Glad Max, Furry Rogue


I gave the verbal command with as much authority as I could muster along with a hand signal and then blew a corresponding code on the whistle. Max stood and wagged his tail while expressing great interest in the treats I had cribbed in my left hand.

“How am I supposed to know whether this whistle even works if you can hear it and I can’t?” The beagle offered no explanation, but placed his front paws on my knees in an effort to get closer to those treats.

“Off!” I commanded. I couldn’t remember the code for that command and gave one long blow on the whistle in frustration.

“What’s with all the noise?” the wife howled from the other room.

“I’m training the dog,” I hollered back.

“That’ll be the day. That dog is dumber that a bag of hammers.”

“He’s a good boy.”

Max sat with an expectant look in his brown eyes. I gave him a treat. “Good boy.”

The wife leaned on the door jamb. “Did you feed the cat?”

Your cat?”

“Well what the hell other cat would I care if you fed?”

“We agreed. I take care of my dog, you take care of your cat.”

“Oh, like I don’t end up feeding both of them more often than not.” She returned to the kitchen.

“You’ve been feeding Max too?” I called after her.

“Well, I guess we know why you’ve been gaining weight, huh boy?” Max thumped his tail in agreement. I gave him another treat.

The can opener whirred and Max trotted off to the kitchen. “Are you hungry, boy?” I heard the wife purr at him.

Training session over.



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