Literally.
There's something about a 40+ pound puppy hauling arse for a family of squirrels while you're trailing behind, clinging to the leash for dear life, your new Cole Hahn heels being worn to nubs that will make even the most loving dog owner beet red with anger.
My puppy gains strength by the hour, while I grow increasingly more terrified of walking her.
All is fine, well, and good until she spots something interesting at a distance...then we become the neighborhood spectacle.
I hate the idea of corporeal punishment (for dogs), but I - and my shoes - are at wits end.
The shock collar and it's equally mean cronies (the choke collar, the bark collar, etc.) have grown attractive.
The inciting event occurred earlier, when we were outside, playing in the autumn leaves. A squirrel darted across our path and the chase was on! Puppy barreled down the slippery drive, I strengthened my grip on the leash, trying to dig my heels into the ground to stop us. I yelled her name, first demanding, then begging her to stop. She apparently no longer understood English.
She continued racing toward a steep rocky drop-off at the back of our drive. I saw my life flash before me, and it was all too brief.
In a tremendous show of strength, I mustered what I could and yanked with all my might backwards on the leash. Puppy came to a screeching halt, and shamefacedly returned to me, her downcast eyes begging forgiveness as she licked my hand by way of apology.
I surveyed my now scuffed and mangled heels, caked with mud.
"That's it!" I yelled. "You just bought yourself a shock collar, dammit!"
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