This Full House Archive

Tag: dog whisperer

  • Now Playing: The Brilliantly Brilliant Anti-Dog Whisperer

    MypuppyPhoto of Doofus-Dawg (not his real name) courtesy of HeatherrMarie (a.k.a. the middle girl.)

    Each of my kids has a special talent.  WAIT!!!  Where you going?!?  Please, COME BACK!!!

    I don't mean like in a "Look how brilliantly shine-y they are!" sort of way.  Although, considering I gave birth to each and every one of them and my being SUCH A BIG DORK, that in and of itself is an amazing thing, really. 

    Aaaaanyway, my point is — because, I really do have one and will try to get to it as quickly as dorkishly possible — we're technically raising our kids pretty much the same way (since kid one, really) and still they end up, growing up, with very different personalities.

    Which simply means my husband Garth (not his real name) and I STILL don't know what the heck we're doing half the time and I swear it comes down to a matter of paybacks from when we were kids.

    iDigress.

    Aaaaanyhow, so yeah, I get all like, "Holy Hannah Montana look-y what my kid can do!" whenever one of them does something I feel is brilliantly brilliant and, considering the last 4 and 1/16th paragraphs, can you really blame me?

    For example:  my youngest plays the clarinet AND is the only one in our family to even play a musical instrument. 

    Her name has been submitted for consideration into the Central Jersey Music Educators Elementary Honors Band.

    [takes deep breath]

    Aaaaand, well, forgive me when I say THAT is just all sorts of awesome.

    Bonus points: for figuring out that Doofus-Dawg (NHRN) does NOT like the clarinet.

    "Hey, you know how you hate it when he follows you around the house?"

    In the worst possible way, really, considering I am also the clumsiest mom on the planet.

    "I can always practice while you're making dinner!"

    [eyes go wide]

    See, what I mean?!?  BRILLIANT!!!

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  • PHEW! Smells Like Human!

    Doofus-dog

    This is my chair.  At the end of the day, when the light begins to fade and the last dish is washed (yes, stupid Bosch is STILL broken, DAMMIT) I remain patient, waiting for that final moment of release, as I breath deep, exhale and slip deep into my chair.

    "What the?"

    I can hear Cesar Millan, whispering, right now.

    "Wait a minute! You paid for your house! You go to work to pay for that couch and that bed, and yet you can’t use it because it “belongs” to the dog? Something’s very wrong there. If this describes you, then it’s time to take back your own home."

    Fine.  So, now what?

    "You must feel in your bones that you are the pack leader in the house, and project that calm-assertive energy."

    Yeah, but, see, in my house, calm and assertive just don't mix.

    "If you assert true leadership, your dog will not be sad, or hate you, or resent you, even if you take back the place on the sofa."

    Yeah, but, see, sad eyes just kill me.

    "Having a leader is hardwired into your dog’s brain – that’s what he both needs and wants."

    Yeah, but.

    "Take advantage of that and go ahead, sit on your couch again!"

    Okay, seeing as your the expert and all.

    "But you have to really mean it."

    FINE!

    "GET OFF THE COUCH!!!"

    Aaaand, I NEVER saw 4 kids, move so fast, in my life.

    Morale of the Story:  Jerry Seinfeld is right — dogs are the leaders of the planet. If you see two life forms, one of them's making a poop, the other one's carrying it for him, who would you assume is in charge? 

    SHUTUP, Cesar!

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