The Dog Screamer


By Diane Sesler

Enters Nuke the dog. An impressive muscular beast with a walnut size brain. A klutzy live wind-up energizer 9 year old dog who will run full blast into you. Bruises — I have many. My body looks like a war map. This is our 100 pound Doberman who chews on rocks as a hobby. Grown UPS men fall off our porch when I open the door.

Problem: He is the leader. I am untrained.

Situation: High pitch yelping that puts Daryl Hannah in Splash to shame. This happens when he’s excited which means 50% of the time. This is enough for neighbors to leave unfriendly notes in our mailbox. Foaming around his gummy bear mouth follows. His cartoon eyes would go around in circles if they could. I try a deep concentration method on keeping calm and gently tell him to hush and sit. This never works. Ever. His wiggly butt can’t stay still. I hear my mother in the back of my head “The Dog Whisperer wouldn’t do that…what you should do…”. I’m not paying attention. Nuke runs full steam into me. Extreme pain.

I LOSE it! Arggghhh #$@%^&*!!! Mille millions de mille sabords! Je vais te tue! I am The Dog Screamer! I am foaming at the mouth running (limping really) around the yard flapping my arms up and down. I’m screaming commands. I realize Nuke isn’t around. I’m my only audience. He’s gone looking for mega rocks. I’m in need of a water-bowl-sized cocktail.

I dream of the Dog Whisperer being next to me on my dock. I bark at him several times and then calmly shove him into the river. Nuke is in the background grinning.


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