My Dog Trudeau Makes Some Seriously Poor Life Choices

My dog Trudeau is kind of an idiot. I say this with all possible love and affection, but seriously though.

“I don’t know what you mean. I am ALL CLASS.”

Case in point. Trudeau is kind of dog-aggressive, meaning that sometimes he gets on just fine with other dogs and sometimes he is a colossal tool. This makes my life difficult primarily because it’s generally impossible to tell, when Trudeau reacts with excitement to another dog, whether he wants to play with it or beat it until it pees itself. Also, since Trudeau weighs in at 110 pounds, he can be a little hard to handle when he decides to get in touch with his inner bastard. As a result, he’s simply restricted from getting anywhere near other dogs, which clearly drives him crazy and doesn’t help the problem, but what the hell, dog? You’d be able to indulge in all the glories of the dog park if you weren’t such a son of a bitch.

I guess if you’re a dog this could be like… the canine equivalent of Chucky? Or clowns, maybe.

We’ve been working long and hard on his ability to listen to me rather than flipping his lid, but still, he is a dog. It’s not like I can just explain things and expect him to be rational. I thought at least his issues were rooted in some form of genuine dog behavior voodoo until the other week when we were passing a vendor’s table at a street fair. The guy had a stuffed German Shepherd toy on his table to show off the collars he was selling.

Trudeau caught sight of this completely fake dog and went full Cujo. I have never, in all the time I’ve had him, heard him bark and snarl and generally just go ape-shit the way he did over that stuffed toy. I’m pretty sure we gave the booth vendor — who had his back to us at the time — a heart attack. His life probably flashed before his eyes.

Once I’d dragged Trudeau away from the offending plushie, I said, “What the hell, dog?! THAT IS NOT EVEN A REAL DOG YOU JUST WENT INSANE OVER.”

And he said, “What? That was totally justified. He said something about my mom.” Or at least, that’s what I imagine he said. It’s sort of what he said with his eyebrows. I don’t actually think my dog talks to me. Honest.

Still, sometimes I think his general psychopathy is the least of his problems. A few days ago I took him for a walk on the local parkway, which runs along a sort of small swampland and is generally just choked with weeds and gnats and kind of nasty river grasses. (It’s actually not always a pleasant place to walk and it’s kind of covered in graffiti for some reason but whatever, it’s close to home and well removed from Utah’s insane drivers.) Trudeau chose to divert himself by eating vegetation, which normally I don’t mind — I feed him greens myself and I think variety is important to a dog’s diet, plus eating grass seems to be an important part of settling his stomach when he’s feeling not-super. But normally he’s eating a few handfuls of grass here and there. This time he chose to eat weedy seed-heads. You know, the kind that sort of look like wheat, with essentially big spines on them? The kind that look profoundly inedible? Things sort of went like this:

Me: Oh my GOD, dog, STOP eating those things! You are going to puke them back up and it is not going to be pleasant because they are practically BARBED.
Trudeau: You’re not my real mom! *noms*
Me: This is not going to end well for either of us, you realize this.
Trudeau: These are SO GOOD! *noms* Let’s take some home! We can grow our own! I’ll poop the seeds out and we can start a GARDEN, lolz! *noms*
Me: I hate you, did you know that? I wish I could just let you walk home by yourself so nobody would know that we know each other.
Trudeau: I don’t know what you’re so upset about. *pukes*

He waited until we were at the farthest point from home, of course, and then he started throwing up seed-heads, one seed-head at a time. We’d take ten steps and then he’d start hacking like a twelve-pack-a-day smoker, and leave behind a little puddle of vileness with a single sprig of vegetation at its center. Walk ten steps, repeat. When we finally got back to the river again, I let him eat swampgrass for a good five minutes, which finally settled his stomach, but that really could’ve gone either way… it could’ve just caused him to puke even more violently for the next twenty minutes. These are the kinds of choices that our dogs drive us to.

Trudeau is known for his poor food choices, though. He once chose to sneak a drink from a pasture drainage ditch while I was busy re-tying my shoelace, and took a nice big drink of brackish, standing manure run-off water. (That didn’t end well.) The photo below was taken his first time at the ocean, and as you can see he is drinking huge mouthfuls of seawater, presumably because his previous mouthfuls of seawater made him thirsty.

He will also eat anything that is thrown at his face, and simply assume that it is edible. He’s a very trusting soul. Usually he won’t bother to smell or taste it, he’ll just shovel it down his gullet. I’m pretty sure if I threw a chainsaw at his face he’d swallow it. Actually, we could possibly turn that into a sideshow act and maybe he’d earn his keep for once. Lord knows he’s not going to acquire any other sort of gainful employment, unless you can count “being a total knob” as an occupation.

If you enjoyed this post, I would like to offer you some additional recommended reading. You might enjoy my previous post about the day I threatened to develop psychic powers just so I could destroy my dog remotely, but I also want to very seriously recommend both Texts From Dog (every moment of it is pure genius) and Hyperbole and a Half‘s blogs titled Dog (in which the author administers an IQ test to her dog) and Dogs Don’t Understand Basic Concepts Like Moving, in which the Simple Dog discovers she’s magical and can make food, and the Helper Dog has a nervous breakdown. Both of these authors are seriously genius and I hope you will enjoy the ever-loving hell out of them. While you’re doing that, I’ll be over here, giving my dog Trudeau this IQ test…

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16 thoughts on “My Dog Trudeau Makes Some Seriously Poor Life Choices

  1. Maybe your dog is having identity issues; You should let him know if he’s named after Gary, Pierre, or Kevin. Maybe that will straighten him out. (PS, peroxide, poured down his throat, will make him vomit. However, it will come out all foamy, like a vomit Slurpee, so use with caution. And only outside. Inside=bad.)

    • He already knows he’s named after Pierre; I call him “Prime Minister” a lot and we occasionally discuss Canadian politics. Also, the Internet tells me that you are not messing with me on the peroxide thing but it still seems profoundly awful.

      • Nope, of things medically important I do not mess. Which also means I am not kidding about the Bile-Latte, extra foamy. And Canadian’s have politics? Hmm. Learn something new every day. See you soon (?)

  2. I’m laughing so hard tears are dripping down my face. Great post.

  3. The crossed front paws kill me! You’re hilarious!

  4. That weed-grass has two official names. The first is “foxtail grass”; the other is “$500 vet bill.” Nasty little things burrow their way through the tissues, requiring surgery to get them out. TruDog, you are such a foolish hound. <3

    • I had a suspicion that it would be not-good but he’s a sneaky little shit when he’s going for something he thinks is food. He seems none the worse for the experience (I’m not sure any of them actually made it further than his throat but it sure required a lot of hacking to get them back out again), but I’m definitely keeping a closer eye on him on that trail…. I at least got my timing down to where I was yanking him back every time he *thought* about eating one instead of every time he’d already snatched one.

  5. My wee terrier cross gets a bit aggressive with other dogs as well (granted she is a lot easier to handle then Trudeau :p She always picks on larger dogs then herself the silly thing , our neighbor has a collie/german Shepard cross and she reckons she can take her on ! :)

    • I’ve noticed that with wee little dogs…. they always seem to be the ones that want to try to take Trudeau apart, and he’s massive! :D It must be tough being a little dog, though. We had one slip under a fence and come charging at us once when we were on a walk… it made like it was going to try to bite me and Trudeau just picked it up and tossed it through the air, it landed like six feet away. I felt awful for the poor little guy (even though he had only himself to blame) and when the owner came out of his house to round up his dog I thought he was going to be pissed, but he just looked at Trudeau and said, “That’s a good dog you got there” and went back in his house. ;D

  6. Trudeau reminds me of another dog I knew. I woke up one night to Gar throwing up green tomatoes on my bedroom floor, he also made poor food choices.

  7. I love this post & the Psychic Powers one – it’s such a good description of their thought processes as they decide whether to pretend not to hear, to make a run for it, to act subservient, or to enthusiastically bound back to you. If you want to know exactly, whet they are thinking, check out this guest post by my lab/Golden mix, Duke: http://daisybrain.wordpress.com/2010/07/25/guest-column-by-duke/

  8. I just submitted this post to Reddit – hopefully you’ll get a bizillion new visitors. Sometimes, my Reddit submissions don’t take, but when they do, they generate a lot of traffic & lots of new people coming by.

    • That’s awesome, thank you! I am seeing a bit of a rise in traffic today… not huge, but not insignificant either. My posts to reddit usually generate a total of no karma ever, so that’s what I like to call a result! :D And, as a double win, I even found your submission with the reddit search box which as we all know doesn’t usually help you FIND things. :D My thanks, from a fellow redditor. :)

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