I am of the mind that if you don’t want a dog, don’t get a dog and then torture it with your poor choice or lack of judgment. Yes, I am a must love dogs type of gal. At the moment I have two-Mila, a Collie/Blue Heeler mix who I was sworn to was an American Bully, and Little One, a Staffy or the dreaded Pit. I caught a bumper sticker at Walmart one day that read Show Me Your Pitties. I almost peed myself laughing on the spot.
Do you remember Renco, the company that made as seen on TV infomercials back when the product had only 60 seconds to rope you in? I do. My family does. My father, the business major and teacher, was a gullible, drooling teenager over their products. The crème de la crème product was The Magic Chain.
The Magic Chain pertains to dogs and people who shouldn’t own them. My family’s backyard backed up to a huge Civil War cemetery. Dad’s hunting dogs’ cages were on the back fence of the property nearest to the cemetery. Not a funeral occurred that those dogs didn’t bark and howl all the way through it. To make matters worse, my ex football coach of a dad would come slamming out the door, storming up the backyard, and screaming strands of curse words bigger than Mom’s mom’s family pearls. Mom hid. My sister and brother hid. I hid.
The Magic Chain would stop it all, dad assured us! He wasn’t sure how it worked; he just knew it did work every time without fail. When the box arrived, we all waited with baited breath for dad to open it and reveal the treasure hidden inside. He was quick about it- no shaking his present or that sort of thing. He pulled out a chain, a piece of paper, and nothing. If dog barks, throw chain at dog. If dog persists, throw harder. The rest of us looked at each other in disgust. We had just weaponized the screamer.
Don’t worry. Mom hid the chain.