One time I had a friend who was quite sassily judgmental about Jack the smaller badly behaved dog’s behavior, and she would say things like, “I was watching this episode of The Dog Whisperer last night, and he was saying something really interesting that might be of use to you.”
I paused in my attempts to wrestle a stolen doughnut out of Jack’s mouth and looked at her, “OK, I already know that whatever you are going to say next is going to make me feel inadequate.”
She sighed, “Kris, you don’t need to take everything so personally. Sometimes, I just want to share information with you. It does not mean I am judging you.”
I picked Jack up and pried his mouth open, and then shook him in the air like a ragdoll so that doughnut pieces fell from his mouth and all over the floor. When I released his jaws, he snapped crazily in the air in a fit of rage and frustration, “Yeah, well . . . I think that Cesar Millan guy is blowing those dogs off-camera, that’s what I think. You ever see Mark steal a doughnut from me? No.”
I held Jack in the air and called for the Labrador, “Persie! Come here and clean this mess up, please!”
Persie came happily trotting into the room, sniffing joyfully . . . Doughnuts! . . . but then she spotted Jack snapping alligator-like at the air above her head and she fell cringing to the floor. No way was she eating those doughnuts. Her internal dog-dialogue appeared to go something like . . . Those are Jack’s doughnuts and he will kill me if I eat those doughnuts.
As my friend snickered, I kicked the doughnut pieces in the Labrador’s direction, “Eat the doughnuts! Treat, you stupid dog. Treat!”
Persie’s eyes rolled whitely back into her head, and she turned over on her back in abject prayer and submission . . . Oh, please don’t make me eat his doughnuts. Please don’t make me anger him. He scares me and I do not want to incur his wrath.
My friend bent with a napkin to pick up the doughnut pieces from the floor and toss them in the garbage can. Jack, who was still in my arms, wriggled and squealed and kicked in protest . . . I stole that doughnut fair and fucking square, dog-damn it.
I bent to release Jack, who ran in small crazy slobbery circles to lick the sugar residue from the floor and then launched himself through the air to tangle up in Persie’s ears for a brief moment of hostile domination . . . Next time, don’t even think about eating my doughnuts, big brown idiot dog. Don’t even think about it. I am DOG here.
Persie retreated like a nervous sea lion, never quite actually using her feet or legs, instead hunching her way to safety beneath the dining room table.
Satisfied, Jack ran off to look for closed doors behind which children might be doing things that did not involve him.
BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK
This door is closed . . . Open it immediately or pay the consequences.
I walked to the stairs and yelled, “Can you guys let Jack play with you? You know how he hates to be left out of things.”
I walked back to the kitchen, where my friend was staring at me in silent disbelief.
“What?”
“I know you’re going to get all annoyed, but if Cesar were here, he would be telling you that you need to be the Pack Leader. Seriously, Kris, you have to watch this show.”
I sipped at my coffee and wished I had a doughnut but did not speak this wish aloud, “Cesar Millan is a dog fellator, and while I am willing to concede that Jack is not perfect, no way am I blowing him into obedience. End of story.”
“You are impossible. When I get a dog, I am going to use the tricks I have learned from watching The Dog Whisperer.”
“I cannot even tell you how much I am looking forward to you getting a dog . . . I am guessing that dog will be just as awesomely well-behaved as your children.”
“Wait . . . what are you trying to say?”
“Nothing. Although I did see a really awesome episode of Nanny 911 last night.”
Hee hee!
A side-note here to tell you that this friend eventually did get a dog and the dog was not at all well-behaved and on one glorious occasion pissed endlessly and pack-leadery into my purse.
My friend was mortified.
That was a very good day.
Wait . . . what was the point of this story?
Yes! Dog training.
Alright, so over the summer, the dogs and I spent a few weeks here alone when Mark and the girls went back East.
The training started then.
I got into the habit of tossing a few pieces of popcorn on the floor of the laundry room every night when I wanted the dogs to come in to go to bed. It felt like a friendly generous thing to do, and it simplified the part of the evening I might otherwise have spent peering into the darkness of our back yard calling for the dogs. Something about those moments of staring into the blackness, calling for dogs, and then listening and hearing absolutely nothing made me paranoid that an axe murderer had chopped the dogs to bits and was now coming for my stupid standing-vulnerably-in-the-open-doorway-in-the-darkness ass.
So I would throw a few bits of popcorn and crinkle the popcorn bag, and the dogs would come bounding into the house . . . Look, we’re not dead at all!
YAY!
OK, but then Mark and the girls returned, and I knew Mark would be all pissed off to learn that I now had to bribe the dogs to come in at night, so no more treats.
Here’s what happened next . . .
1) The dogs are confused about the lack of bedtime treats, and I feel so bad when I stare into their beggy faces, I give them secret treats.
2) I decide I cannot keep giving the dogs bedtime treats, so I start to just crinkle a bag. Persie is sad for a few nights, but quickly adapts to treatless bedtimes. Jack, however, now stands out there in the dark, eyeballs glittering in defiance, refusing to come in until he sees the bag I am crinkling. If I am not holding treats, he is not coming in.
3) Mark expresses extreme annoyance when he sees me crinkling bags of breakfast cereal for Jack. I explain that I am not really giving Jack treats . . . I am fucking with his mind.
4) Jack catches on to the crinkly bag trick and refuses to come in the house at night.
5) I have to start making a big loud show of pretending to give Persie treats so that Jack will come in to investigate.
6) Jack starts attacking Persie for having eaten all of the non-existent treats before he managed to come in and have some.
7) Jack figures out the treats are pretend and refuses to come into the house no matter how excited a show I put on.
8) Mark is incredulous.
9) I start giving Persie real treats at bedtime, tossing her bits of crackers and bread until Jack comes flying into the house. HA! None for you, annoying motherfucking terrier.
10) Jack makes Persie his complete and total bitch, and Persie is terrified to eat any treat anytime anywhere for fear of terrier doom-attacks.
11) Mark is incredulous.
12) Jack refuses to come in at night. At all.
13) Alright, that’s it. No more treats for anyone. I am sick of being manipulated.
14) BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK . . . I am never coming in ever again, stupid furless thumbed beings . . . NEVER AGAIN . . . BARK BARK BARK BARK
15) Mark is incredulous and filled with words of blame that are, annoyingly, directed almost exclusively at me. I am outraged!
OK, so that’s where things stood a few nights ago.
And then yesterday . . .
16) Jack begs to go out every 15 minutes or so all day long and once he’s outside, he barks endlessly to be let back in except he doesn’t want to be let back in he wants a treat so if I open the door without a treat in my hand he runs crazily to the far side of the yard and hides until I shut the door at which point he comes back to the door and barks crazily to be let back in and given a treat and if I open the door and am not holding a treat he runs crazily and hides.
17) I give him a treat because how fucking SMART is this dog?
18) BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK . . . I need to go outside and go potty do you want me to pee in the house I didn’t think so let me out and now that I am out I would like to come back in and have another treat. BARK BARK BARK . . . Get me a treat, bitch, because I can keep up this barking and running and hiding thing all fucking day.
19) Jack keeps up the barking and running and hiding thing all fucking day.
20) I am reduced, at bedtime, to throwing treats to a very nervous Persie on the other side of a sliding glass door so that Jack can stand outside and look in to see what his disobedience is costing him.
BARK BARK BARK BARK . . .
I AM DOG HERE, DOG-DAMN IT.
OBEY MY FUCKING COMMANDS!
Sigh.
If you need me, I will be over there blowing a terrier.
