EmnJoe
nunya bidnis
Peter McKay Tue Feb 6, 3:00 AM ET
Creators Syndicate - I read in the paper this week that rich pet owners in New York City and San Francisco are hiring high-priced "animal behaviorists" to come to their homes and help them communicate better with their dogs.
I personally have nothing against dogs. We have one of our own, a smelly, old West Highland Terrier named Harry, whom we picked up at a shelter a few years ago. Since, we've spent our fair share of the approximately $38 billion that Americans spent last year on leashes, dog treats and pet beds. But according to the article, Americans spent somewhere around another $2.7 billion last year for "pet services," including house calls from dog whisperers who can help, for hundreds of dollars per hour, translate between stressed owners and their pets.
It's not clear what exactly these people actually do when they come to your house, other than stifling a belly laugh over how they're getting $300 an hour to pretend to talk to an animal. A lot of it seems to be common sense. You'll hear, "If you don't want the dog to steal your food from your plate, eat at a table and not on the couch." They'll say, "If you don't want him eating out of the trash, put it where he can't get at it." Oh, and before they leave, they'll whisper, "Can you just make that check out to cash?" See? All stuff you knew already.
Reading this story got me thinking, though. I have no intention of spending hundreds of dollars for someone to help me better communicate with our dog. Coming from an animal shelter, Harry, all told, cost us about $37.50, and at his age, I'm not sure he's worth further investment. Still, if I could get one of these canine counselors to come by my house, there are a lot of messages I'd pass on to my walking fur-ball.
Harry, we have to talk.
That whole thing you do, where you stand at the top of the steps, whining because you don't want to go up or down the stairs by yourself? And then, when I come to help you, and you run and hide under a bed? Well, that's got to stop. It's an insult to all of your ancestors, who didn't eat dinner unless they could track it down and kill it.
While we're at it, when it's time to take a walk and we bring out the leash, you've got to stop dancing on your hind feet in circles. It's just a walk. We're going around the block. You're going to sniff a lot of disgusting things, and then you're coming home. It's not like we're taking you to Disneyland. You're making too big a deal out of it.
And you know how sometimes you get into the trash when we're not looking, and then you throw up by the front door? That's because the stuff in the trash is, believe it or not, NOT GOOD TO EAT. You don't see any of the rest of us eating out of there, do you? (OK, OK! Once I retrieved the leftover half of a hamburger one of the kids hadn't eaten out of there, but it had only been in there two seconds, and it didn't touch anything else. Don't be a smart aleck, Harry.)
Also, while I understand that it's a doggy way of saying you love me, I'd like you to stop trying to lick my face all the time. It's not that I don't enjoy your company; it's just that I've seen you lick a lot of other stuff with that same tongue, and you're not getting near me with that mouth even if you gargle with Clorox bleach. Maybe we could agree to shake hands, or something less intimate.
Finally, that thing you're doing right now? Going around in circles and rubbing your rear end on our living room carpet with that creepy look on your face? So not cool. You may have noticed that when you first came to live with us, I used to lie on the rug to watch TV. I don't do that anymore. Because of that butt-rubbing thing. In fact, I feel queasy if I have to walk on that carpet barefoot.
I'm glad we had this talk, pal. I'm sure we can work out these behavior issues and all live a more peaceful life.
And by the way, if you talk with Mom, don't mention the hamburger thing. Thanks.
To find out more about Peter McKay, please visit www.creators.com.
Creators Syndicate - I read in the paper this week that rich pet owners in New York City and San Francisco are hiring high-priced "animal behaviorists" to come to their homes and help them communicate better with their dogs.
I personally have nothing against dogs. We have one of our own, a smelly, old West Highland Terrier named Harry, whom we picked up at a shelter a few years ago. Since, we've spent our fair share of the approximately $38 billion that Americans spent last year on leashes, dog treats and pet beds. But according to the article, Americans spent somewhere around another $2.7 billion last year for "pet services," including house calls from dog whisperers who can help, for hundreds of dollars per hour, translate between stressed owners and their pets.
It's not clear what exactly these people actually do when they come to your house, other than stifling a belly laugh over how they're getting $300 an hour to pretend to talk to an animal. A lot of it seems to be common sense. You'll hear, "If you don't want the dog to steal your food from your plate, eat at a table and not on the couch." They'll say, "If you don't want him eating out of the trash, put it where he can't get at it." Oh, and before they leave, they'll whisper, "Can you just make that check out to cash?" See? All stuff you knew already.
Reading this story got me thinking, though. I have no intention of spending hundreds of dollars for someone to help me better communicate with our dog. Coming from an animal shelter, Harry, all told, cost us about $37.50, and at his age, I'm not sure he's worth further investment. Still, if I could get one of these canine counselors to come by my house, there are a lot of messages I'd pass on to my walking fur-ball.
Harry, we have to talk.
That whole thing you do, where you stand at the top of the steps, whining because you don't want to go up or down the stairs by yourself? And then, when I come to help you, and you run and hide under a bed? Well, that's got to stop. It's an insult to all of your ancestors, who didn't eat dinner unless they could track it down and kill it.
While we're at it, when it's time to take a walk and we bring out the leash, you've got to stop dancing on your hind feet in circles. It's just a walk. We're going around the block. You're going to sniff a lot of disgusting things, and then you're coming home. It's not like we're taking you to Disneyland. You're making too big a deal out of it.
And you know how sometimes you get into the trash when we're not looking, and then you throw up by the front door? That's because the stuff in the trash is, believe it or not, NOT GOOD TO EAT. You don't see any of the rest of us eating out of there, do you? (OK, OK! Once I retrieved the leftover half of a hamburger one of the kids hadn't eaten out of there, but it had only been in there two seconds, and it didn't touch anything else. Don't be a smart aleck, Harry.)
Also, while I understand that it's a doggy way of saying you love me, I'd like you to stop trying to lick my face all the time. It's not that I don't enjoy your company; it's just that I've seen you lick a lot of other stuff with that same tongue, and you're not getting near me with that mouth even if you gargle with Clorox bleach. Maybe we could agree to shake hands, or something less intimate.
Finally, that thing you're doing right now? Going around in circles and rubbing your rear end on our living room carpet with that creepy look on your face? So not cool. You may have noticed that when you first came to live with us, I used to lie on the rug to watch TV. I don't do that anymore. Because of that butt-rubbing thing. In fact, I feel queasy if I have to walk on that carpet barefoot.
I'm glad we had this talk, pal. I'm sure we can work out these behavior issues and all live a more peaceful life.
And by the way, if you talk with Mom, don't mention the hamburger thing. Thanks.
To find out more about Peter McKay, please visit www.creators.com.
