Alpha dog, my arse

Cesar Milan once came to Shady Pines because Muriel Heppelthwaite’s dear little pug was having dominance issues. Every time the nurse tried to take the doggy off Muriel’s lap to clean up the urine (which usually came from Muriel, not the doggy) it would growl at them like Cthulhu after a bad weekend on the turps.

It was a dear little thing with a tiny mooshed up face and a pink slobbery tongue. All it really needed was for Muriel to say no to it occasionally, to give it treats or pats as a reward for sitting and staying, instead of letting it do whatever it wanted.

We were all sitting in the common room, watching repeats of “Gilligan’s Island” (It’s supposed to be soothing).

Cesar whisked in, all hands and beady snake eyes, and made a grab at the dog, while shouting something about “making the dog fear you as the Alpha”. The doggy growled at him and he proceeded to poke it in the middle of its forehead with his stubby little fingers, while telling it it was a “bad dog”.

The “bad dog” slipped off Muriel’s lap, shook itself a bit damply, then when Cesar came in for the next poke, ran through his legs and clamped its teeth onto Cesar’s butt like a starving seagull on a chip.

I almost wet myself laughing, so you can imagine what condition Muriel was in.

Cesar wailed like a soul in hell and ran, flailing with his hands at the dog attached to his bottom.

We didn’t see the doggy for at least an hour after that, until it trotted back into the common room with a satisfied smirk on its ugly little face and a scrap of damp and slightly bloody khaki in its teeth.

We found a decent trainer after that, and she recommended gentle, loving discipline and respect, not physical attacks, and Muriel’s doggy was a dear after that, although we never quite managed to stop it snaffling the Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups from the common room.

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