The Dog Whisperer
The trouble with Jerk is that people don’t realize there is no irony to his name. He appears as any other dog. He was originally called Vernon, but I informally changed his name after the first couple of weeks he spent in our lives. He was, and is, mean in ways I never realized a dog could be mean. Typically, one might expect a mean dog to bark, growl, and aggressively show its teeth. With Jerk, we get the silent treatment, passive-aggression, and subtle attempts to break our family into a fragmented disaster.
When Jerk was still Vernon, he began to make colorful feces all over our apartment after eating candles, carpet, diapers, and crayons. That might not seem unique for a puppy, but the care that Vernon took in curating a box of crayons was unmistakable. He wouldn’t just refuse to play with a stuffed broccoli toy he didn’t like as a normal dog would. Instead, he would thoroughly chew up every green crayon available, eat any green shirt, towel, or piece of furniture he could find, top it off with a few diapers, then cover the toy in a carefully placed “display” on the living room floor.
As he grew a little older, he graduated to faking a stomach bug any time he was fed a reasonably-priced brand of dog food. Somehow, he could smell our eagerness when we had attempted to ease our Jerk-food budget. One might suspect an allergy or actual dietary restrictions, but Jerk knew what he was doing. One week, we managed to mix in some Purina with his typical artisan fare. Everything was fine until he caught me in the act of rejoicing. He immediately threw up in his food bowl and spent the rest of the afternoon whining and glaring at me. If I left the room to get a break from it, he would just follow me making choking sounds and limping.
Once our son was born, Jerk really turned up the psychological warfare. As we were pulling into the driveway after returning from the hospital, Jerk tore through the screen door, trampled the flowers lining the front walkway, and dropped his favorite toy into our infant son’s car seat. He smirked at me through my wife’s gushing. By becoming my baby boy’s best friend, he knew I would be powerless to get rid of him. Not only that, I’d lost my only ally in the battle against Jerk. While my wife and I used to commiserate over the ridiculous and spiteful ways Jerk might react to being left alone for an afternoon, for example, she began defending him and even blaming me for his behavior.
After that, he began doing things like pretending to lose his balance in the back of the SUV, so she’d let him into the back seat, where he’d kick over my coffee and watch us fight over whether he had done it intentionally. Jerk always enjoyed watching us fight about him, especially in front of other people. His eyes would light up any time my in-laws came to visit. They were fond of reminding me that there aren’t any “bad dogs” and suggested repeatedly that I watch The Dog Whisperer, a television show focused on fixing the issues with the “bad dog owner.”
As my son was nearing an age where he’d be able to talk enough to join in Jerk’s defense, have memories of what he believed to be a normal dog, and possibly never forgive me, I decided I had better get rid of Jerk. I devised a plan and sent my wife and kids over to my sister’s farm on a Tuesday afternoon, secretly took the day off, and snuck Jerk out to “go for a drive.” He knew right away what was happening and began to sob loudly. Unfazed, I explained to Jerk that he’d have to find a new family to torment and that it wasn’t my fault he chose to be such a nuisance. Also, I suggested he seek professional help for his personality disorder. I drove and drove, listing my many grievances in detail as we made our way far out into the country where any signs or calls to local shelters would be useless.
Just before I felt the distance was great enough, I passed a family selling puppies on the side of the road. I mentioned to Jerk that perhaps he needed an Emotional Support Animal. It was then that I figured out a way to solve my Jerk-problem without looking like the bad guy. I turned back and happily bought the cutest golden retriever puppy I had ever seen. When my family returned home to find me sitting on the floor with our beautiful new puppy, A.J., they were overjoyed. They made sure to briefly acknowledge Jerk, making comments about his jealousy and assuring him he didn’t need to worry, but the allure of a puppy is a powerful thing. I smirked at Jerk through their gushing. From that day forward, any time Jerk started to seem like he had anything devious in mind, I’d point at Anti-Jerk and ask if he wanted to go for a ride.
- Written for “A Jerk Professing Not to Be A Jerk”