They were Pibbles. Pug-huahuas. A single, fluffy Great Pyrenees. And a three-legged Chihuahua named Princess Buttercup who snarled like a chainsaw.
One by one, the enemy dogs stopped. They sat. They tilted their heads. They wanted that . The calm. The treat. The clicker.
Max just held up a new leather muzzle. “Now. The puppy class.” Mad Max Trainer Fling UPD
“Release the captive canines, oppressor! Free shaping is fascism!”
Max picked up the Pomeranian, tucked it into his jacket, and looked at the defeated gang. “Training isn’t breaking. It’s speaking. And you,” he added, tossing a bag of dehydrated liver treats to Scrotus Jr., “need to start with basic sit-stay. No more spare tires.” They were Pibbles
Giblet lunged. Max sidestepped. Giblet’s chain snapped taut, and the dog flipped, landing on his back with a confused whuff .
“That’s Giblet,” Scrotus Jr. growled. “He bit three of my war boys last week. He ate my spare tire. He answers to no one. Fix him, or you feed the lizard pits.” And a three-legged Chihuahua named Princess Buttercup who
That’s when the update hit.