I wrote this post a few months ago but saved it as a draft because Digger died soon after and I didn’t have the heart to write a silly dog-related post about how dumb I am. Also, it was no good without pictures. So I did the necessary photographic documentation and now I will publish this extremely important cautionary tale about what happens when someone with an IQ of roughly 50 gets her hands on small shiny objects.
…
Apparently I haven’t been Sunny enough. Thus she has lately been a bad girl in the form of (1) not coming to me when I call her at the park and (2) escalating the tensions between herself and neighborhood dogs when we’re on walks by engaging in trans-fence bark battles with them.
I’ve had moderate success curing her of the doggie warmongering; I anticipate a full resolution within another couple of walks because I’ve gotten in touch with my inner tyrant and no longer care if it hurts her feelings that I want to walk in front. But the not-coming-at-the-park thing is becoming untenable, as she has had the AUDACITY to completely ignore me a couple of times, which, if you have a dog that’s ever done that, you know makes you want to actually murder the dog with your bare hands.
So I Googled, and read many internet things about the wonders of dog whistles. Apparently you get one of those, you use treats to train the dog to respond to it, and you’re good to go, more or less.
So, fine. I went to PetSmart last Monday and got a dog whistle and took it out of the package, and it looked like this:
I performed the “obvious” maneuver, pulling the two “obvious” components apart:
Distracted by its shininess – oooh! reflective! – I stared dumbly at it for a full ten minutes, trying to figure out what part of the apparatus to blow on. The package said, “While your dog is sleeping, blow on the whistle while adjusting the rotating screw until your dog responds. You will then know your dog’s frequency.”
Awesome! Soon the hills will be alive with the sound of whistling.
No, no they won’t.
You see, I made a series of mistakes. First, I assumed this whistle was a “silent” dog whistle and therefore I wouldn’t be able to hear it when I blew on it.
Second, since there was no part of the whistle that made any sense to blow on except the skinny part that twists, I sat there blowing on the skinny part that twists.
Aaaaannd Sunny lay there completely oblivious. She didn’t even twitch until I blew so hard on it that the whistle flew out of my hands onto the floor, making a great racket. She opened her eyes to half mast and stared at me, unmoved, as I angrily blew on and simultaneously twisted the skinny part that twists, trying to “find my dog’s frequency”, which frankly sounds like it calls for a hit of LSD.
But the dog appeared profoundly deaf. Ears didn’t perk up and expression didn’t change, except to alternate between bored and disdainful. I silently cursed her and called her the biggest pain in the ass lazy bad dog ever. Then I felt sorry and wondered if I should take her to the vet because obviously she’s deaf, just like Digger, except she has no excuse like being elderly. Maybe she has a neurological problem? A brain tumor?! OH MY GOD.
I said, “Sunny baby girl! Are you deaf?” which of course made her lift her head and wag her tail because a cry of “Sunny baby girl!” is usually followed immediately by Sunny-bound airborne pork bits. So I knew the whistle’s failure to excite her was due to my own ineptitude. I can’t even blow a fucking 6-dollar dog whistle properly. What is wrong with me?
After about 20 minutes of escalating despair as I idiotically blew on that thing until I became hypoxic, and Sunny aloofly watched me and then went back to her nap, I cast the whistle down to the floor and stomped away in defeat. I don’t take kindly to being thwarted by small pieces of metal. Rupert was away that week on a business trip so I couldn’t demand his assistance.
On Tuesday, I renewed my attempts and once again failed. On Wednesday, I furiously Googled “dog whistles what part do you blow on” and came up with squat except, and I shit you NOT, “Blow on the end that makes a whistling sound.” Thanks for nothing, Google you rat bastard.
At last, at some point on Wednesday I made the discovery that I wasn’t, in fact, the proud new owner of a silent dog whistle after I took the brave step of actually reading all of the words on all sides of the package and realized none of them was “silent”. Ah-hah! It should make sound! Therefore it is DEFECTIVE.
But even believing it was defective didn’t stop me from trying to master it. I am a stubborn imbecile and I went back to that stupid whistle again and again, blowing on all parts of it, trying to finesse it into producing some sound, ANY sound for the love of God.
My impotent rage simmered and grew by Thursday until at one point, I was staring into the kitchen drawer that contained a hammer and contemplating taking the hammer and the whistle outside and pulverizing that satanic little asshole of a whistle.
But I told myself to cool out and quit being a psycho. I decided to let the whistle live at least until Rupert got back from his business trip.
So there we were on Friday night, debriefing each other on our respective shenanigans of the last several days, when I told him the tale of the defective whistle.
“It doesn’t work, no matter how I blow on it, it makes no sound! It sucks and I hate it!”
“Are you doing it right?”
“Well duh, how else do you DO a whistle other than blow on it?”
“Mmmkay. Why don’t you let me take a look at it.”
“Whatever, you can try, but I’m telling you it’s defective and it sucks and I hate it!”
Rupert smiled patiently as I retrieved it from the drawer into which I had angrily flung it that morning, handed it to him, and repeated that it sucked, I hated it, and also that I wanted my fuckin’ money back from PetFart.
Would anyone like to guess how many seconds it took for him to manhandle that thing and show it who’s boss? Anyone? If you said, “less than two”, congratulations. He looked at it, turned it in his hands once, quietly said “ah”…and with a flourish, pulled the cap off the butt-end of the skinny part that twists. A cap which I never noticed because I am blind and slow-witted.
He sat there holding the whole contraption and looking at me as though I had just handed him a fork, asked him if he’d ever used a fork, and if so, could he show me which end the food goes on?
He put the newly-exposed WHISTLE part of the whistle between his lips and blew softly, at which point our house was filled with the sound of clear, crisp whistling.
Sunny spazzed out appropriately, and even Digger got frisky. I’m pretty sure it was more than just the whistle – they were probably relieved that at last a human they could respect was present. Rupert handed me the whistle and I blew on it and of course it worked JUST FINE.
I’m really glad Rupert’s mom taught him that it’s not nice to make fun of retards. He took it easy on me and reassured me that no, he wasn’t going to pack his stuff up and move out ASAP. The man has nerves of steel.
The moral of the story is, first of all, dog whistle makers need to put better instructions on their crap, and second, my parents should have made me wear a helmet when I was growing up.
Awww, you are such a lovable spaz sometimes.
Is it wrong to admit that, after finding Rachel had a blog again at long last and I did all the catch-up reading, I was more sad to hear Digger was gone than John? I miss Digger.
heeheehee! I love it. I’ve done similar things with other products, in my lifetime….getting pissed at the inanimate object, just like you. I’m normal after all.
LOL! Oh, I shouldn’t say this, but it’s nice to know there’s another person in the world whose mechanical aptitude is as crappy as mine is!
If you like red wine, get yourself a bottle of Frog’s Leap. In addition to being very good wine, its makers have a sense of humor. On the back label, at the very bottom, in small print: OPEN OTHER END.
Girl, you’d better keep Rupert around because one day you’ll be old and cranky instead of young and cranky, and someone’s gonna have to know how to get the cap off of the happy pills for you.
Rachl Lukis haz wissel. DO NOT WANT!
See now, that’s the cussin’ and rantin’ we come here for:)
That’s not the sound of us laughing at you.
Err…well, OK. That actually is the sound of us laughing at you, but in a good way.
The kind of way that says, Yes! Rachel has made us laugh again.
Thanks again, retard.
I could swear I spent some time laughing a while back when I saw a referral in our sitemeter where someone found us by searching for “dog whistles what part do you blow on”.
I don’t suppose you remember which post you wound up at? Or was it just the dogblogging category in general?
All those whistle ads on the right?
Is that why you are cutting down on your cussing?
Al Gore rhythm?
This is why we read your blog! Really exceptional writing about nonsense. That, and you make me feel like I have someone in this world who is crazy like me. Sorry… that’s crazy in a good way!
Don’t sweat it, sweetie. We all have our moments. :)
Y’know . . . . I rarely laugh out loud when reading blogs, even yours. But I just laughed myself to tears, scared the kitteh, and need my asthma inhaler. It’s a trifecta!
You must be really, really good-looking.
I do not freakin’ believe this!! Almost 40 years ago, I bought a shiny dog whistle that looked EXACTLY like that one. (but it wasn’t adjustable for my dog’s particular spectrum orwhatever) And I blew and I blew and I BLEW on the son of a bitch until I almost passed out. And the dog ignored the crap out of me. My wife (now ex) was of no help. She had her master’s in Russian literature; and nowhere in her Pushkin, Tolstoy or Yevtushenk -ist knowledge base was there any information on making a dog whistle make noise. And I was a government shooter, and the dog people were on the other side of town.
So, I did what any right-thinking man of superior intelligence and ability would do in like circumstances ; I DID get the hammer and beat the shit out of that beast (the whistle – not the dog or wife).
The wife (not the dog) reminded me that I was a philosophy major and that I should surely have been able to find a more reasonable solution to my frustration than what I did. HA! In yer dreams, bitch!!
At any rate, thank you for that. Maybe I’ll buy a new whistle.
snickersnickersnickersnicker
I wouldn’t feel bad. The design of the thing is flawed. Anyone with a brain looks at the thing and assumes that the chain is there to attach one piece of it to the other piece of it. You know, so you don’t lose the part that comes off while yer blowin’. But, the morons who designed this thing apparently thought that it would be wise to have two caps, attached to each other by the chain-thing, but not attached to the actual whistle. You know, so that if you are out blowing your whistle and happen to lose one cap, well, then you’ve just lost both caps. Brilliant!
If it had been me, I’d have probably gotten so frustrated that I’d have destroyed the damned thing with a hammer and most likely put my own eye out for my troubles.
Rachel, you’re a better person than I am. I would have smashed the S.O.B. with the largest sledgehammer I could find just to ensure total destruction.
When I was a teenager, my mother had one when she was trying to train the dogs. No luck with the dogs–I thought those were the most useless things they ever came out with.
BTW, a shock collar will get their attention very quickly. Just don’t try to put it around your own neck to test it, though. THAT would be retarded. Just sayin’….
I’m glad you figured it out…I was gonna suggest blowin’ on the chain….
Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!
*whew*
I almost wet my pants there, laughing so hard. You know, I looked and looked at the pics you provided, and I can’t tell that the cap was even there. I’m 99.9% sure I’d have done exactly the same thing(s) you did. Except I’d have given up sooner, taken it back to PetsMart, and looked the fool when some 19-year-old, pimply-faced sales associate explained it to me. I blush in utter humiliation just thinking about it.
Oh, Rachel this is why we love you. I would have done exactly the same thing. And my husband would have got it quickly also (much to my shame). It’s your way of describing “our” frustration that is so priceless.
By the way, until you showed the last picture I didn’t have a clue.
Part 1: CraigC wins.
Part B: Dahlin, you are givin that G. Reynolds person a Run for the Money! WooT!
Part the Last: Every guy, and probably every engineer, has done one or both of: a) Hammer a circuit into silicon and epoxy dust with the biggest hammer available. Said circuit, of course was *not* working the *right* way. Or sometimes, b) plugged it into the wall to *let the smoke out*. REVENGE! HAHAHA!
Part the OK so there’s one more part: I doff my hat again to you and Rupert.
Great story! Thanks for the laugh. I can honestly say I’d probably have done the same thing as you, only gotten pissed and thrown the damn thing away much sooner. I mean hell, who would think they’d put a cap on both ends?
And I SO know what you mean about the whole ignoring you when you say “come” at the park. So goddamn infuriating because you KNOW he knows what come means but instead decides “nah buddy, not today” and goes to find something to pee on. Frustrating as hell sometimes, but they really are awesome.
Ra-tard is my special sister.
I’m sorry for all the times I knocked you on the head when we were kids.
Back when was a callow lad in LapsedCatholic, Louisiana (I wuz a callow lad other places, too, but that’s not germane, or relevant, to the current news item), we wuz too poor to afford any fancy dog whistles.
When you wanted to call your dogs, you just stapled Granny Suggins’ lips together and gave her a heimlich with significant vigor.
The sound of all that hot air blasting past her pinched (and tobacco stained) lips was so loud you could hear dogs barking in Texas—and I’m talkin about west Texas.
Yup, that’s what we did, alright.
Back home in LapsedCatholic, LA.
Lance, is LapsedCatholic anywhere near Thibodaux? Because I was born there. Maybe we were separated at birth or something.
I can’t think of anything witty to say about dog whistles. So I will just state for the record that I am in favor of placing a . Thank you very much.
This post was hilarious, thank you.
I’m sorry about Digger. Somehow, I must have missed the posts on it. I will blame college, and my evil professor (but not the ones I like).
My dog doesn’t simply ignore me. She openly defies me. She somehow knows the one thing that will irritate me the most in any given situation — without actually getting herself into enough trouble to warrant me going out and buying a tranq gun the very next day — and then does it.
Of course, being the horrific hypocrite that I am, I find it absolutely, frothingly hilarious when she does this to someone else.
Whatre you doin up so late, young Pat Berry?
Thibodaux.
Thibodaux.
Nope, can’t say LapsedCatholic was near to Thibodaux.
However, I have an uncle name of Thibodaux.
Maybe you lived near him.
A big man. Had a moustache that covered both ears, it did.
Seemed excessive.
As to bein separated at birth, why of course I wuz separated at birth!
Otherwise, think of the inconvenience of dangling out of Ma de Boyle all these years.
Riding a bicycle would have been near impossible.
Yup, I got outa there quick as I could.
She said she was sorry to see me go.
And I said, “Lady, a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.”
She replied, “Well, I guess that makes sense, alright.”
Now, I’m goin to bed. Hangover and all.
Okay, maybe I’ll stay up a couple more hours.
Excellent
Best evah
If it doesn’t work the first time, get a bigger hammer
*gigglesnort*
You peeps are crazy.
HAHAHAHAHHAHAHA
oh man. i read this and i immediately thought, this is something i would do and man, she makes it sound funny. i have so many instances where things just don’t click, i get frustrated and want to commit some evil act of mass destruction over something really stupid. i’m glad you were able to figure the dog whistle out, albeit with a little bit of rupert help. but that’s a good story. hehhe.
Here’s a book that will make you feel better
The Design of Everyday Things (Paperback)
by Donald A. Norman
They’re going to put me in the loony bin because I can’t use a dog whistle. “How does that help”, I hear you cry? Because the whole point of the book is that many things are so badly designed that the fault is in the design and not with the user. In your case, the instructions should have been “Take off the fricking cap, then blow…”
Click on the Amazon link above and look at the cover art. The author is saying that most everyday items are designed in a way guaranteed to produce pain.
DearRachel,
that was pretty funny. a good example of why I personally read the blog.
However, I am kind of surprised that nobody has pointed out that an engineer would have not had a problem with the whistle. Any engineer worth his salt would have disassembled it immediately upon opening the package and would have realized there were two ends to try.
and sometimes the engineers can re-assemble stuff, too. (not always, but we feel getter “knowing how it works.”)
mike
That was laugh out loud funny!!
How on earth do you make such mundane things so deleriously funny?? It’s a gift, I tell ya!!
I don’t get it. What are the caps and chain for?
I don’t get it. What are the caps and chain for?
The cap is so that the whistle can be put in your pocket without the mouthpiece getting mixed up with pocket lint and doggie treats. The chain is to keep from losing the cap.
Whittler’s page is blank again…..heads up.
Rachel, we’re not laughing at you. We’re laughing near you.
That is some seriously funny stuff, but I wouldn’t sweat it if I were you. Everyone has his or her special retard moments.
And poll results to the contrary, this is the sort of thing that I missed while you were gone from blogging.
Funny. Funny. Funny.
You owe me a keyboard. I just spewed diet Pepsi all over it.
You are so fuckin’ funny!
Glad I finished my coffee before I read that!
Keep up the good work!
One of the funniest posts I’ve EVER read! I spit coffee on the keyboard after reading your Google search phrase.
Not that this means squat, but I stared and stared at your first photo of the whistle and I could NOT see the cap either.
And I second that recommendation for the Donald Norman book!
OMG, that is SO something I would say and do. Cuz it can’t be that the problem is with me. Of course that isn’t it at all. I had a similar experience with a curtain rod this past weekend – and while the fault most certainly did not lie with me, my reactions were a duplicate of the quote above. I made JC Penney squirm, twice, this past weekend – it was good.
I bought a dog whistle, but thank God it didn’t come with a cap, or else I would have found out just how dumb I am. Whew.
Don’t feel bad sweetie! I spent almost 45 minutes this last week trying to put a print cartridge into a printer… IT wouldn’t fit, no matter what I did! I tried and tried, but it WOULD NOT snap in. Just no way! Well, I finally realized I was trying to put the colored cartridge into the black cartridge slot. Talk about DUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
too funny!
I don’t get it. If you feed your pet doggie treats and scratch his head and pick his poop up in a plastic bag, why do you need to go all prissy on carrying your whistle in a capped and chained hermetically sealed mouthpiece protecting chamber? Perhaps this surgical level instrument should come with sanitary wipes and instructions for sanitizing it after use.
It should come with a dvd explaining its use and a chat from Al Gore on how to keep it from becoming a breeding ground for herpes simplex II.
I can relate…
First rifle I got was a hand-me-down, had a scope mounted on it, with target turrets. I taught myself how to use that rifle, and that scope, fairly well.
Jump ahead several years, and I bough my own rifle, and what I thought was a decent scope, after a great deal of research, and took it to the range. I spent an hour of frustration trying to figure out why I couldn’t move the point of impact at all, no matter how much I messed with that scope. Eventually, I spun those adjustment knobs all the way, and the cover came off in my hand, leaving me staring at the actual adjustment knob, and wondering if anyone noticed what an idiot I was.
Did I mention that I’m an engineer?
Don’t be too hard on yourself. Sometimes obvious just isn’t.
You have no idea how much better you make me feel. I am seriously considering starting up a Retard Support Group.
DearRachel,
To follow up on Chris Midkiff’s post, I was trying and trying to adjust the speaker volume on the PA on my cop bike * and screwed and screwed without result until finally the screw came off the amplifier and I realized that I was trying to adjust the cover screw that kept people from dorking with the actual adjust screw underneath it. Fortunately, this was in my garage so nobody saw me….unlike when I forgot to put my feet down at a stopsign and fell over.**
So even engineers are confused by that whole “cover” thing.
mike
* No, I am not a cop. But I have a former cop bike (2004 Harley Davidson Road King Police) with all the stuff. Removed the words “police” and changed the strobe lenses from blue to yellow and it is perfectly legal. How cool am I? huh?
** yes, I am a dork (and an engineer, which is not necessarily a redundant statement but approaches one asymptotically) but not really because of forgetting to put my feet down. I have ridden Hondas for 33 years (dammit!) and finally realized my dream of owning a Harley cruiser. The FIRST DAY I had it I fell over – in front of my college-age son. Then I capped the embarassment by forgetting to put down the jiffy stand (the official name for the kickstand) in the garage and it fell over onto my 1972 VW Beetle convertible (My college car, which I restored). My wife gave me mucho grief for both, altho I told her that I used to fall over on my Hondas all the time, but they were light enough that I would just pick them back up. The dealer told me everyone forgets to do each of those things once – but they come take the bike back if you do them a second time – but he was impressed that I had managed to do both within a timespan of 30 minutes. My wife’s nephews, who are both Harley riders (one a cop and one a locomotive engineer – how’s THAT for cool?) call me “Crash.”
DearRachel,
Can you play “Eye of the Tiger” on the dog whistle?
jess asken
mike
First I had to laugh, then sob. It’s so bad I’m not even going to repeat it, but the upshot is: a running Thoroughbred is a lot faster than a human.
I feel your pain
Cheers
Professional training developer here – trained people to fly and maintain aircraft, complete banking paperwork, do restaurant work, and other DO things. So, I am sorta sensitive to things like written instructions telling customers how to DO the thing that the thing they bought DOES. Were there any instructions with the whistle? I mean, ones in English? Chinglish, Japanglish, Korenglish and similar wording do not count.
Whistles can be confusing, because some people blow, but apparently the folks who write the instructions suck.
ROFLMAO!!!! And I did the same thing with Boo’s whistle!
“…because I am blind and slow-witted.”
Maybe that should read “blond”.
I worked as a safety engineer/manager for a company which sold stuff to the military.
If you have trouble figuring something out, you probably represent a substantial part of the population that never took classes in use and abuse of musical instruments.
In the old days the only people permitted to specialize were the nobility. Now more people can, and so we need better instructions for particular tools that are intended for general use.
You are, in so very many ways, my Princess!
My God.
Rachel Lucas, you are the funniest fucking human being alive, and I will personally fart up the nostrils of anyone who says this isn’t true.
Thank God for Context. ;-P
Posts like this are why I love to read the stuff you write. Thanks for the good laugh.
You know how to whistle, don’t you, Rachel? You just put your lips together and… blow. After you’ve removed the proper cap end.”
I sure know your feelings! First time in the US (I live in Finland) my husband was attending a conference and asked me to go and rent a car. I did, sat down and couldn’t figure out how to drive a darn car with no SHIFT STICK! Guess who instructed me…. the pimple-faced teenager…
Thank you so much for the laugh I got, I bet you gave me about 12 years more to live.
Click — Add to Favorites — Save.
First timer here….linked from Malkin to Hawkins to you. Consider yourself “daily reading” now….
Very funny. Or, rather, very witty. Anybody can be funny — wit is humor with brains attached….