According to Hofmann: The Neutering
Every artist needs a muse, something that inspires them to create a masterpiece or a disasterpiece in some cases.
So, like car keys digging out earwax, I found myself digging deep in myself to find that oh-so frustrating 鈥渟omething to write about for this week鈥� as I stared at my blank computer monitor.
Then the inspiration nipped at my backside from my muse, my dog Oreo, a.k.a. 鈥淧ut That Down!鈥�, a.k.a. 鈥淒on鈥檛 Eat That!鈥� a.k.a. 鈥淪top Biting My Rear!鈥�
Yes, that little seven-pound puppy has grown to a 40-pound鈥ell, still a puppy, but now 40 pounds, but now minus four ounces as we recently had him neutered.
I named that day 鈥淭he Neutering,鈥� which sounds like a horror film and, well, it kind of is when you think about it 鈥� you鈥檙e dropped off at a facility where they put you under, take your manhood, insert a microchip inside of you, register you with the state and send you on your merry way with restrictions on what you can do with your body.
The vet gave us instructions following 鈥淭he Neutering鈥� including to keep his activity down to a minimum by lodging him in his crate for longer periods so he doesn鈥檛 rip his sutures, and he has to wear a special outfit that covers those sutures so he doesn鈥檛 lick and/or bite that area鈥ike he wasn鈥檛 before the twins were evicted from the funhouse, if ya know what I mean.
However, Oreo is part Australian Shepherd and Border Collie and is still a puppy, so when he鈥檚 let out of the crate, he鈥檚 unleashed on the world like the Tasmanian Devil鈥ot a Tasmanian Devil, but THE Tasmanian Devil with the panting, slobbering, grunting and even spinning around in a little tornado that destroys everything in his path.
At that point, I was hoping the vet would have included an exorcism in the procedure because even the lessons we learned in Puppy Preschool didn鈥檛 do anything to tame the caged beast.
Yes, Puppy Preschool is a real thing and something our vet offers where you and your pup are in a room with three or four other Puppy Preschoolers and their owners.
The first 10 minutes is spent letting the dogs off their leashes where pretty much a fur orgy takes place with jumping, barking, biting, mounting, pawing, rocking, rolling, growling, thrusting, chasing, licking, sniffing, shaking, hiding and seeking taking place.
Then the owners sit in a circle with their dogs where it becomes an AA meeting of sorts where the instructor asks everyone to share their horror stories on how they鈥檙e doing on controlling the little monsters.
In hindsight, I may have overacted by standing up, pointing down at Oreo and yelling 鈥淓vil鈥� over and over again, but I also really hit on the vowels in the word, making it sound like, 鈥淓eeaveeeaaaal.鈥�
At that point, everyone learns how much of a total failure you are as a doggy parent, but they don鈥檛 chastise you and kick you out because you鈥檝e prepaid for the classes and there鈥檚 always something to learn.
I learned two things.
First, my dog is smart鈥ike really smart as the teacher said that Australian Shepherds and Border Collies are both intelligent breeds of dogs, which makes Oreo, like really smart as he learned commands and tricks a quick pace.
Second, my dog is just a jerk.
The reason is simple; I consider the command 鈥淥ff the table鈥� to be very clear to a dog of Oreo鈥檚 intelligence, seeing that I say it to Oreo roughly 80 to 4,000 times a day whenever he stands and puts his paws on the table to look for food or something else 鈥� anything else 鈥� to chew, and I鈥檓 normally saying it while rushing toward him to pull him off, my face completely red and twisted with rage as the vein in my forehead actually starts pulsating and making the 鈥渢hump-thump-thump-thump-thump鈥� sound over my bloody screeching.
You think that combination would stick in his little puppy mind. Not Oreo.
After he鈥檚 pulled down, his very next move is to go to the other side of the table and do the exact same thing, then to the kitchen counter top and then a desk and repeat the process until he鈥檚 checked and double checked that the surfaces are bare and then repeat.
So, as I reach the end of this week鈥檚 disasterpiece, I struggle to find the moral of the story as I felt as though I鈥檝e just wasted my time and your time with ramblings about a dog, which brings me to the moral of the story, which is be careful when finding your muse because it could end up biting you in the butt, quite literally in this case.
According to Hofmann is written by staff reporter Mark Hofmann of Rostraver Township. He hosts the 鈥淟ocally Yours鈥� radio show on WMBS 590 AM every Friday. His book, 鈥漇tupid Brain,鈥� is available on Amazon.com.