Shock value

As featured May 13, 2011 on cnjonline.com

Woof, woof, woof, growl, hiss, woof, woof, woof … sounds of canine chaos mixed with feline frenzy provided a backdrop to my son’s frustrated voice on the phone.
“Mom, Kaiser’s barking at Alley and he won’t stop,” he said. “He’s been going for hours…” he exaggerated dramatically.
Fighting to be heard over the din, my son described the scenario: Cat under the couch, 125-pound German shepherd darting from side to side, blood dripping from a rightfully deserved scratch on his schnoz.
“Did you try a treat?” I asked, trying to think of ways he could quiet the dog without a showdown.
“Yes, he ate it and went back to the cat,” he replied.
“Did you try opening the back door and luring him to the yard?”
“Yes, Mom,” he said in an “of course” tone.
“OK, put it on speaker phone,” I said, pushing my chair back from my desk and heading for the door.
“KAISER OUT! NO KITTY!” I shouted into my cell phone as my colleagues burst into peals of unashamed laughter behind me.
“Shock collar” I thought to myself as the blood rushed to my face and I sat back at my desk.
“You, my fine furry friend, are getting a shock collar tonight!”
Kaiser always loved cats. He loved them with the same passion he had for water from the water hose. He liked to bite at it, chase it and the faster it moved away from him the more interested he was.
There was the time he accidentally got locked in a bedroom with a cat.
When we got home we couldn’t get the door open. After a lot of pushing, we made way into the room to find my oldest son’s twin mattress covered in craters and flipped against the wall, a tired dog with a sparkle in his eye in one corner and a super tense kitty in the other. (OOPS!)
Normally he was pretty good and with adults around he wouldn’t dare try the “corner the cat-bark your head off” routine.
But with only a preteen in his way, he had no problem pushing the limits.
That night he got fitted with his new, special collar and my son and I engaged in Shock the Dog 101.
Before we talk buttons he gets the speech:
1. Only use it when he is cornering the cat.
2. Never, never, ever turn up the shock-level dial
So on and so forth, I give him the rules…
Then we moved on to the practicals.
“OK, so first you say ‘KAISER NO!’ firm and loud and push the buzzer button,” I say showing him the button.
“Yes ma’am,” he replies.
“If that doesn’t work, you say ‘KAISER NO!’ at the same time you push the shock button,” I point to the bottom button.
“OK Mom, I get it,” He replies, grabbing the remote.
“So I say ‘KAISER NO!’ and I push this button first,” he says pointing at the little bell.
“Yep.”
“Then if that doesn’t work, I say ‘KAISER NO!’ again and I push this one,” he says.
Just as I open my mouth to respond, a loud yelp sounded from the other room.
That was the last time he ever had to push the button.
Battery long dead, Kaiser sauntered around the house with that traitorous collar on his neck.
And the cat, who hadn’t been barked at in months but holds a mean grudge, announced Kaiser’s every move with a deep growl and a hiss.
I guess it goes to show you can never underestimate the value of a little shock.