Training 101

My humans are great. For the most part. They are still not fully trained, no matter how much effort I put into it. Quite frankly, I don’t think they’re very smart. For example, I prefer my evening meal to be served at 5PM. Not 5:30, not 6PM after the news, not 5:15. I don’t understand what’s so hard about this. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to look at the clock and say, “Damn. It’s Mojo’s dinner time. Let me drop everything I am doing and prepare his meal.” Consequently, at around 4:55 I start to walk in circles near the kitchen. It’s annoying because my claws make a steady tapping sound on the hardwood floors. This is a calculated annoyance on my part. If that doesn’t work, I jump up on Mom and stare at her, licking my chops until she finally gets it.

And barking. Let’s boil this down and make it simple. I am a dog. Dogs bark. Therefore I bark. This is the way I’m made. What’s the big fucking deal? You talk, don’t you? You babble on and on about nonsensical bullshit all day long, so why can’t I bark at college students walking on the sidewalk in front of our house or at the mailman, who is always on his damn cell phone. Plus, it’s my job. I protect our house and our property. It’s what I do. Get used to it. You can put the citronella spray collar on me, you can yell at me, you can fill a soda can with coins and shake it whenever I bark. It ain’t gonna work, people. I was given a voice. I’m using it.

Let’s face it. I am a 9 pound Yorkie. My bladder is the size of a pea. I try my best to do “good boy” outside as often as possible, but when I am home alone for any length of time, chances are excellent that I will have to pee at some point during those twenty minutes. I don’t want to ruin the carpet or the floor. But when a guy has to pee, a guy has to pee. The solution would be to A) never leave me alone, or B) buy a hell of a lot of spot cleaner.