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When our neighbors heard Al call his dog, “Whiskey,” they said, “We’ve heard it all. Good Baptist with a dog named Whiskey.”
I told them, “Believe me, it’s a long story, you haven’t heard it all.”
Al’s brother, David, called and said he had a dog for Al. This dog is so smart, she can drive a car. She is a mix of Labrador and Drahthaar. He had already named her Whiskey.
He went on to say, “My dog, Kabella, was at obedience school, and she got in trouble with the trainer’s dog, a Labrador. Sophia, the dog trainer, didn’t tell me until the puppies were born.”
I immediately said, “Apparently, she didn’t teach your dog anything. Kabella has been at obedience school for a whole year and still got into trouble.”
Al considered it a lucky break.
I called it negligence.
So, I said to Al, “You don’t need another dog. You have one dog and our daughter’s dog is always at our house. We have enough dogs. Period.”
Al presented his case. “It’s going to be my last dog. I need a good hunting dog and this dog is so smart.”
I said, “The dog is only four weeks old, how smart can it be? You aren’t hunting any more.”
“But, I might go hunting.”
Remember, Al can’t and won’t say “No,” to his brother. So, Whiskey became our dog.
All winter, I threatened Al about bringing his dog into our bedroom on the pink carpet. He contended the dog never touched the carpet. She was in his lap the whole time. Al loves his dog.
As sweet as Whiskey is, I am still fighting the dog situation. When I go outside, I have to see where she is, and then I run to the other door. If not, she runs in the house and jumps up on the dining room table and eats everything. She has eaten some good steaks and grilled chicken, along with a loaf of bread.
If I walk outside, she jumps up on me from the back or the front. I’ve complained, yelled at the dog, “down, down, down.”
Then, I tell Al, “Get your dogs.”
He says she’s only a seven-month-old puppy, she will grow out of it and he has been training her.
Well, I’ve about had it with Whiskey. I’ve got dog prints all over my clothes and I’m paranoid about putting food on the table.
Al’s brother came up from Albuquerque a few weeks ago; his dogs ran off and Al was up and down the Blanco looking for his brother’s dogs. Al visited with the neighbors and made new friends as he looked for the dogs. The dogs finally came home.
These dogs have also been to obedience school with Sophia.
Whiskey jumped up on his brother. David didn’t put up with it. He said, “Al, you’ve ruined this dog. You don’t know how to train a dog. You just pet it and talk baby talk to it. It needs a strong hand. I’m going to send your dog to obedience school for a month. Sophia will be tough with her.”
Al said, “My dog doesn’t need to go to school, I’m teaching her. I’ll miss my dog.”
His brother said, “You haven’t taught that dog a darn thing. Bring that dog down to Albuquerque. I’m paying to have her trained. She needs to be disciplined. But, you will have to learn the commands. Otherwise, it won’t do her any good. You’ll ruin her again.”
I’m thinking, “Why didn’t you think of that before you gave the dog to Al.”
Does anyone know what they are doing? From where I’m standing, I’m not seeing any discipline from the dogs or their masters.
Final brushstroke: I’m keeping my mouth shut. Whiskey is at obedience school, Al’s pining for her and I’m doing a little jig. Thank God Al had her fixed or we would have more undisciplined dogs for Al to ruin.
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