The other day I took the lil turd out to the dog park to work on some "trust building" exercises. Since he is a rather small dog (20 lbs wet) and would most likely just run out of the way if I fell and try to have him catch me, our trust building exercise consists of walking around the trails of the dog park with his six foot lead dangling from his harness. I let him run around like a banshee and pray that I have enough time to step on the leash and pull him out of any trouble that he is bound to get into.
Because, he most definitely looks for trouble to get into.
For a neutered male, this little mother fucker has got some big balls and if there is something to chase, bark at or roll in, he is generally the first in line not giving a shit about what anyone else has to say about the matter.
"Go on, give me a bath jerk, I am still going to roll in this dead rat!"
Anyways, being a good dog owner, I still to my best and try to build some trust by allowing him to run around, provided he comes when I call him. Scary enough, he generally does come when I call, but then there are times he is too busy doing other shit.
And the other day one of those times happened.
"Brisco..." I had yelled after realizing that I had been contemplating a scenario for my latest post apocalyptic zombie porn tale for a bit too long while looking at the some cool looking apartment buildings that jut out of green mound of El Cerrito's Hill and that I had not seen him fly past me in a while.
"Brisco!" I called again, "where the fuck are you you little turd?" I yelled as I walked further up the grassy embankment to see if perhaps he had met some dogs in the large field that we always play fetch in, but I heard no sign of a squabble that usually comes in his wake so I turned around and looked in the bushes that bordered the ledge that led down to a muddy little beach that looked out across the water at a Costco which lay on the other side.
There he was, standing on the filthy beach staring very intently at a large bird hanging out in the shallow muddy water. I made it about half way down the cliff, screaming his name like bloody murder (which apparently is not a good way to get your dog to come to you), when he decided that the mud look like it might hold him and took off after the bird.
Seeing the little shithead swimming through the mud was quite a site, if the vision of me getting stabbed by my girlfriend for letting our dog drown in mud had not prevented me from laughing, I might have. Instead I scrambled down the path and hoped to cheese and rice that the little bugger did not try to swim over to Costco (although i did need to go there and pick up some shit anyway).
Thankfully, i was all juiced up on a butt load ( literally) espresso from the new espresso machine that my girlfriend has surprised me with as sort of a early Christmas gift (I had been gulping down SO shots of El Salvador Finca La Florida all freaking morning) giving me the ability to race down the hillside and over the beach like the six million dollar man. I was even ready to plunge face first into the muddy water and chase after the little asshole, but thankfully, he struggled his way back onto the beach and I was able to catch up with him, after jumping over a few jagged rocks and random junk that tends to jut out of the peninsula that once was a landfill.
I stepped on his leash before he can make another go at the bird, which seemed to be enjoying the game, and pulled him up to my eye level. I held a liver treat up to him, letting him smell it and then threw it into the muddy water, before dragging is stinky muddy ass home. I actually laughed like an evil villain as I gave gave him a bath. He deserved it, the little turd, but I have a feeling if he had a chance, he would do it all over again.
