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.
No comments:
Post a Comment