Last night I decided to play Dog Whisperer. For those of you who don’t know who Cesar Millan is, he’s this Mexican guy who sneaked into the US like, 20 years ago, and started grooming dogs. (don’t worry, he’s all legal now) His favorites were the crazy insane ones that no one else could deal with. He has turned this who thing into a career, helping people like Will Smith deal with his Rottweilers. The guy has his own show on National Geographic channel, and it does appear like he works magic. Really, it’s all common sense.
So I was playing with The Fonz in the back yard, which consists of me hitting a racquetball as far as I can with an old wooden baseball bat, and then he runs and gets it and brings it back to within 10 feet of me. Repeat. Again and again. Our neighbors have a little white Maltese sh*t dog, that they bought from Alsip, one of the pet stores in town. So of course, it’s a puppy mill dog and has no brains and is insane. They let him out, and he proceeds to stand on the edge of his deck and bark at me. This is not unusual, and honestly, it gets old. For a moment, I threaten him, but decide that I am too lazy to walk over there only to have him run away from me, and he keeps barking. But then, I realize that if I don’t go after him, he has won. He thinks that barking at me keeps me away from him. I don’t know why he feels the need to do this, because he knows me, I met him when he was fresh out of the pet store! But who knows what goes on in the mind of an unstable dog. So I decide to get him.
I walk over, and he runs away a little, still barking. I follow. He runs, barks more. I finally get him cornered against his sliding glass door and the little psycho went nuts on me. Snapping and biting and generally trying to kill my hand. He even landed a couple of skin puncturing bites, which bled a total of about 1 ½ drops. But I finally got him up and on my lap, and the neighbors at this point decide to see why their precious little dog was screaming outside. They weren’t mad at me, just wondering what the heck was going on. (I could tell these people that dogs can fly, and they would probably believe me...they have that much faith in my ridiculous amount of dog knowledge, for having no career or use for it) Anyway, I told her, “I win.”
So hopefully he will no longer poop on my deck, or in my living room, and the ultimate goal is that he will not bark at me anymore. If he does, I suppose more blood will be oozed, but next time I won’t guarantee that it’s mine. (insert evil laugh here)