Book Review: Teach Your Dog to Drive!

In my premiere entry I mentioned that I am an avid collector of the obscure and fascinating, and I would now very much like to share with you an example of what I mean.

Among the books in my vast library is a volume entitled Teach Your Dog to Drive!, by Mathilde Rhinegold. I had long avoided it, mostly because the imperative nature of its title compelled me to ignore its command out of pure spite, but I recently underwent a change of heart and decided to put its intriguing premise to the test.

For said test I needed a dog, and of my three loyal rottweilers I chose Cordelia. I made this decision based on the fact that when fancy strikes me I quite enjoy waltzing with my dogs on their hind legs, and of my dance partners Cordelia carries herself with the most grace by far. For a car I decided to employ my Bugatti Veyron, seeing as how it is the only vehicle I own with an automatic gearshift option and teaching a dog how to use a clutch is sadly, as Ms. Rhinegold's book vehemently warns, too much to hope for.

Cordelia seemed quite happy, if confused, as I guided her into a sitting position upon the driver's seat and attached the homemade "driving stilts" (which I fashioned with my trusty arc welder as per the book's instructions) to her rear paws. The real struggle began when she developed a fascination with licking the side window instead of facing forward. I was finally able to attract her focus in the right direction---with her forepaws perched on the wheel in the proper ten-and-two position---when I placed her favorite toy, Mr. Squeakyfrog, on the dashboard just out of reach. Although I was somewhat dismayed by the fact that she still wasn't actually watching the road, she looked enough like the picture of the dog in the book for me to proceed.

The situation, unfortunately, deteriorated rather rapidly from there. The book insists that dogs will develop an understanding of cause and effect when they begin using the accelerator and brake pedals, which is not entirely untrue, but as a result Cordelia became quite fond of pressing both at once, barking along excitedly as the engine roared. When we finally did begin moving it was a chaotic affair that saw the demise of many treasured rosebushes: apparently teaching a dog to regulate speed while simultaneously learning to steer is not the beautiful, cathartic process that the book portrays it as being.

And so it was that my hopes of being chauffeured around the town by my pet as passers-by looked on in envy and wonder ended up being cruelly dashed. Moreover, I now strongly suspect that this Mathilde Rhinegold is or was in fact some manner of hippie---a prospect I find rather difficult to stomach. Again, however, I feel I have stumbled upon a subject which requires an explanation for which I do not have time. Ah well---perhaps another time. For now I am off to bed, to dream chartreuse-tinted fantasies that will hopefully free my mind from the pain of recalling such dog-powered vehicular mayhem.