Though we’re only in the middle of week #2 with Jonas, I feel already as if I’m serving a 60-life sentence, indicted for Stupid Decision Making. And that’s no exaggeration.

When we got him, The Wife™ and I immediately had a rush of questions. We logically turned to the support of our families for experienced advice, and our friends for consoling support. Everyone else we know owns a dog, so how could we go wrong? However, a resounding chorus of “oh he’ll get better, he’s just a puppy!” is all that we heard. And as much as I sincerely cherish my family and friends, you can all choke on a rawhide as far as I’m concerned.

I like to think that I’m logical and level-headed. I work daily on controlling and redirecting my emotions into more productive and creative outlets. That’s in part what I get paid to do, in fact. But this little twenty-some pound furball has single-handedly brought out the very worst parts of my personality, and exposed some really jagged corners that need to be polished. I’ve never in my life wanted to throw another living being off the tallest structure possible, until I owned him. And don’t give me that “but he’s so darn cute!” horsesh*t. It’s a ruse.

Every day is the same, starting with a 6:15 morning walk, breakfast, some play time, etc. He gets walked again at 4:30, followed by uninterrupted playtime until dinner at 6:15. After dinner brings more playing and another walk around 7:30. The problem is that he’s still a little brat.

Every trainer, website, friend, family member or stranger who’s ever owned a dog will tell you to put exercise first in order to keep a happy puppy. Short of duct taping him to the treadmill, I’m not sure what else we can do. Jonas is assuredly not happy, unless “happy” means taking flying, biting leaps at your limbs every 2.5 seconds. In that case, he’s in doggy Valhalla.

The worse he gets, the more frustrated The Wife™ and I become. We’ve thrown ourselves completely into this, abandoning every other aspect of our lives to do this right. We understand that it takes time, patience and consistency. But we’ve seen very little progress, and what we’re met with is constant misbehavior, bleeding hands and one puppy that is for some reason aggravated. It has worn us down completely.

Worst of all, the constant stream of advice that we turned to last week still pours forth, judiciously assuring us that it’s just “normal puppy behavior.” Puppy behavior my ass. I’m not drinking your special Kool-Aid anymore. You can’t tell me that a 20-minute tug of war session of pulling him off the couch telling him, “no! down!” is normal puppy behavior. He can ring a bell to go outside. I think he understands “down.” He just doesn’t give a hoot.

We keep trying. We keep going to work pissed off, feeling guilty, nursing infected hands and throbbing pre-8 a.m. headaches. I’m not sure what has to change, but something does. Because the “but he’s cute!” line just isn’t justifying it anymore. Perhaps this afternoon we’ll work on our “flying off the roof” command.