This is Choco.
He is a punk.
That's right. Choco is a total punk. He just puked up ground beef and chicken foot all over the couch. He could have gone outside in the grass, or maybe on the nice hard tile floor. That would have been a lot easier to clean up. But no. This is Choco. He is a punk and he does what he wants.
Until now.
...
Choco doesn't leave the house much. In fact, he doesn't really do a lot of anything. Mostly, he lingers around the house, he suns outside and then plops back onto the cold tile floor inside. It's a big trip for him, those ten feet. And I can see how all that laying around must just take it out of him. Occasionally he'll muster up the huevos to yap at a passing dog before returning to his lair. I don't speak Spanish Dog, but I imagine the conversation translates to something like, "HEY!.... HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY!" He's a real charmer. I love it when his voice cracks.
...
By far, Choco's least favorite part of the day is the application of his little doggie sweater. Because this symbolizes the end of his daily reign of NOTHING. Once the sweater is in place there will be no more impromptu treats, belly scratches or irritating of the Human Clan until dawn. Or so I thought.
Soon after arriving, Shayla informed me that one of the things that was really impacting her health was Choco interrupting her sleep. He'd leap from his bed on the ground to her bed above, tunnel under the covers, wiggle around for a few hours and then scratch on the door to be let out. Not exactly the proper REM cycle, is it?
So. Being the martyr that I sometimes am, I offered to let him sleep in my room for a while - thinking, "It's a queen-sized mattress and he's six pounds. I sleep with earplugs in most of the time. How is he possibly going to disturb me?" Turns out - like six different ways. One for each pound. Because it doesn't matter how comfy his little doggie bed is or how much I fluff it, his favorite place to sleep is right in between my legs - rendering them useless for midnight bouts of dreamy soccer matches. - OR - right on my pillow with his little cheesey dog fart butt aimed directly at my face.
One time, I'd convinced myself I had him trained. I opened the door for us to hit the hay and he sprung up on the bed. BOING! (...God, you're tiny.) He walked straight towards my pillow. So I gave him a little, "EY!" He stopped, front foot poised. He hesitated for a second and then turned to lay on the doggie bed I'd positioned on top of my bed.
"GOOD BOY, CHOCO!"
I was so proud of him! He finally understood he had his own damn bed. And that I was nice enough to share it with him. I went over to give him a congratulatory pet on the head and that little bastard GRUMBLED at me!
"Grrrrrr, fuck you."
You little bitch.
Oh well. At least he got it. FINALLY. Until around four in the morning, when I did one of those half asleep elbow prop - side swap rolls to change it up a notch. And in the time it took me to put my head back down - guess who I found swooping low to buzz the tower? That's right: A two and a half mega-gram poop factory.
"I don't think so, Scooter."
*FOOM*
"You're outta here, Bucko."
I gave him about 1.3 seconds of air time to find another place to sleep. Determining the first floor a much less likely path to orbit, he headed towards the door.
Exit: Choco -> Stage Right.
And he bumbled down the stairs.
SHUMP
SHUMP
SHUMP
Grumbling all the way.
Errrm.
Errrm.
Errrm.
One for each step.
I shut the door, (Peace, dude!) resumed by defensive post in the Semi-Finals of the Dream League Soccer World Cup, and that was the last time Choco ever slept in my room.
...
So, in addition to various other chores, Choco became my responsibility. I fed him, walked him, and medicated him as necessary. Apparently Choco, like his owner, had some health issues to work through. Sometimes I wondered if his condition was related to his owners. Pets have been known to acquire sympathetic complications when their owners are suffering. Interesting, isn't it?
In the past, Choco has had full rule of the house. And the neighborhood. And the marketplace. He ate when he wanted, he slept when he wanted and he didn't wear a leash. Walking him wasn't so much exercise for him as it was for me. In fact, it wasn't really a walk at all. It was more like Choco darting from curb to curb and me jogging up behind him to block the cars that didn't see his skinny ass. This isn't a dog. It's a traffic violation. And this has got to stop. One of us is going to get hit. And it's not going to be me.
I quickly realized that Choco was not like other dogs. Something was way off. He wouldn't get excited. He didn't enjoy praise. He wouldn't make eye contact. And he only ate treats when he deemed appropriate. This dog needed some training. But I couldn't figure out a way into his head. We're dealing with a serious motivational problem here, people. How am I going to get this dog to do what I want?
...
So, I'm not Cesar Milan or anything, but I do know a thing or two about dogs. The sensitivity I can feel regarding human energies around me is almost the same with dogs. It's a little harder to tune in to, but if you pay attention you'll realize that dogs really ARE man and woman's best friend. Not because they fetch for us but because they speak the same emotional language that we do.
The next time you're around a dog, pay attention to it and watch for emotional cues. Part of it is in the tail as you may know. But watch out because there are a few misnomers in there. Dogs sometimes wag their tail and bark at the same time. Sometimes it's an excited "Pay attention to me!" bark/wag, and sometimes it's a "Come over here and see what happens" bark. In order to know the difference you need to look at all cues in combination. It's like the base coaches in baseball. You always see them do that weird hat brim sign language to tell a batter something. But each individual sign doesn't necessarily indicate a word. The whole thing together just means one thing. Make sure you have the right one. Look at the tail, eyes, body position and movement and even their mouth. Dogs do smile and frown, just like us. It's just a little more subtle.
In addition to that intuitive understanding I also spent almost six months living on a glacier in Alaska with 240 sled dogs. Bred for strength, endurance, these dogs are a mix of many lines but their strongest trait is their undeniable resemblance to and sometimes direct recent ancestry of a real-live wolf. Humans took the nicest wolves and bred them out into herders, fetchers and hunting dogs. And the funny thing is that putting them all back together gave us something similar to what we started with. Seeing this in person reminded me of an interesting concept I'd learned in physics way back in high school. Particle motion can, within specifically regulated parameters, be reversed. It's called Laminar Flow. Check it out:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p08_KlTKP50
It's not perfect. But it's pretty farking amazing.
...
So Choco needed some work. He didn't know "come","sit", "stay" and generally didn't care what you were doing as long as you were close by to feed him whenever he decided was appropriate. In addition to being lethargic he seemed fairly depressed. I know what this dog needs! Discipline!
...
The first step I took in training Choco was to make him sit before giving him his food. This may seem simple but it is a great way to get your dog to pay attention to you and for them to realize that it doesn't just materialize. YOU are the one providing the food. YOU are the master and THEY need to show respect for receiving this food. Sounds a little domineering, but guess what? Dogs are social creatures. They function much better inside a structured hierarchy. They need to know where they fit into the pack, and it's your job to make sure they understand where that is. Dogs are kind of like teenagers. They think they want freedom but what they really need is the illusion of freedom encapsulated in an invisible framework. Otherwise they don't understand their boundaries and they can't function well.
So... "SIT! Here you go, Choco! Good boy!"
He sits. He eats. But he doesn't really look happy about it. He even thinks about it for a second after you say it.
"SIT!"
..."you're serious?.. Ugh. Okay."
What a little bastard. You will learn, young grasshopper. You will learn.
It was always a battle with this dog. You couldn't coax him. He could not be bought. You HAD to force him. He literally didn't get it any other way. Like I said, masochist. But it wasn't all bad. And I totally loved him, too. I just wanted him to be safe and not get squirshed.
So every once in a while, I'd plop down next to him on the kitchen floor as he was walking by. I'd begin to pet him on his cheek and slowly draw him in with a tempting little ear scratch. Very soon I had him in a double barrel ear scratch/cheek massage doggie paralyzer hold. And before he knew it I had him collapsed in a full-on impromptu doggie rub down. I wanted him to know that even though I was being tough with him and not allowing him to do the things that he wanted to do that it was actually for his own good and he would have more freedom if he would demonstrate that he wasn't going to hari kari himself under the under inflated wheel of the next passing V-dub.
...
After the "sit for your food" phase, the next step was that when we went on walks he was on a leash from before we left the house until after we'd returned. If I couldn't trust him to stay by my side and out of traffic then I would trust the three feet of nylon that I had strapped to his neck! Haha! Whoops, this collar is WAY too loose! That's not going to work. There. That's better. Hehehehe... Sorry Choco, this ain't your bling. This is Phase 2 in Operation: Do What I Want.
And he totally knew it, too. I'd ask him,
"Hey, Buddy. Wanna go on a walk?"
And he'd get all excited; prancing over, his long nails tapping on the tile floor.
"All right. Here we go!"
I'd reach for the leash, his tail would drop down and he'd start to slink away.
"Oh heeeeeeeeeeell no. We're going." *CLICK*
Leash: ON.
Shoes: ON
It's go time, baby.
Out the door and onto the ragged streets of Coatepec. At first we just went around the block. Enough to get him out of the house to check the PeeMail. But eventually I started taking him all the way to the town center about a mile away. The problem we kept running into was that we would reach a point at which Choco would determine he no longer fancied the direction in which we were ambling. It was like there was some invisible wall that he could see and I could not. I think on the wall that he saw were words scrawled in doggie letters, "Go back now! The cushion is still warm! You can still make it!" Um, *YANK* - NOPE! Sorry dude. MUSH!
 |
| Fucking... HEEL! |
The strange thing was though, once I jerked him past that one foot distance he ALWAYS got more excited about the walk. I think this dog is a masochist or something. I did ask nicely the first time, dude.
When we got home I'd make him sit and wait patiently by the door while I unlocked it. Once unlocked, I made sure he stayed until I give him the go ahead. This part was where we really got to have it out with each other. Most of the time he would try to squeak through the tiny crack in the door and I'd have to stop him with my foot. Eventually he learned to wait just a few extra seconds until I gave him the okay. In this way he also got to understand that living in a nice house was ALSO a privilege.
At first he couldn't wait at all and I'd have to pull him back and flip him on his back. "NO!" But one second at a time we'd increase how long he could wait. I'd hold out until right when I knew he couldn't wait any longer. Then I'd signal him and he'd dart inside; so proud of himself. So after a while he got the idea, more or less. Until one day.
...
We were coming back from a walk with the same old routine I'd been establishing earlier. He takes a seat, I remove the leash. I open the door, he waits obediently for my comma--- CHOCO, NO!! He bolted inside. God, dammit, Choco! You were doing so good!
I ran in after him and picked him up by the scruff, dragging him from whence he came. Back at the crime scene he squealed bloody murder and I flipped him on his back. "NO, Choco! NO NO NO NO NO!"
Ok.
I calmed down and got him to sit again. We took it from the top.
"Stay! YOU STAY. NooooOOO... STAY!"
I had to physically push his but back down. Come on, man. Don't make me do this the hard way. I opened the door again, he bolted and I went for the scruff again.
* Now. At this point, I felt as if the two of us had made some significant progress. I felt like I had him more or less under my control with just the slightest bit of resentment left on his part. I knew that this was his breaking point and it was time to put it all out on the table. He needed to know without any hint of a doubt that I was the Big Kahuna. And remember, I did try to ask nicely. *
So I dove for the grab. He bit me, so I bit his ear. He bit me again, so I locked him in the back of the house. Solitary.
You see how things just got outta hand fast? This was the come to Jesus moment for him. And I intended to make full use of it. I'd known this was going to happen from the start. But you can't just show up to someone's house and start throwing their dog around. That's a little, um... Unhinged. But this was the proper moment and Shayla knew that I wasn't abusing her dog. In fact, she was right there with me, telling me how she knew he needed what I was providing.
Good. Cause this might not be pretty.
I let him stew in there for about an hour and a half, went to check on him and he bit me again. So I flipped him on his back once more, yelled at him, and bit his ear AND his muzzle, and threw him in the tiny bathroom to think about it a little longer.
In case you're wondering, biting a dog on their ear or muzzle is the ultimate way to tell them, "Me Alpha, you not Alpha." It's something they do in their own doggie culture to communicate to others this exact intention. So, you know... When in Rome. And it works pretty damn well. Although, I'd reserve it for when you really want to make a point. You don't want to be a dick, and it also looks very strange in public. So pick your battles.
When I opened the door to check on him again about forty-five minutes later he cowered away from me, trying desperately to find a secret passage behind the toilet.
"Come here, Choco."
He wouldn't.
He was too scared and still hoping that wall was going to open up any second.
"Come here, Choco."
He slinked over.
"Good boy."
...
This wasn't necessarily the way I wanted to do things. I literally tried every other method to train this dog. But he FINALLY got it. He FINALLY respected me as El Jefe. The Boss. And from this moment forward he did EXACTLY as I said. Exactly.
The next morning we went out for a walk. I'd decided to give the no leash thing a try. But I'd forgotten to put his collar on. "Shit." I can't have him running around without that. He was on his way out to the middle of the street.
"EY!"
He dropped immediately onto the ground. I didn't even say it that loud.
"Good boy, Choco."
And he was happier. From that one instance on, Choco was SO much happier. He ran around the house. He pranced around the yard. He jumped up onto my lap where he wouldn't have necessarily cuddled before. And he stayed the hell out of my room.
He wanted someone to be in control. He NEEDED someone else to be in control. And I guess it was me he was waiting for. The interesting thing is that training that dog made me look internally at myself and what kinds of things I needed to be happy. And I think the moral is that I, too, need some more structure in my life. Except instead of an external master, I would only have the same one Choco had. Me.
...
It's tough. I feel myself drawn to so many things. I'm interested in so many things. And I'm actually ok, not amazing, but ok at lots of things; which makes it very difficult to choose a... "Career Path" or lifestyle or whatever. For a long time I wished I was... Not less capable, but really good at one thing so it would stand out among all the rest and I'd have a definite waypoint to follow.
I've spun around trying lots of things out trying to figure out which path to choose, and I've finally decided that I will pick a few of the things I really, REALLY like and go for those. These are the ones I'll put my energies into. And I'm making a list of side hobbies to conquer when there's time in between just to mix it up.
Until now, I've defined my life through intangible items: where I've been, how I've felt, ideas I've come across and how I will someday compile those into a reckonable force. But I've always been waiting for that next thing. Just one more... Thing, or idea or whatever to complete the picture. But the truth is, I'm never going to build an empire if I don't start some day. It's been a long weekend. But I think someday is coming soon.
For a long time now, I've felt this decision-making paralysis. "If I choose this activity, then I'll miss out on all these other opportunities." Or, "If I do this and I'm terrible at it then I'm a failure and I have no idea what to do with my life." Sounds sensible. But in reality, what ends up happening is that I don't do anything at all, or I wait for someone else to do something and I attach myself to that idea. That's not fair to me, or anybody else.
The nice thing is that I've gotten to this point the only way I know how. By a little something I like to call: The Hard Way. Instead of cautiously determining which things I really do like or drifting towards those things I might be interested in, I've systematically eliminated several of the things I absolutely don't like by diving in head first, and characteristically unprepared; figuring it out on the way. In this manner, I've managed to whittle my dreams down a core of aspirations by shucking off the layers of excess crap around me.
What this gives me is the certainty to know what it is that I really want. Not just those things that I might think I want. And that, my furry little friends, is totally priceless.
There are a lot of external influences in our society. Many of them are extremely convincing. I'm glad to say that by removing myself from a great many of those things that I've been able to see the world through my own lens. The one I made from my very own experiences; both good and bad.
I've had a quote on my facebook for some time now. I don't even know who the person is, but I came across it once and really liked it:
"Absolute certainty is the privilege of uneducated minds and fanatics." - C.J. Kaiser
Following this logic I can determine that I am, in fact, educated. Which leaves us the remainder: I am a fanatic.
:-)
I kind of like the sound of that.
...
So maybe Choco was a punk.
...But maybe I was one, too.
