Memoirs of a distressed dog handler
This post is written for the Humor Me Blog hop hosted by Terrye Toombs, Julie DeNeen and Kate Hall.
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Today’s contribution from Pets Aware News is on the angst that our beloved pets sometimes put inexperienced dog handlers through.
Enjoy this little story about a young fellow who takes the job on to get a little pocket money – and gets a bit more than he bargained for.
Day ONE : 8:45 p.m.
Dinner was an utter fiasco today. Dad came in, sat himself down, cut through a mound of roast beef and all of a sudden said, “Son, I won’t pay for your college tuition anymore.”
“Why?” I asked, choking on my food in shock. Dad had NEVER refused me any expenses before.
“You’ve become way too high maintenance.
Book after book, class after class. I even had to get you new laptops for you to do your assignments, but you’ve downloaded so many of those RPG computer games in them instead. You buy a new shirt every other day. If this keeps up, I’ll go bankrupt.”
The old man was being ridiculous. I have got to be the most frugal kid in my uppity neighborhood and here he is telling me that he cannot afford my college classes!
After all, I had only put in a request for 20 laptops, bought a total of 100 designer shirts, and bought a total of 1500 reference books for my various classes, each one (I must be able to beat the competition, you know.)
Dad sounded really persistent, though. “You will need to find yourself a job and put yourself through college. There’s no way I can do it for you anymore.”
Gosh, I only ask for a $500 weekly allowance!
Day TWO : 9:30 a.m.
Day ThrEE: 6 p.m.
Day Four: 12 p.m.
Finally, I have some afternoon sanity and time to write in you too. The morning was HORRIBLE. I can’t believe my father actually subjected me to this.
Getting Doby to walk was a complete nightmare. If you’ve ever tried walking a dog, please don’t.
All was going well at first, with that darn dog following me at my heels as all dogs should.
Then, it decided that it didn’t want to move any more. It sat, rooted to the spot.
I called “Doby,” and persuaded it to come. Still, it sat there, a picture of immobility.
I pulled and tugged gently at the leash, to no avail.
Then, he struck.
He lifted himself on all four feet and sprinted, pulling me like an inexperienced jet skier along the entire street. He kept running and running…..
And screeched to a sudden stop. So sudden that I lost my balance, did a pirouette in the air and landed, flat on my face.
I got up and Doby was looking at me, head cocked to the side and giving me the “You all right, dude?” look.
I could have strangled him.
Day Five 5 p.m.
Day Six: 6 p.m.
One more day of this, and I will tender my resignation, whether my father likes it or not.
Getting that dumb mutt to eat is such a pain. I brought out a can of prime lamb for dogs, but he just sniffed and looked away.
I had to think of a clever idea to persuade him to eat. So I used a teaspoon and waved it in front of him. Still, no response.
Now I really had to do something. With no other choice, I picked up a piece of meat with my bare hands and waved it in front of him.
Oh, he ate the meat alright. With a bit of my own mixed in between.
The next few hours were spent with me moaning and groaning in the emergency room, having that damned finger stitched.
Journal, if you ever have to feed a dog, never do it by hand.
Day Seven 4 p.m.
I really don’t know where to put my silly face. Dad still won’t let me resign from this crazy job.
I brought Doby out for his morning walk as usual. Guess I’ve sort of mastered(after several sessions of pulling, tugging and being dragged across the streets) how to really rein him in.
And just when you think you’ve finally got it, that darn spanner is thrown in the works.
You see, Doby met a female friend on the street. They sniffed each other, doing what
dogs normally do.
Then, Doby jumps, again, doing what dogs normally do.
Much to the delight of a small crowd of kids which had gathered to watch and laugh.
One of the kids even said to his mother, “Look mum, a dog’s pushing a wheelbarrow.”
If only he knew.
Day Eight: 6 p.m.
It was a day of mixed feelings today.
I was canned. Sacked, Axed. I expected to feel happy about it, but am actually not.
After I was given the earful for my incompetence by a very iffy Mrs A. Ford, I sat down on her patio, feeling rather put out and drained from the really exciting week with Doby.
But, just as I am about to leave, guess what. Even a mean dog like Doby has a doggy heart.
He came over and lay next to me, paws outstretched. Then, he nudged me with his nose, licking me on my face.
If I’d known he wasn’t that bad a canine, maybe things would have been a little bit better.
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Yours from Petdom,