A call for help

Dear Dog Whisperer,

I need your help. My dog, Max, may be possessed by Satan. There are a number of reasons why I have come to this conclusion. What happened this morning is a perfect example. When I took him outside he ran as fast as he could into the street. I was half asleep after waking up at 4 a.m. to a 2-year-old screaming to watch Dora. (Can you also refer me to a whisperer for her too?) At this point, I was in pajamas with mascara on my face.  We’re not talking pajamas you would see at Victoria’s Secret. I had on a pair of old sweat shorts and my husband’s t-shirt. Basically, I looked like I could play right field for a woman’s softball team.   My hair was up in a style similar to Pebbles from the Flintstones.  I planned to be in the privacy of my own back yard. Instead, I was chasing a dog that would bolt every time I bent down to pick him up. Sure, watching a woman run down a beach may be sexy on Baywatch. Seeing a bra-less mother of 3 sprinting through a Cul de sac doesn’t have the same appeal. If you can help that would be great.


A frustrated pet owner

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