Our dog, Pip, is a moron. He’s been that method because he was a small puppy. Now almost 10 months old, he’s still a moron. He doesn’t gain from his errors. He doesn’t even understand they are errors. There is no distinction in between doing dumb things and doing wise things. He simply does things. Sometimes those things are running as quick as he can into a closed patio area window. Other times those things are chewing on a dead chipmunk up until he pukes. Whatever he chooses, nevertheless, seems the dumbest of options.
He might select, for instance, to just reveal us that he discovered a dead chipmunk. Instead, he picks to consume it, damn the resulting upchucking that comes later on. Then, as soon as he’s recognized that consuming a dead chipmunk makes him ill, he might select – based upon previous experience – to not consume that brand-new dead chipmunk he discovered. But once again, that’s asking excessive. He will likely consume ALL the dead chipmunks despite the result.
In composing this, it struck me that the reader might have 2 significant concerns about Pip, of which I will address here.
First, yes, we have actually attempted to train him. We’ve checked out the books, enjoyed the videos. We’ve provided treats and scolds. Nothing survives. I’ve had some small success with stomach rubs, however I think these are simply diversions instead of real training. To be reasonable, stomach rubs do settle his stomach after consuming chipmunks.
The 2nd concern that requires to be resolved is why we have a lot of dead chipmunks in our lawn. To put it just, I think that our cat, Lavi, understands Pip is a moron and is attempting to toxin him. Pip on his own might never ever really capture a chipmunk. Pip on his own can hardly discover his food bowl. Lavi, nevertheless, is a master rodent trapper. The chipmunks are put right where Pip goes outside to go to the restroom. The domino effect is clear. The cat is a wicked genius outlining to rid itself of any competitors.
And yet, that dog continues trucking. And he’s such a small, shaggy thing, all sad eyes and floppy hairs. He’s a Bichon Frise and we needed to go to New Jersey in a snowstorm to get him. Just… don’t ask.
I’ve never ever in concept been opposed to owning a dog. In truth, when I was my child’s age, I did certainly have a Beagle called Patches. That dog was a scaredy trousers, and likewise tended to vomit a lot. But he was more, I don’t understand, sophisticated?
As I compose this, Pip is sitting at my feet, looking at me. I understand what he desires. He desires me to select him up and hold him on my lap. He desires me to do this since I’m presently alone in your home. When my spouse and child are home, I’m 3rd in line for this honor.
And when I complete this up, I will, I expect provide him a good scratching, presuming that is, that he hasn’t yet peed on my sock.
I’ll provide him a stomach rub and I’ll slice up some left-over chicken to feed him and I’ll cross my fingers that the cat doesn’t have some brand-new dubious strategy in the works for him.
I’ll do all this since recently, Pip and Little Bean were playing a video game. The video game was easy – my child would run as quick and tough as she might from one end of the lawn to the other. Pip would chase her yipping and barking. When they got to completion, they would both tip over in the lawn, rolling and shouting and chuckling. This went on for a long, long period of time.
Long enough that, when they were done, and both were covered in dirt and lawn spots, and my child’s cheeks were flush red, she strolled over, took a seat beside me and put her head on my shoulder. My child on one side. The moron dog on the other. They both sighed and I put my arms around both of them.
The dog and I are not buddies. He’s a moron. But Little Bean likes him. He likes her. So, we abide.
