March 15, 2009; Tricks of the Trade

Me

My Tormentor

When I heard about this NILIF (Nothing in life is free) thing going into effect with me and the Mooks (see February 18), I figured it was time I came up with some strategies of my own to show them who was really the boss.

I've already done pretty well with "the look" (also February 18). When they're in that warm fuzzy place, I can get them to do just about anything. However I needed to dominate the walks, the only time when I am out of the house and, also, outside of their comfort zone.

For instance, today I almost got away again. It's something I've been working on for weeks: the shit and sprint. You start off by having a dump, then the Mook (in this case B) leans over to pick it up with a baggie (fuck, these humans are wacked out), and then he sets to tying a knot in the bag and while he's doing that (and especially if he has gloves on) he is fumbling about, hardly holding on to the leash and they you GO GO GO!!!!! The leash goes flying out of his hands and you're off.

Always be pulling and, if you can, get them to walk into polls.

Today it was hilarious. Mook B yelling and crying and slipping on the ice as I ran ran ran. Then, again, those traitorous others... I stopped to sniff this old golden lab—just a big, slow-witted boob—when his mistress grabbed my leash and held on 'til Mook B, gloriously sweaty and out of breath, caught up. Dammit. But the sight of him all panting and relieved and grateful was almost worth the loss of freedom.

Another great trick, and I tried it yesterday on Mook A, is shaming. During the walks I want to smell things, eat things, meet things, hunt things—garbage, other dog's crap, candy wrappers, dogs, squirrels—but since the Great Escape (see February 13), A holds onto the leash like it's tied to a life buoy and yanks me back whenever I get too close to something His Mookship doesn't approve of. So here's what I did: there was a blue-eyed German shepherd I absolutely wanted to meet but the Mook yanked, yanked, yanked and the shepherd's mistress did too. So I pulled the leash to its limit and let out a symphony of screams as if I was being beaten like the red-haired stepchild. It was a perfect noise because even those within earshot who didn't think I was being kicked about would have thought I was under a car. Time on the street stopped as I shrieked. People came out of their homes and halted on the sidewalk, looking for the pulverized little dog-body under the car or the bleeding victim of torture. 

All saw perfect little old me and Mook A, looking as guilty as you can look without a noose around your neck. He tried to explain, through the shrieking, that this was the first time I'd done that. You always win the upper hand if they have to admit it's the first time you've done something because it suggests they don't know their dog well and don't know how to deal with him.

So, fellow slaves, there is NILIF, yes. But it can also mean: Now I'm Leader, Idiot Fuckwad.