So a guy is coming to my house next week for private dog training sessions; the company he’s from boasts that they can train any dog, any age, any problem. We shall see.
A month ago, I was ready to open the gate in the backyard and set Holly the retarded, spastic dog, and consequently myself, free.
My husband loooooves the dog. She’s a very pretty dog, a yellow lab/ husky mix, and she weighs 70 lbs. We picked her out at the humane society about two years ago- she was the only dog there that seemed not to notice the crowds of people picking out new pets. She just laid in her kennel very relaxed, with a look on her face that said, “If you want to be dragged around the neighborhood every day and live in a house with wall-to-wall fur and an ever-present poop stink, I’m not the dog for you. I like to nap.”
The next day I picked her up and brought her home. The entire car ride, she shook and slobbered and tried to climb on my lap. When I opened the front door to the house, she shot inside like a torpedo and within seconds, had taken a steamy dump on the bedroom floor. Now the look on her face said, “I am a monster. You are a dope.”
So for a year and a half now, I’ve been living with my bad choice, spending the time I’m not pulling dishtowels out of her throat either trying to find some other sucker to take her off my hands, or day-dreaming about her getting hit by a school bus (an empty one, jeez).
Then last month, my husband found some contest- a naughty dog contest- where the prize was free dog training. He asked me to write a letter about Holly, why she is the worst dog ever. I said no. He asked would I please ask one of my talented relatives to please write the letter for us, please?
So I asked, and they all laughed at me, shouting “NO”, then invariably they’d launch into a spittle-spewing soliloquy expressing their hatred for my dog, how she jumped on them, chewed on them, buried her nose in their crotches and basically acted in an unsavory manner at every opportunity.
I bit the bullet and wrote the essay myself.
“Fine,” I thought. “There is no way I’m gonna win this contest, but now at least no one can say I didn’t try.”
That’s cool I mean I guess if you think about it, I can now call myself an “award winning writer”, but I also have to keep the dog. Deal with the devil. Not only that, in order to claim the prize, the husband and I had to go to a premier screening of Marley and Me, a movie I wouldn’t normally see at gunpoint.
Oh, and people were encouraged to bring their dogs to the movie.
So we picked up our prize basket, which also included a free haircut and a mani & pedi from some salon downtown (Nice! a prize I want…), a bunch of dog toys and, inexplicably, a ziplock baggie of Tootsie rolls. Oh, and a gaurantee that after this so-called training, Holly will be a nice dog, one that doesn’t jump on everyone and dig trenches in the backyard and try to eat my new baby.
Maybe the movie wasn’t as I remember; maybe all the barking and whining and peeing and really high pitched “cuuuuu-it!”s from the ‘tweens behind me ruined it for me. Maybe it was the lady who kept asking if her dog could say “hello”.
Or maybe Marley& Me just sucked.