Doodle Con - aka Puppy Board & Train Camp

It's happening. It's really happening; I am being sent away to boarding school, more precisely, Doggy Boot Camp, for three whole weeks. Apparently, I am too much, Bernie. More like too much awesomeness!

Little do they know that it was all part of the plan, as covered in the Doodle World Domination Manifesto.

The first step was to adjust their viewing algorithm. We needed all their socials to direct them towards Cesar Millan, "The Dog Whisperer." Get the Humans to binge on pups who bite their owners, refuse to come off the sofa, or keep pulling on a leash. Initially, they may say to themselves, "It's reality TV; it's all staged." But then, they turn around, and you, the pup, start repeating the behaviors exhibited in the show.

Families binging on Cesar Millan, Dog Whisperer

They then attempt to copy what Cesar does to "fix" the behavior but naturally fail. We remain determined and keep jumping, biting, and pulling. They were right. Those dogs on the show are paid actors, trained to appear as though their insubordination had been cured. Doodles United placed them there.

Of course, we tread a fine line. If we disobey too much, things could go south, and we could end up in the pound.

We must be misbehaved but not too wild, always maintaining a connection with the Humans. Let them pet us, give the occasional lick, and wag our tails as they approach. You know the game: give a little, get a lot. Never go too far, though.

After their failed attempts to tame, ahem, "train" us, they will enlist the assistance of a professional—this is where the TV brainwashing takes effect. The pro will collect us, take us to their ranch for three weeks, and bring back the proverbial dream dog—a dog who'll sit at their feet as they dine at fine establishments, walk off-leash at the beach, and not bark at others on the street.

Sure, we could have done this all along, but this was our way to get together post-adoption. We need these conventions to bring the brightest brains of the doodle world together, plot, recruit, and ensure our strategy is still on point.

The day arrives when a white van rolls up the driveaway—always a white van—and then out climbs a woman who looks like she knows what she's doing. She has a no-nonsense, tough manner about her. She greets the owners and then kneels towards me with a wink. I do that thing with my tail, wag, wag, wag. Ugh! I'm supposed to look scared…wag...I can't hold back the excitement. This tail better not blow her cover.

She takes me to her vehicle, pulls open the back doors, and voila, two built-in crates are set up side-by-side. I believe there's room for another 4 of us. This woman is the real deal! There is another dood (see what I did there?...dude...doodle, dood) already in one. She points at the empty crate, and I leap in. Let's get this show on the road.

Dood, beside me, nods in acknowledgment. He is chill. If he's cool, there's no reason for me to be all hyped up, psyched up. First impressions last, and I don't want the rest of the gang at the base thinking I'm some goofy pup. I need to reeelaaax.

I peer out the door before the pro shuts it. The whole family is standing in the middle of the road waving goodbye. My heart drops. Why is it doing that? I better not be missing them. I cannot miss them. No, it must be that crumpled tissue I ate earlier, indigestion. As for the tears cascading down my cheeks, seasonal allergies.

Bernie is off to Doggy Boot Camp

I turn my head; Dood cannot see this.

Please note: Any claims suggesting that Cesar Millan employs paid dog actors instructed to behave inappropriately are solely intended for fictional and entertainment purposes. Such claims have not been verified and are more than likely false. Cesar Millan's show is truly binge-worthy.