmarkt took place every Friday. The Rossmarkt was a gathering of farmers bringing their best working horses of all ages to be sold. The trading and the bargaining began as early as five o'clock in the morning with the arrival of impressive heavy-set horses trotting with padded steps across the meticulously groomed sand-yard, their flared nostrils exhaling puffs into the fresh Autumn air like fire-breathing dragons.

I spent the night in a nearby hotel and after rising at dawn the next morning, I made my way to the barracks urged on by the confident enthusiasm of youth. I decided to have a cup of coffee in the canteen next to the riding hall while I waited for 7:30 and informed the chef on duty there that I had an appointment with Podhajsky. The only thing he said with a smile was: "Well, young man, then I wish you good luck." I did not know what to make of this remark. The interesting thing was, I was not in the least nervous.

At precisely seven thirty, a car and driver pulled up and Podhajsky in a green leather coat with boots and breeches stepped out. On his heels trotted a little Dachshund. It was amusing to watch this man, who stood nearly six feet tall walking such a diminutive dog. I was soon to learn that Podhajsky and the dog were inseparable friends. I was politely asked to follow the Colonel into his office, which was located on the first floor of the barracks. Inside a rather small room, a handsome desk and large leather chair separated the visitor from the director of the most famous riding school in existence. One could not help but notice the meticulously arranged contents of the desktop, paper corners precisely in line and all other accessories in exact positioning, each one paying tribute to the disciplined, demanding character, who would in many ways do more for the School as an Austrian Institution than all of his predecessors combined.

Podhajsky’s tall, slender figure radiated a certain blend of dignity and toughness and his cultivated social bearing echoed a by-gone era when elegance, chivalry and social refinements were held in high regard. He had the slightly weathered good looks of a Gary Cooper and his quiet spoken manner demanded undivided attention so as never to miss a word. Everything about this remarkable man commanded instant respect.

The Colonel asked many questions about my past and was especially interested in knowing about any horse related involvements. Having heard of the School’s preference for beginners with no previous training, I felt it prudent to say as little about the subject as possible. He kept the conversation relaxed, but the little Dachshund, perched on his master’s lap could easily have disarmed me with the scrutiny of his keen, cold eyes. I kept my hands under the table out of the Colonel’s line of sight, partly to maintain a steady posture and resist using gestures, and partly to distract my canine appraiser into believing I had a treat of some sort. Twenty minutes into the interview, a totally unexpected thing happened. The Dachshund, whose name was Lumpi jumped from the Colonel's lap into mine and proceeded to lick my fingers. He fell for my trick and actually thought I had something for him! Podhajsky's astonishment over the dog's behavior was underlined by his words: “This, he never ever did before!” Five minutes later I was excused and was told to return to Vienna and wait for further instructions.

Ten years later in 1964 at our annual Christmas Party held in the reception chambers of the Spanish Riding School, Podhajsky, in a moment of reminiscence again mentioned the somewhat unusual behavior of Lumpi towards a total stranger - me. The Colonel further revealed that he often tested people with the help of his dog. If his dog accepted them, then he, Podhajsky accepted them as well. Imagine, my very career so far depending on a dog's opinion!

The moral from this account: never underestimate the power and influence a pet can have over his owner. DON’T DO IT. You could miss out on something of critical importance, such as a much-coveted job.

- KM