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My friend, the owner of Jake the dog, who wears pajamas to bed, asked when Whiskey was coming home.
“Tomorrow. I dread it. I felt like Whiskey has pushed me out of my own home.”
She said, “I know what you mean. We put Jake in a car seat when he rides, but …”
“Jake has a car seat?”
“Yes. We’ve always had car seats for our dogs.”
“They make car seats for dogs?”
“Yes, I shouldn’t tell you, but, because Jake sheds so bad, when I ride in the car, I wear my bathrobe over my clothes.”
“Tell me more. Of course, I am going to write about this. This is mind boggling to me. This is too much.”
“When I go to church, I have to. Otherwise, I’ll have hair all over me, even though Jake sits in his own car seat.”
“This is too much.”
“It’s just a little cotton robe. When I get there, I always take it off, and before I get back in the car, I put it on.”
I said, “I’m telling you, these dogs are ruling our lives. When our daughter goes to work, she tells her dad to feed Daisy exactly at 8:30 a.m. Daisy is on a schedule. No, no, no, our daughter has put my sweet Al on a schedule, and he obeys.”
When Al left to pick up his hunting dog from obedience school, I warned him, “You can’t be talking baby talk to a hunting dog. You need to learn the commands.”
“No, I mean it. If not, that money has gone down the drain. You need to learn how to discipline Whiskey.”
“I’ll have the trainer go over it with me.”
“That dog is not a lap dog, it is a high-spirited hunting dog. You had no business with it in the first place.”
“I love my beautiful dog.”
“I guess it’s too late to give the dog back.” I said disgustedly.
Al defended Whiskey. “I know I was a little lax, but Whiskey is only seven months old.”
Al came home with Whiskey, she jumped out of the car and came in like a cyclone.
Al said, “Oh, she missed you, she’s glad to see you.”
She had grown another foot in height and length.
I asked, “Is she trained?”
“She’s a little hardheaded, she is probably eighty-five percent trained. The dog trainer said Whiskey was a wild thing and needed a lot of loving.”
“I thought you had picked the meekest of the litter.”
“The trainer put dog biscuits on the counter and Whiskey didn’t jump up and eat them. She is really smart.
“Will she obey you? Do you know the commands?”
Al turned to our daughter and asked, “Tell me again what the commands were.”
I shook my head and rolled my eyes, “This is just great.”
She has only been home a week. Al blames Daisy, our daughter’s dog. He says that Daisy is making Whiskey wild.
I told Al, “You’ve got to own up to your own problem. You can’t blame Daisy for your Wild Whiskey’s problem. You both need discipline.”
Final brushstroke: If you can’t handle Whiskey, don’t bring it home to Mama. Mama is getting a little testy.
“Our ultimate freedom is the right and power to decide how anybody or anything outside ourselves will affect us.”
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