I know what you’re thinking: “How could such an upstanding doggy citizen such as the witty and ruggedly handsome Rigby be a terror in his puppy years?” Well, it's true; I was a horror. I admit it. I played rough, I had more teeth than a dog my size should have (and never hesitated to use them), I was stubborn, I would jump on people, I wouldn't back down from a disagreement with my humans, and I disobeyed all commands. Heck, I even had to go through two separate rounds of obedience training (and after the first round Ken the dog trainer suggested to my family that they enroll me in a sleep-away Doggy Boot Camp).
Due to my troublesome nature, my family would occasionally decide that I needed a nap and they required some time away from me. So out the door they would rush and escape to a series of local parks and shopping centers for a couple of hours of Rigby free time. Now, I can understand the concept of getting away for a few hours (I enjoyed my naps and you can't imagine how much energy it would take to be so bad), but what I found offensive about the entire situation was that Sister made up a song about getting away from me and she and Ma would sing it as they locked me in my crate and skipped out the door. It was sung to the tune of The Flintstone's theme song and went like this:
"Fleeing. We are fleeing. We are fleeing from the family dog!
He has big gnashing teeth, and a nasty attitude to boot!"
Real nice, huh? Can't you just feel the love?
Anyway, when I turned 15 months old (and my family, to this day, never hesitates to remind me of just how lucky I was to reach that age given what a terror I had been to them), my refined Golden Retriever genes kicked in, I became the prime example of canine excellence that I am today, and the song, thankfully, ceased to be sung.
(Now if only I could get that annoyingly catchy song out of my head!)
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