Unlike most people who enjoy their weekends, Russ and I decided to go for broke and enroll Tanya into Petsmart's Puppy Training class. The going for broke part refers to the fact that we have given up any semblance of having fun weekends at this point in our respective academic careers. We're so dreadfully boring that we try not to subject our friends to our presence, unless they beg. Granted, we have some very kind friends who do beg once in a while.
So, for the next seven weeks, we will be at Petsmart on Saturday nights, teaching Tanya how to sit, lay down, leave it, and most importantly, not act like a raging bitch every time she's in the presence of another dog or human male. I'm still not sure what one word we're going to attach to that command -- Russ has suggested, "Tranquilo," but I'm arguing that it's too many syllables (though appropriate for a Chihuahua). We did the whole class thing with our Lab once upon a time and it was great -- cool people, fun dogs like a Boston Terrier named Mr. Tea, and a great instructor with good stories and a punky purple streak in her hair. But that was then...and this is now. This class is the longest hour of my life. The people are boring. I guess that's what you get on a Saturday night. The instructor looks like Dana Carvey's Church Lady with a bad perm. Even Tanya seems bored. She'd rather be at home, laying on a gigantic pillow and curled in a ball, and I can't say I really blame her. I was so bored this past week, I went to the bathroom just to leave the circle -- a move I haven't executed so deliberately since my boring US history class in high school.
If Tanya is going to improve, it's not going to be in this class. Just like, if Master P improves, it's not going to be in ballroom dancing. Some things just aren't meant to be.
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