Australian Cattle dogs are a smart fucking breed. It only took Dagon a couple days to learn the names of his toys (ring, rope, sock, ball, bone), the difference between "outside" and "inside", and "cookie" versus "jerky".
I am also suspicious that he is already fully house-trained, and the accidents are anything but. Then again, I wouldn't be too anxious to pee under the desert sun either.
I bought a crate with the intention to crate-train him, but he's having none of it. I had to lock him up so I could clean up his doggie diarrhea, and he undid the latch. And that was that.
As I'm posting this he's biting my shirt as he wants to play. While I am indebted to you, loyal readers, you aren't fuzzy, and frankly fuzzy wins.
Oh, and before I go I should point out this comic marks the one year anniversary of Pop Culture Tragedy. Woo!