Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Foley and Pocket worry the the Dog Whisperer turned their parents into zombies

Despite my using all the tools at my disposal, calling in all favors owed to me, and promising more than I will be able to repay, my parents still made it into Boston Sunday night to her the Dog Whisperer.

While Mommy and Daddy were preparing to go I hacked on to the security system for the Agganis Arena at Boston University. I sent out the following e-mail: “To all parking staff: Only admit one car at a time on to the lot. Only allow cars who have pre-paid with their credit card and have a printed out ticket park in the lot. Do not check to see if they have the ticket until they’re in the lot, and if they don’t have a ticket hold up the line as the car does a six point turn to get out of the lot and back on the street. Please take up to five minutes arguing/explaining the situation while others wait. Thank you.”

Then I looked at the weather report: Chance of showers. Well this would not do. I downloaded myself to Rainbow Bridge and convinced Tanner to meet with the weather Gods to cause a torrential rain to fall between 4:00 and 6:00 PM as Mommy and Daddy were driving to Boston. Tanner had to call in some major favors but just as my parents were leaving the rain began to fall.

I know my Mommy like I know the back of my paw. She doesn’t like traveling in the rain, and she doesn’t like traffic. Well, thanks to my e-mail the security at the Agganis Arena caused an hour traffic jam on Commonwealth Avenue, which caused Mommy and Daddy to creep along in the pouring rain. But I forgot the most important thing. If Mommy had bought a ticket on the Titanic, she would have gone down with the ship, ‘cause gosh darnit she paid for a boat ride and she was getting a boat ride.

They got there after the show started, so I take that as a small victory because DW says the really harmful stuff at the top of the show. My plan backfired when they were almost killed driving home in the pouring rain and the fog. Tanner made me promise to let him know when to tell the rain Gods to stop making it downpour, but I fell asleep and forgot. It wasn’t my fault. Scheming takes a lot out of a Yorkie.

There were no visible signs of change when they got home, except for the trembling from almost dying. I listened to see if they were showing signs of brainwashing. They talked about how good DW was in doing dog impressions. I was doing my human impression, tapping my paw impatiently waiting for them to get to the good stuff. They droned on about how he talked about his wife being his pack leader; about the funny reactions dogs have when people do things; how he made them laugh.

I wasn’t interested in how he made them laugh, I was interested in how he made them zombies.

Then they talked about the second half of the show where he worked with dogs; a stubborn German Shepard who kept snapping at a passing dog no matter how much the DW tried (yay!); a boarder collie who was supposedly afraid of vacuums but acted like the vacuum was his best friend (double yay); and a couple with two lap dogs who he introduced as a mother and son when it was really husband and wife. The wife was not amused. (Triple freaking yay.)

When I went to sleep Sunday night I was sure that we had escaped them turning into DW zombies.

The next morning Pocket and I were playing kill the Yorkie with the tail in the bathroom, barking up a storm when we heard “Shust.” Mommy thought it had worked because we were quiet. Actually we were on the ground laughing a Yorkie laugh, which is not very loud.

Later that day I saw that white kitty who pisses me off and started barking and Mommy stepped between me and the back door where I was kitty stalking and spread her arms out and told me she was owning the door.

I walked away. She can own the door. I own the danm house.

So it could have been worse, a little shusting here, a little door owning there. I guess I have it coming from almost killing them and all.

I am more disturbed by Daddy, who usually isn’t one for training, preferring just to hang with us. He thinks the Shust thing is weird so when we’re doing something he doesn’t like he looks at us and goes “Boo-La-La.”

Actually, I like that. Now, whenever my Mommy goes “Shust” I go “Boo-La-La,” so our house is “Shust” “Boo-La-La” “Shust,” “Boo-La-La,” and we’ve got a bunch of teenagers outside thinking a hip-hop band lives with us.

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