There is a wash of sound in my house. Nearly every day. From the inside and the outside - the boys with guitars in the studio and the dog-chasing birds and the bike-chasing dogs. Sine waves of wood along the top of the old fence and my dog explodes off the porch, in a blur of sound and brown as brightly-colored bike riders pedal past.
My dog needs a shock collar today. He's chasing a biker, he doesn't mind biting. He thinks it's his job or he thinks it's the game.
So we walk into the pet store, and Dave says, 'Can you show us to the animal cruelty section, please?' And I laugh, nervously, as the clerk looks at us blankly. 'We need a shock collar.' He turns on his heel. 'Right this way.'
Why would we opt for a shock collar? Dave doesn't want to chain the dog, because the dog is an exceptionally happy dog who likes to roam freely in the hundreds of acres of woods surrounding us, and then take his post on the front porch, master of all he surveys. So I get that he doesn't want him chained. I just don't get the incessant killing of small animals and the need to chase anything that moves. Including cars.
Wait, I do get that. He's a dog. I don't get lawsuits.
Dave puts the shock collar on himself. To test it. The pain isn't much, and is mostly just startling. Okay, well, that's that.
And we walk away from the collar and the remnants of its excessive plastic packaging. The cold front moves in. Single digit cold and snow. No bikers, no walkers, no small animals. That was a month ago.
But it's 45 degrees today. The bikers are riding by, gearing up for the Little 500. It's time, I know it's time. Dave's whistling for him. 'Go for a ride?' He always comes to that call. I know it's time. I know that freedom always comes with a price. But my dog's not a philosopher. And he has no real flair for drama. like I do. Drama... I'm positively steeped in the gooey stuff. Yuck.
So I tell myself, as I wipe the drama off with a handi-wipe, who among us couldn't use a shock collar once in a while? I can't speak for everyone, but honestly, that kind of behavior modification could come in handy for me. When I feel like posting some politically-indignant status update to Facebook, for example. Zap. See, all better.
And he'll forgive me. I'm sure of it. As soon as he forgets that it was my idea.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
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I think most of us are already a product of behavior modification through conditioned reinforcement and more times than not...choose to remain comfortable, lay on the porch, and watch the cars go down the road.
ReplyDeleteSo with you on the occassional need for a shock collar - like yesterday at work. . .
ReplyDeleteLynne Bly just sent me the link to your blog. I LOVE it! I looked to see what you had on the web and facebook right after you were in Mpls/St. Paul. . . glad you started this.
Can't wait for you to come back to our part of the world again.
Cindy
Brilliant stuff.
ReplyDeleteYou riff so, so well.
I love this...love-love-love it! Your story telling is so visual..it engages other senses as well, in fact. I could just see Dave trying out the dog collar on himself before accepting it for his canine bud. Adore him! And your final observation ... brilliant! Maybe I should buy one for myself....but then who'd be around to help censor me?! My cat might find the remote useful, for when I'm on the computer instead of dishing out her dinner.
ReplyDeleteTractorboy keeps threatening to get a shock collar for Guthrie. He just *has* to greet everyone like they are the second coming of Christ. Seamus stays in our yard, but Guthrie has to go lovingly maul any neighbor he spies, which is not safe nor particularly endearing when you see his 50 pound grin hurtling your way. I don't see how the shock will equate with 'stop' for him when he is zeroed in on his target, he takes such joy in spreading his enthusiastic love. All of which is to say, let me know how it works out for ya, k? Thanks.
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