Hey Bogie,

Ollie here. I was wondering what I should do about these humans insisting I go on walks in the evening? I mean, I already have to walk up and down the stairs, multiple times throughout the day, on my way to the kitchen. Don’t you think that’s enough? When my human lady reaches for the harness and leash, I always try to run away but (and maybe
don’t print this) she dupes me with a treat. It never fails. Once we’re out the door, it’s not uncommon for her to drag me until I agree to start walking. This doesn’t work for me on so many levels.

On top of that, there’s always this yappy dog out at the same time. You can hear her from MILES away. No exaggeration, this girl does not stop talking. It drives me nuts! Of course, regardless of what I do, my human makes me say “hi” to her and it’s always super awkward. (I’m starting to think this whole charade is mostly so the humans can talk to each other.) Anyway, after every attempt I’ve made to discourage the routine”¦nothing seems to work! Got any advice?

Signed,

Oliver

Ollie-Ollie-Oxen-Free,

Yes buddy, I do. A fellow named Gandhi once said, “be the change you want to see in the world.” It was as if he was speaking for canines everywhere but, believe it or not, the dude was a human. I suggest taking these words and (minus when it’s totally inconvenient) trying to live by them. Each of us must do the best we can with the people we’ve been given…according, of course, to whatever level of fitness we find most agreeable. Some humans, as you’re well aware, are harder to train than others.

Your person sounds fairly textbook, so let me flip to section 2a, part G of my forthcoming Scenario Manual: It’s dusk, the sun is about to set, and your mom’s gaze settles on your harness and leash. Immediately, you dart under anything close by””table, chair, cabinet””and the games begin. She calls your name, “Ollie, come”¦good boy, Ollie, come.” But this time isn’t like the others. Not even close. Nothing and nobody is going to persuade you to leave your house. But then, all of the sudden, you hear her opening the cookie jar. You question your resolve. As if you were Pavlov’s Dog, you begin to salivate. Mind control!

At this point your evening could go one of two ways: you could crawl out from hiding””cautiously inch forward to accept her caloric manipulation along with all the baggage that comes with it””or, you could snag the snack and bail. I suggest the latter. In an effort to curtail this evening walk and your encounter with what’s-her-face (she sounds like a teacup yorkie or, worst case, an intoxicated poodle) you have no choice but to “eat and run.”

Look dude, I know you work the stairs throughout the day and I’m going to suggest you continue to do so. Our breed isn’t known for being quick on our feet and you’re going to have to be fast in order to dodge the leash while you’re chewing. In fact, you should probably secure the treat in your cheeks, scurry up the stairs as fast as your legs can carry you and wait until you’re at the top to actually crunch the biscuit so you don’t, like, choke on the pieces. Safety first bro.

At this point your mom will be flustered. Selfishly, she doesn’t want to go on her walk alone. You’re good for her image. So, from the top of the stairs, give her a boost of confidence. Tell her she’s a “good girl”. They love using that phrase on us (insert: boy) so why not give them a taste of their own medicine?

Soon, darkness will fall and your mom won’t want to go outside alone. The mini- poodle will have gone back to her martinis and the whole premise for your evening walk will be a distant memory.

You got this,

Boges