This isn’t just empty TV watching. I get a quiet half-hour to drink my coffee, and Howie, hopefully, is learning how to be a good dog. Sort of a canine intervention through positive role model reinforcement. Every week through the late 70’s and early 80’s, Hobo saved another bad Canadian actor from another precarious situation. Like the down-on-his-luck Clown who was about to lose his home (and worse – his dreams!) Then he leaves, sometimes hitching a ride on a train, to find the next sap to rescue. *
Howie drinks out of the toilet, eats my daughter’s lip gloss, and chews holes in underwear he steals out of the laundry hamper .
I’ve tried talking to him. I’ve tried yelling. I’ve tried tying him to the back door until he learns his lesson. He tips his head intelligently and wags his tail as if to tell me this time he gets it. He really, really gets it.
It’s not that I expect him to be the Hobo. Let’s face it – shepherds are brave, intellingent, smart dogs. Labs are cute dopes. I don’t expect him to save clowns from homelessness. It’s just that I’m running out of underwear.
This isn't the face of canine intelligence. I think one ear is heavier than the other.
*Don’t be fooled if you saw the Littlest Yarbo episode of Corner Gas – the one where the German shepherd comes to town, and Hank thinks it’s the Hobo. That dog pretended to be a hero, then locked Hank and Brent in the shed and stole a steak off the grill. Hobo would never do something like that. Never.