Last night I actually trained the dog a little. I learned it how to 'come ere' and 'stay' and 'don't piss on the damn rug!'. To a limited extent anyway. I have decided that the dog isn't retarded, its just a big fuckin fraidy cat. Excuse my language. Its so scared of everything that its behavior is easily mistaken for that of a common retard. Now, that isn't to say that the dog isn't defective. It definitely is. HE is, I mean. Rooney, that is. He's defective all right, a dog should not be scared shitless of a vacuum cleaner that isn't even turned on... and he's never even been around a turned on vacuum cleaner. Case in point:
Last night, I was taking the dog for his nightly drag. Somebody had left a vacuum cleaner on the side of the road... you know, 'free vacuum', kind of like ' free couch' or 'free ottoman' or any other myriad of free things that people don't want anymore so they just make it available to the general public by putting it on the side of the road. I've done it, you've done it, everybody has done it... anyway, I digress. I approach the vacuum to inspect it. Not that I'll actually be able to tell a damn thing about it, its not like there's a power outlet in the sidewalk. I'm curious anyway though, and as I approach the vacuum, Rooney proceeds to go apeshit. I have to use both hands to hold onto the leash and I can't inspect the vacuum, so I tie the leash around my waist so my hands are free. Walking towards the vacuum thus encumbered is like walking into a 100 mph gale. I can actually lean forward at almost a 45 degree angle without falling over because Rooney is pulling with all his might in the opposite direction, anything to keep himself away from that horrible terrifying life threatening vacuum cleaner. He's going more apeshit than I've ever seen him go. His head is thrashing around back and forth and in circles, trying to rid himself of the leash. He is jumping up and being stopped in midair by the leash attached to his collar of course, which results in his body being spun in crazy mid-air directions, with him landing heavily on his side, back, stomach, sometimes his feet if he's lucky. His legs are constantly moving at full speed like out of control pinwheels... it’s like watching a dog on an invisible treadmill, except the treadmill is constantly being moved up, down, left right, upside down, and sideways. His eyes are rolled up in his head and slobber is flying from his jowls in long stringy threads. He is making wheezing and gurgling sounds... I've never actually heard the gurgling sounds before. It’s like he's trying to whine, I think, but he's cutting off his own air supply by struggling and it comes out as this dry, gurgling rasping throaty sound. I would think that the possibility of choking to death just might supersede the terror, but no. He will happily choke to death if it means not getting any closer to that damn vacuum.
However, I am the master and he's the stupid dog so I'm not going to let his antics deter me. I take my time inspecting that vacuum cleaner inside out and upside down. I pull out the hoses, check for leaks, turn it over and check for tangled string on the rollers, pull out the bag, anything I can do to make this last for as long as possible. Some people might think this is cruel, but that dog is bringing all of this on himself. If he would just calm the hell down and walk up to the vacuum like a normal dog and sniff it, everything would be kosher. Finally I'm actually starting to get tired with Rooney pulling on me constantly and I've decided that the vacuum is pretty much tip top... except that it probably doesn't work. Thus ends Rooney's mortal terror.
Later on I tried to train him somewhat. He is actually starting to kind of learn how NOT to be a permanent fixture on the couch. I succeeded last night in getting him to come to me when I called. He actually jumped off of the couch and trotted over to me of his own free will. Then he pissed on the rug. I had to punish him, which pretty much negated all of the kudos I had been giving him for being a good dog.