April 3, 2009: On Their Toes

Sometimes I have to wait so long for the goddam walk and it gets me so MAD!!

I've found a great way to fuck with the soi-disant masters and put them in their places at the same time. It's loads of fun too. 

First you "behave" for a couple of days. Wait for them to say something like "He's finally fitting in" or " Well, he seems to be trained now." Then you calmly take a dump, preferably on the rug. Yeah, yeah, yeah, you'll have to deal with the symphony of "Bad dog! Bad Dog!"s but sticks and stones yadda yadda yadda.

Now, y'understand, the Mooks are nervous, wondering if this will be a pattern. That's when the real fun starts. You need a drink of water? Don't just walk to get a sip...RUN!!! The click, click, click of the nails on the floor adds to the nerve-wracking effect. They, of course, are wondering what's so urgent and have to stop what they're doing and follow. Wait a little while for things to settle down and then any time you have to go somewhere—bed, water, a little walk around the pad—RUN RUN RUN!!!

They're sure you're running to deal with an intestinal need and come tearing after you. Now...wait 'til they settle down again and are really busy. Here, that means Mook A is playing World of Warcraft (wait 'til he announces to Mook B that he's putting the headset on and that he's doing a team run). Then wait 'til Mook B is likewise occupied; that means he's giving himself an ulcer answering work e-mail. Then sneak out of the room. Go to another room. Find something—anything—and start crunching on it. It doesn't even have to be edible or valuable, just crunchy. The Mooks will come a-running. If you're lucky, Mook A has caused a complete wipeout of his World of Warcraft team and Mook B has prematurely pressed the send button on his work e-mail and ruined his career.

If you do all these things over and over again during the day, you don't even have to take another dump on the floor (because, let's face it, that's just gross). The "Masters" will be turned into twitching piles of exposed nerve-endings. What's even better: you sleep like a baby, they hardly sleep at all. 

It's a riot.

A baby seal: a cute white thing that gets wacked on the head for doing nothing.

Me: A cute white thing that gets away with murder.

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.