One tiny dog. Massive amounts of stupidity.

Friends, we may very well be in possession of the dumbest canine on the planet. (Is there some kind of booby prize for that? Like a giant silver chalice filled with poo, inscribed with our dog's name and the telephone number of the nearest emergency vet? (Attractive AND functional!) Or something?)

To be completely fair, I think Truman has a great deal of one kind of intelligence, just little to none of all the others. He has what modern psychology refers to as Emotional Intelligence, meaning he's quite adept at things like gauging the moods of his owner-humans, and when might be the best time turn on his patented Head Clown In The Idiot Parade act to make us all laugh, or the appropriate moment to lunge in for a sweet nibble on M's nose to make her squeal with glee. He's quite clearly figured out what we find amusing and irritating in his behavioral bag of tricks, and is skilled at manipulating those in various ways to his advantage. Generally speaking, he's funny and goofy and actively entertaining, which I suppose could be accurately described as Merits Of The Not Completely Stupid. But put his talent for being Mister Personality Plus aside? Dumb as a fucking rock.

Remember Truman's recent scuffle with our chain link fence? A scuffle which ended in him tearing out a decent-sized swath of his own hair in the process? Well one might think that such an experience would dissuade the average canine from engaging in that particular behavior again, what with the pain and hair loss and general unpleasantness involved. But then let's remember that Truman isn't an average canine, oh no. He's a moron.

Yesterday after Jamie returned home from work, he ran his hand over Truman's back and felt something wet. “Oh god, I hope it's not blood!” he gasped, jerking his hand away reflexively. And guess what it was! GUESS!

(sigh)

Another patch of hair gone, but this time with some blood. Or bloody ooze. Or perhaps our dog is making his own gravy? Anyway, it was some moist bodily nastiness that I was frankly in no mood to investigate and explore in fine detail. I washed, dried, and Bactined the crap out of the general area, all the while verbally admonishing the stupid dog for his stupidly stupid stupidity as he gazed up at me intently, looking deep into my eyes with an expression that said “Gee, I wonder if her eyeballs taste like snausages?”

Since then I've done a full perimeter sweep of our entire backyard, scouting out both sides of our fence for any obvious gaps or defects, with no luck. To be honest, I expected to find at least one partially dug Hogan's Heroes-type tunnel somewhere along the line -- a visible indicator of Truman's desperate, clawing attempts to flee what he apparently views as a death camp-like existence which he must escape at all costs. Like its freakin' Doggie Dachau over here or something. OH MY GOD YOU GUYS, MY DOG IS ROBERTO BENIGNI. (That makes almost too much sense, actually.)

So in the absence of an obvious solution (fix fence, fill in hole(s), all better!), there seems to be a number of possible next steps we might take, some being more tenable than others:

1. Never let Truman outside again, resign ourselves to living in fecal filth and putrescence
2. Wire our fence with low-voltage electricity, wait expectantly for the tell-tale scent of burnt hair -- SHAZAM!
3. Tie him to some sort of lead that prevents him from reaching the Fence Death Zone
4. Take him for several daily walks (YEAH, RIGHT)
5. Let him in the backyard but watch him like a hawk the entire time he's out there (YAWN)
6. Do nothing different and hope against hope that he catches a clue, grows a brain, or otherwise works this shit out on his own

Bet you can't guess which of those options I'm leaning toward. Here, I'll give you a hint: it's not numbers one through five.

I guess it's too late to return him, huh? Bring him back to the breeder: “Oh hai, this one is defective. Can I exchange him? Perhaps for something in a soft chocolate brown, AND WITH A GOTDAMN BRAIN?”

. . . . . . . . . .

PS: Please to enjoy my epic on hardwood floor care (no, for serious). Because I love.

Comments

[Nic (bridehood)]

I think you should put one of those funnel things around his head which will discourage him from putting his body anywhere. Also, very funny.

[Martha]

I think, for EXTRA hilarity, you should invent a backwards funnel...it'll protect the top of his back and confuse the bejeez out of him ;)

[Kristabella]

Hahahaha! I love Hogan's Heroes!

[Kizz]

So glad you wrote about this today. Remember when last we spoke about cats making themselves bald? Well after 2 gross and expensive trips to the vet for...er...digestive maladies it turns out that I have Steve Urkel for a cat. He's got a heart murmur which makes it hard for him to breathe which makes him panicky which has led to the obsessive licking and IBS. My cat has IBS! WTF?!?! So now I have to cook for him (boiled chicken, little yogurt for the good bacteria, some chicken broth for hydration). I don't cook for MYSELF!!

I would like to know how exactly pets like this manage to find the kinds of suckers like me who will put up with this crap.

[sweetney]

nic & martha: you two are even more twisted than i am. I LOVE YOU.

kizz: heart murmur, huh? well, on the bright side at least you have a sort of tangible physical ailment. with our cat wallace, it's just plain ol' neuroses. speaking of: he's now on Amitriptyline. having lots of fun shoving those tablets down his throat (bangs head slowly against table). WHY GOD, WHY?

[sweetney]

ps: wait, where did all my comments go?!?! (shakes fist at lurkers) (you know who you are) (oh yeah, AND NOW I DO TOO)

[lizneust]

Didn't get a chance to comment/delurk yesterday, so here I am. Also commented on your hardwood floor epic. As for dogs wounding themselves being, well, dogs, we basically keep a huge supply of Bactine and Neosporin on hand. Maybe you could make Truman a mini-cone - big enough to keep him from digging under stuff, but small enough so that he can still, um, groom himself.

[Sarah, Goon Squad Sarah]

He may be dumb, but he sure is cute!

[kim at allconsuming]

Do not get me started on canines.

Daft as a brush is the turn of phrase I most commonly use for one of our dogs. Yeah. Because one dog! Not enough! Let's get two! Then the grass really will die! Yay!

He's known for walking into light poles when we go walking. And not because there's anything wrong with his eyesight. Just because it is so exciting to be on a walk.

Oh God I can feel me getting started about dogs.

[Leon]

Hilarious! He's a cute dog. I guess he's gotten used to getting by on his looks!

[Kirsten]

I vote for Martha's reverse cone. And if anyone can come up with a cure to keep my mutt out of our trash that does not include me having to lug our stupid cans in and out of the shed at night *since the shed is like 2 1/2 flights of stairs DOWN* and doesn't require me taking every last little thing TO the shed, I would love you forever. And so would my lawn.

[Jessie Mae]

My dog has the same dinosaur costume! Except his doesn't fit him at all. I ended up wearing it instead.

My dog isn't actually the stupid pet in my house. For me it's the cat. If you put a napkin on his head, instead of tipping it off, he'll just run backwards and backwards until he runs into something and the napkin falls off. Good times.

[All Adither]

I'm the stupid pet in our house.

[Maria]

I'm a sucker. I would take one look at him and forgive all :-)

I would buy him some rubber boots. My dogs will NOT move if I put boots on them.

[Neil]

Come on... think back to high school and where everyone is now. Is it the brainiacs who became the big successes, or the sort-of-dumb guy in the back who could make everyone laugh?

Truman is a keeper.

[BOSSY]

You know what, though? He has an Award-Winning name. That has to count for something.

[sweetney]

Bossy: yes, but his name was very nearly "Mister President." glad we didn't go that route though, because W aside, that's a hard one to live up to (and W should know. snort.).

[Korie Klein]

I'm wondering, if you can't find evidence of holes in the fence, are you sure it's the fence? Like, could it be a super severe skin thing like doggy psoriasis that he scratches at or something? And if it is the fence, maybe you could look at prices on a different kind of fence?

[Her Bad Mother]

Truman doesn't need to be smart because he's super-cute. He's got the looks, you've got the brains - where's the problem, really?