I am late posting tonight, because Tallulah's personal trainer was over. Yes, my dog has a personal trainer. Because apparently you can take us out of LA…
I know I mentioned this before, but my dog, who spends nine hours a day at dog day care playing with other dogs, gets totally insane once she's on her leash or sees a dog passing by when she's here in her own house. You had all given me some tips about distracting her, and I tried to do so, but it is like trying to distract Amy Winehouse from a good bottle of heroin. I have no idea if heroin comes in a bottle. Also, must I always pick Amy Winehouse for my examples?
Okay, how about, it's like trying to distract that octomom from a good insemination. No, too overdone. It's like trying to distract Katy Perry from a banana outfit. There we go. Really, Katy Perry is my new person who bugs me.
So, the personal trainer came over with her two unbelievably trained dogs. Mother of pearl, you have never seen two good soldiers like these dogs. She said, "My dogs are out in the van, let's see how Tallulah reacts." She opens her van, gets this German shepherd out with no leash, tells him to lie down, and even though my dog is leaping and snarling and coughing and expelling gas and writing her congressman over there 15 inches away, the German shepherd just laid in our driveway like he was ready to smoke a big fattie after his relaxation massage.
The trainer came to the conclusion that Tallulah is not really being aggressive (she reached this conclusion when she let the Von Trapp children come over to Lula, and it turns out Lula just wanted to sniff them rudely and not bite them at all, despite all the barky Exorcist swear words coming out of her 10 seconds previous), but that she is kind of a fearful dog who does not see Marvin and me as her leaders in the slightest.
This cheeses me off. I have done everything Cesar Milan told me to do to establish that I am the leader. I go out doors first, I eat first, I make her salute me every morning and wear an I Worship June collar. I mean, come on! I am so trying to be the leader, here! But apparently she thinks she is the leader.
Fortunately, dog trainer says she thinks she can fix my dog in three sessions. Next week we have to do this whole thingamajig with beef liver. Don't ask.
In the meantime, I am going to act leaderly around that dog. She is going to start calling me "sir" and I am thinking she needs a big framed portrait of me over her dish. Maybe a little June tattoo on her withers.
Oh, and one more thing. The entire time we were outside, with two enormous strange dogs and insane Tallulah in the driveway? Winston stood on top of the trainer's van surveying the whole scene. Don't you think if you were a cat you'd want to be as far away from all the dogs as possible, not on top of a van, six inches from everyone?
I think we know who the real leader is.