You might remember an amazing dog act that won America’s Got Talent a couple of years ago—The Olate Dogs.
Great story, too—the man who started it all began as a poor boy in Chile, and even invented his own technique because he couldn’t afford the dog treats so commonly used for rewards. Today his grown son is on stage with him, along with about eight poodle-mix rescue dogs, all of whom appear to adore their trainers and eagerly entertain the crowds.
Well, they recently came to Rocklin, California, where I live. St. Bob and I attended one of their performances and were astounded at the tricks and stunts these dogs could do. In costumes, yet. I can only assume that not one of them has ADD, because they seemed not a bit distracted by their clothing, nor by all the other pooches on stage. (Then again, nobody released a squirrel, so we can’t be totally sure.)
The performers all willingly posed for pictures afterwards, and a good time was had by all.
That is, until we got home. And there sat our completely untrained, spoiled rotten dog, Mickey.
When you dress Mickey in a costume, it must tickle her somehow, because she holds up one leg, as if she is a boy answering a call of nature.
I have actually trained her to do yoga (by rewarding her for her morning stretches, which she would do anyway),
and to run around the coffee table (which she also likes to do anyway). Otherwise, she ignores any attempt at getting her to entertain us, unless you count chasing the cat, which I do not.
To prove she is an outlaw, she even devises hideouts.
It’s possible that the Olate family has a knack for choosing smart, trainable dogs. Or, more likely, they simply know what they’re doing. Maybe one day they’ll offer a summer camp and Mickey can attend for a couple of weeks. But you and I both know she’ll pretend she doesn’t know a thing, once she gets home.
Take a break from training your dog, and read some of my novels. You can find a book for every mood, right here.