Yorkie-Poo

As an alpha dog, I am here to tell you that being the leader of the pack is not all it's cracked up to be.  Remember when Scott bought that cute little Yorkie-poo?  I don't know much about the "Yorkie" portion of her name, but I know A LOT about the "poo" part.  I'm the alpha dog, meaning that Prestie only comes when I call her, follows me around all day long and is accustomed to me being the one trying to train her.  Scott tries, but he's just not alpha dog material.  And the kids?  Let me just tell ya, buying a pet in order to teach responsibility is a load of crap.  Literally.  Kids have to go to school.  So it's all me.  Unfortunately, I am not a dog whisperer.  I'm more of a dog yeller and curser, especially when I find little Prestie-poos on the carpet.  When those little brown indiscretions happen, it seems like my whole life has become a massive joke of a failure.  Conversely, when Prestie does her thing outside, I feel absurdly joyful, like I am the luckiest girl in the world.  It's ridiculous!  Internet research notwithstanding, I am the worst dog trainer ever!  Have you seen the dog owners on America's Funniest home Videos?  They're definitely not the best and the brightest, yet they're able to train their dogs.  I must be incredibly stupid, and I just don't know it.  Kinda like Prestie, but without the cute, tangerine-colored eyelashes.

Yesterday, after an incident in Ari's room, I was so enraged, I offered Ruby a trip to San Francisco if she would sell Prestie.  San Francisco!  It was like temporary insanity.  Thank heavens she said no because even with the proceeds from the puppy, we would have to send Ruby on the trip by herself in order to afford it.  Of course, instead of selling her, we could send Prestie with Ruby to SFO and hope she got run over by a cable car.  (The dog, not Ruby.)  It's something to think about, anyway.  Scott almost got run over by a cable car in Vienna right after we were married, and he's much more cognizant of traffic laws than Prestie, so it could happen.

While we're saving up for the Trip of Death, I am trying out a new technique.  Prestie is on a leash with me at all times, except when she's outside or in her kennel.  That way, she can't sneak away and do something naughty that ruins Golda's expensive scale book or Ari's homework.  In a twisted, canine version of Stockholm Syndrome, I am growing to love Prestie by having her tethered to me.  She's soft and fluffy and tenderhearted.  She yelps when she gets scared and hangs out under the high chair for scraps.  She is funny and playful.  Next thing you know, I'll be sending videos in to AFV of Prestie saying "I wuuuv woo!"

I wuv woo too, Prestie!