I don’t think I’m askin’ too much.
I’ve written about this before.
All I want is for Cutter and Tug to come when they’re called. Hang out, run the beach, check out all the newbie smells, poop and pee EVERYWHERE, but just come when they’re called.
(Actually more than that. When we call ’em I want them to freeze, see their ears perk up and watch, arms crossed, contentedly, admiringly, as they haul ass back to us slavishly yearning to please.)
But they don’t.
And they didn’t again this weekend. While we walking the beach, Tug went loping away and Cutter ambled after him pretty innocently enough heading for Florida and totally ignoring my plaintive calls and whistles and promises of biscuits.
Fuckers.
It makes me nuts. I gnash my teeth and howl and scream for Cutter and Tug to be the kinda dogs’ll hang out on the beach and walk with us smiling and swimming and doing cool dog things and make us look like cool dog owner people.
But they won’t.
Losers.
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