On Georgie’s first day of school, we realized that she was already a wonder dog—meaning that we all began to wonder what exactly, if anything, was going through her canine mind. Let’s just say that on an intelligence test, Georgie would have scored well below dolphins. Maybe somewhere around the sea cucumber range . . .
The instructor lady, who was not a dog but rather a woman who looked like she had recently left a position as a marine drill sergeant, told us that the first trick our dog should learn was called “watch.” All we had to do to teach this trick was show our dog a treat. When our dog noticed we were holding little bits of artificially flavored meat, we held it next to our eye and said, “Watch.” This was designed to get the dog’s attention, so that every time we said “watch,” our dog would make eye contact.
The instructor brought her fully grown Doberman to the class and showed everyone how well trained he was. Once she said “watch,” her dog wouldn’t break eye contact for anything. She was so proud of this fact, she told everyone to start calling the dog’s name to get his attention. I don’t remember the Doberman’s name so I’ll call him Wiener Schnitzel. Anyway, no matter how much noise the class made, Wiener Schnitzel just stared intently at the instructor.
Then Faith made a very convincing meow sound. We had a multitude of cats at home and she was pretty good at mimicking them. Wiener Schnitzel’s head snapped in my sister’s direction, breaking eye contact with his master.
The instructor, probably feeling a little embarrassed, told my sister, “That was a fluke. Just try that little cheat again.”
The instructor then told her dog, “Watch!” and Schnitzel stared obediently at her. My sister, now a skilled meowist, did another kitten impersonation. Once again, the dog broke eye contact and tried to figure out where my sister was hiding a cat.
The instructor, feeling incredibly humiliated and ashamed that her dog had failed the most basic command of not breaking eye contact, took her dog outside the store and shot him point-blank so that Wiener Schnitzel never broke eye contact ever again.
Okay, I made that last part up. But I wouldn’t have wanted to be that dog when he got home after class.
Fifteen years later when I asked my sister about the incident, she said, “Yeah, I still feel a little bad I did that.”
The instructor then had us practice the watch trick with our dogs. No matter how much we tried to get Georgie’s attention, she had no idea why we were holding treats up next to our eyes and really didn’t care.
All that week my family worked on the watch trick with Georgie. For the most part, she looked at us questioningly. We counted that as a success.
For the next class, Georgie had to learn a trick that was, according to the instructor, “the easiest command for a dog to learn.” Sitting. We had high hopes for Georgie’s ability to comprehend this task since sitting isn’t that difficult. I’m already sitting more than I stand these days.
The instructor said, “To teach your dog how to sit, you simply have to hold up a treat in front of your dog’s face, and while they’re watching the treat, you move your hand over the back of their head. In order for dogs to keep their eyes on the dog-candy, they have to sit down.”
Easy as B-i-n-g-o was his name-o. Then, when our dogs did the trick, we would reward them with the aforementioned treat—positive reinforcement.
Although Georgie was able to pick up “watch” somewhat easily, she had a hard time mastering sitting. She only seemed to have a vague idea that we were waving our hands over her head and had no idea why we were doing it. All she wanted to do in class was go sniff other dogs’ butts.
After a while, I felt bad that Georgie wasn’t earning any treats, and so I tossed a few to her. Most of the time she missed the treat altogether and let it stay on the floor until eventually some other dog who was paying attention got it.
Puppies that were only a few months old were sitting like they had already been sitting their entire lives. It was embarrassing how little Georgie sat down. We were supposed to go home and work on these two tricks all week so that when we returned to class our dogs would sit on command while they were being walked on a leash. But when the next lesson rolled around, Georgie was only a little bit better.
During this lesson, the instructor told us that if Georgie wasn’t paying attention to the sit command, we should pull up on her leash, lifting her front paws off the ground until she did what we wanted. The reasoning behind this was that by pulling her leash that way, she would naturally sit and would quickly learn what we wanted her to do.
Unfortunately, “quickly” and “learn” weren’t words that would ever describe our dog.
At the end of the lesson, the instructor had the entire class walk in a line around the PetSmart. Every few seconds, she gave the command to sit. And keep in mind this was in full view of all the shoppers. While everyone else marched through the aisles showcasing their dogs’ talents, I had to keep pulling on Georgie’s leash so that it looked like I was trying to hang my dog like a piñata.
After that, our family went to the other classes but we didn’t attempt many of the more complicated tricks. While the other dogs learned to lie down, roll over, and heel, we learned to have low expectations.
Another thing the instructor told us to do was to get a choke collar. This was supposed to naturally teach dogs not to pull on their leashes because when they did, their collar tightened uncomfortably. That probably worked for most dogs. Anytime we were out walking with Georgie and she saw a cat, she would nearly strangle herself pulling on the leash. Every. Single. Time.
Georgie had an insistent mistrust of cats, which she really shouldn’t have had since she was raised in a household that had two indoor cats and three feral cats who had set up camp in our backyard.
You would have thought that Georgie would’ve even appreciated having the cats around since she was always eating their leftover cat food. Cat food may possibly taste better than dog food, but I’m not willing to test out this hypothesis. Maybe Georgie just wanted to eat the cats’ food to be spiteful.
Georgie never learned to do any cool tricks, like catch a Frisbee, but she eventually did learn to sit. In fact, we drilled that trick into her so thoroughly that she seemed to believe she would only get treats if she was sitting. She probably never understood why we so fervently wanted her to sit, but whatever. At least she knew one trick.
And fortunately none of us ever fell down a well, so she never had to go for help.
Georgie was still a great dog and a big part of my childhood. All those training lessons did teach me something important: Someone doesn’t have to be really smart for you to love them. They just have to love you back.
Chapter 6
Your Fears Aren’t That Weird After All
Human development specialists, a.k.a. my mother, will tell you that fear is a necessary emotion that helps keep us alive. This is probably true. I haven’t looked it up.
Since fear keeps us out of danger, you’d think we’d always want to avoid things we’re afraid of.
But sometimes we willingly scare ourselves.
People go on roller coasters.
People go to horror movies.
And people elect new politicians every four years.
When I was younger, I admit that I did some scary things. When I went out camping with my scout troop, I liked climbing tall, hazardous rock formations. I also liked climbing on trees, rocks, and people’s nerves. Looking back, I’m dumbfounded that I’m not currently in a coma.
Every time we finished a hike and reached the top of a mountain, I would sit down and dangle my feet over the edge. The scout leaders always told me to stop, but my parents never paid enough attention to me at home so I would do reckless and dangerous things to get someone, anyone, to care about me. Or else I was just dumb. It was one of the two.
I think the craziest example of this youth-filled
stupidity was when my troop camped near a towering rock formation, probably around fifty feet tall. After I set up my tent, I gazed at those giant rocks and thought: “Yep. I wanna stand on that.” And I started climbing without telling any adults.
Don’t go thinking that I’m a professional rock-climber and can scale ninety-degree walls. Arizona rock formations are weird—they look like this:
It was more like a steep, rocky stairway that you could crawl up. I shimmied to the top using cracks, footholds, and unwarranted optimism. Then I sat down and draped my feet off the edge. I remember leaning forward, peering over the edge of that cliff, and seeing how far down everyone was. It would’ve been so easy to fall and break my legs. I was just inches away from becoming a cautionary tale.
But instead of carefully getting down, I waved and called to my troop. Everyone saw me, and I’m not gonna lie . . . everyone thought I was cool. Except for the grown-ups.
The leaders told me to get down and that I was in trouble and they were going to tell my parents. Even at that age, I could understand why the leaders were mad, but I didn’t understand why they were that mad. But now just thinking about those moments makes me hyperventilate. And that’s how I know I’m becoming an adult: I have a more sensible fear of heights.
If I had died from falling, who would’ve written this book? So that situation was an example where a little more fear on my part might have kept me from unnecessarily risking my life, and some preemptive fear on my leaders’ parts might have made them keep a better eye on me.
Sometimes fear gets out of control, though, and then phobias can develop. You’ve probably heard of some common ones. For example, a fear of being stuck in small places is called claustrophobia. A fear of crowds is called agoraphobia, and a fear of heights is called common sense. Because as we’ve already established, everyone needs to be a little afraid of tumbling to their death. Also, you especially need to be afraid of heights if you are a movie villain, as this is how many of them meet their end.
Really, if you think you may have villainous tendencies, you should never go higher than one flight of stairs.
I know a few people with phobias. My grandma has arachnophobia, and, really, a fear of spiders isn’t totally irrational because a few species are actually poisonous. Plus, every once in a while you pull back your shower curtain and find a spider lurking by the shampoo bottle. No good ever comes of that.
I can assure anyone with arachnophobia that there are no actual spiders in this chapter. Or at least that I didn’t put them there. What happens on your bookshelf after you buy this book is out of my control.
I checked on the internet, which as you know is mostly written by medical professionals, to learn about other phobias people have. Keep in mind that these are real phobias that millions or at least tens of people suffer from. So while these fears might seem silly to you, it’s important that we all be respectful and not do anything to trigger these people’s phobias. The first phobia we’ll be looking at is called hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia. It’s the fear of long words. I think whoever coined this phobia knew exactly what they were doing. It’s pretty clear that they didn’t have this phobia. But anyone who does can’t even tell people what their fear is called.
Arachibutyrophobia is the fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth. You’re probably thinking, “Is that real or is James just making something up?”
It is real. I have a friend with this fear. She says her dislike of peanut butter is because of a supposed “nut allergy,” but I know deep down she just dreads clingy peanut butter. She even gets cramps, itching, shortness of breath, and a rash every time she’s near peanuts. That’s how afraid she is.
Fortunately for arachibutyrophobians, this fear is probably pretty easy to avoid. And hopefully, they’re still able to enjoy Nutella.
Spectrophobia is a fear of mirrors and one’s own reflection. I think there are some other names for people who have this phobia: low self-esteem sufferers and vampires. I’m just kidding. Spectrophobia isn’t associated with either of those things. It’s actually fear of being trapped in a mirror or seeing a ghost in the reflection, which you really shouldn’t worry about. Listen, I’ve been using mirrors for twenty-three years and I’ve only gotten my soul trapped in a mirror once, so it’s a very rare occurrence.
Coulrophobia is a fear of clowns. This is a perfectly understandable fear. I’m definitely coulrophobic. And it’s always refreshing to learn that your fears have a name and to know that you’re not the only one who has to live with them. I’m going to start a group of fellow coulrophobics and we’ll hold up picket signs at the circus. Clowns are creepy.
Ablutophobia is the fear of cleaning. When I first heard about this phobia, I thought it was a fear of doing housework, and I was pretty sure that every kid I knew, including myself, had this phobia. This phobia flared up on Saturdays when my parents handed out the chore charts. If you’ve never been given a chore chart, it is sort of like being given a prison sentence.
But it turns out that ablutophobia is actually a fear of bathing and cleaning yourself. This condition would perhaps explain some of the people I’ve sat next to on airplanes.
Didaskaleinophobia is a fear of going to school. It’s also sometimes called EveryTeenagerEver. I came down with that every so often.
Allodoxaphobia is the fear of opinions. My advice to allodoxaphobics is to stay off the internet. Some people might not believe your fear to be legitimate, but those people are trolls, and even if they don’t believe you, I think your fear is valid. That’s just my opin— Wait.
Lastly, nomophobia is the fear of misplacing your phone, not having service, or having your battery run out. It’s estimated that some 50 percent of cell phone users have nomophobia . . . which sort of makes it not a phobia and just a part of normal life.
If you have any of these fears, then you’ll be happy to know that you’re not alone. You’re almost alone, but not. On the plus side, if you do have one of these fears, you might be able to use it as an excuse to take your dog on airplanes.
Whether you have normal worries or the occasional crippling anxiety, learning to overcome fear is part of life. For example, when we’re children most of us are afraid of the dark. But then we grow up, become adults, and realize that we have to pay the electric bill. And that makes all the difference.
It’s ironic that when we’re young, we’re afraid of all sorts of things that don’t exist, like zombies, werewolves, goblins, and chimpanzees. Kids would make better use of their time fearing things that can actually hurt them, like taxes, bureaucracies, and impending adulthood responsibilities.
I’ve had to overcome many fears in my life. When I was little, I used to worry that I might get sucked down the bath drain. Now I eat bowls of ice cream to ensure I’m always bigger than the drain.
Boom—fear overcome.
Going to Home Depot used to give me anxiety because I knew that someone driving one of those indoor lumber trucks was bound to flatten me—or I would have to ask employees for help finding the jumper cables. But now I’m a homeowner, which means I’m required to go to Home Depot at least once a month to buy some sort of tool or yard device. I’m so good at shopping that now I tell people which aisle the jumper cables are in—whether they want to know or not.
And that’s how you overcome fear. There’s really no easy way. You just have to do the scary thing a bunch of times until it becomes a normal, routine part of your life’s drudgery.
Chapter 7
Spider Pizza
When I lived at home, I never liked having houseguests visit. Having company always meant two things. First, our parents would force us kids to pretend like we were well-behaved children who didn’t do things like lie across the kitchen floor after dinner. (I saw no reason to remain vertical when I finished eating. Lying down helps digestion.) And second, we were going to have to clean the entire house.
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br /> When I say clean, I don’t mean the usual type of clean where you shove everything you own in your closet and call it good. No, when we had company coming that meant everything had to be vacuumed, dusted, washed, polished, and, depending on the company and the state of the walls, painted. We also had to eat off the good dishes, meaning we used my mother’s china that was covered in all sorts of flowers. And we had to use these purple goblets that made the table look like we were expecting medieval royalty to stop by.
More often than not, we would spend so much time and energy cleaning the house to fool people into thinking we were tidy and organized that there wasn’t time left to cook a homemade dinner. We were a family who usually ate frozen lasagna, Hamburger Helper, or fast food. But it didn’t matter what food we were eating—if company was coming, my mom insisted on using the purple goblets. They made us look unnecessarily fancy when we so obviously weren’t. When we were eating by ourselves we drank out of unbreakable neon-colored plastic cups. Not sure why Mom didn’t want to use those for company, as they held liquid just fine.
One time we were having company for the weekend, and my little sister was busy cleaning the fridge and my mom was busy setting the table with goblets, so I was sent to get the food—which was a bag of salad and a couple of extra-large pizzas from a local pizza shop. We’ll call the place Mama O’Malley’s so I won’t get sued. The order was for a three-meat pizza for the normal people and a chicken Alfredo pizza for the adults who wanted to pretend that their pizza was actually a pasta dish.
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