Went to walk Oscar this morning, and that asshole was hiding under the bed.

I called him, I said the word “breakfast” which he knows, I even brought some salami with me to the edge of the bed (which made his nose twitch), but he didn’t budge. (Dachshunds are notoriously stubborn.)

I have only a finite amount of time because my wife leaves for her outdoor exercise class near my daughter’s school and takes all of them at 8:10, and now it’s 7:55, so it’s running short. In fact, she said, “just feed him, and he can pee in the park during the class.”

But zero chance I’m letting that little fuck get the W and dictate how things are run in this house. As our French authoritarian health coach friend likes to say, “You have to earn your carbs” (read in a heavy French accent.) (His diet is also very low in carbs, but you get my point.)

So I have no choice but to go nuclear — I get his prepared food bowl, which is what he’s trying to run out the clock to get without a walk, and put it on the floor near the edge of the bed. He came out, and just before he could eat it, I swooped him up, put on his collar and walked him down the two flights of stairs to the street while he whined.

I love the guy, he’s a great friend, but if you aren’t willing to train him, he will surely train you.