Skip to main content

A dog by any other name

I am helping out a friend by letting her 6-month-old lab pup, Jack, out in the midafternoons to do his various functions so he doesn't have to be locked up in his crate so long while his person is at work.

I recently found out a rather amusing, and perhaps unfortunate, fact associated with Jack and the training he's undergoing to be a good dog. You know, the commands one gives to make him do his bag o' tricks and get biscuits galore.

Picture it. I'm in the backyard, tossing his ball, telling him to FETCH. He brings it back. I say GIVE (ok, so he doesn't get this one at all...give basically means "hold that sucker in your mouth with all your might while I yank and pull and tug.") Then I tell him, Jack, SIT. He sits. I tell him, Jack, DOWN. He lies down. Then he pops up and heaves all 50 or 60 lumbering pounds of himself right onto my chest with his tree-trunk sized slightly muddy paws. I give the command. Again and again.

I get no response from him. The neighbors' ears, however, may be perking up. It goes something like this:

OFF
JACK
OFF
JACK...OFF
JACK, OFF
JACK, OFF!!!!!!

Comments

Brianne said…
hahahahahahahahahahaha :) tha's funny

Popular posts from this blog

Holy Separated-At-Birth, Batman!

Gary Oldman...meet Uncle Knit-Knots from Imagination Movers.

So, I Changed My Mind

More than four years ago, the blog and I parted ways. I needed a change. A whole lot happened in my world since then. I switched jobs a couple times. My kid went from an elementary school tween to a teenage high schooler. We built a new house and moved. Both my parents and my sister have passed. The world around me changed as well. Mass shootings, racism, the #metoo movement, a misogynistic bigoted narcissist in the White House ... go ahead, add to the list. Toss your woes into this dumpster fire we call 2019.  I appreciate my previous sentiment, that I was no longer wandering. But let's be honest, we're all trying to find our way through this mess. I decided to reboot the blog to give myself a creative outlet, a way to sort through the confusion and frustration and attempt to make sense of it all. I have a voice, and I'm not keen to silence it anymore. Guess what? I'm back, bitches.

In memoriam...

I remember the first time I heard the name "Les Anderson." A bunch of Wichita State University communication majors were sitting around on campus, talking about classes they planned to take. Several people warned me: watch out for Les Anderson. He was tough. He had a murderous grading scale. It was nearly impossible to get an A. They weren't kidding. But he wasn't tough just to be a tyrant. From his teaching sprang a fleet of incredible, successful journalists, writers, editors, broadcasters, public relations experts, advertisers, non-profit professionals...I could go on and on. Most importantly, he created a legion of people who wanted to make a difference in the world. The greatest gift Les gave to them all? He believed in them, cared about them for their own personal stories as well as the stories they told for class assignments or in the pages of his hometown newspaper. Les was my teacher. My boss. My mentor. My conscience. My champion. My friend. When I started c...