Thanks for the run today. You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you how much I appreciate being on a leash. It’s like, when I’m on a leash, I don’t have to fight anyone. Sure, I slaver in a mentally unbalanced way whenever I see another dog, but I don’t have to follow through! I’m like a guy in a bar who does that exaggerated thing of asking to be held back by two other guys so he won’t punch someone: “Hold me back, hold me back!” I yell. The truth is, I’d rather not fight. Do you notice how I sigh with relief after every dog we pass?
Off leash, I see dogs my size or smaller, and it’s my duty to fight ’em. Who knows why? You had my balls cut off long ago, so it’s not testosterone anymore. It might be the alpha male in me, or maybe it’s my invisible Oakland pit bull genes expressing themselves. Or could it be my anger that you had my balls cut off?! Grrrr…
Anyway, if I lived in a world of dogs who were bigger than me, it’d be a different story. I don’t need to even pretend to want to fight a dog that’s bigger than me.
In case you hadn’t noticed, I weigh 80 pounds. I carry giant logs on our runs, because, like fighting, it allows me to display my manly strength. Some dogs try to interrupt me on my runs when my mouth is full. At that point I don’t even growl, because once I’m in log-carrying mode, I have a singular focus. I go, “Sorry, can’t talk now, it’s critically important that I drag this VERY LARGE LOG two miles back the car. Continue chasing your tennis ball.”
Smaller dogs need to be taught a lesson: I am powerful and easily angered, and if it were not for this leash I’m on, I’d have to hurt you. Larger dogs? They’re really very nice if you don’t look in their general direction.
