Training a dog isn’t Mission Impossible

I didn’t watch this year’s Britain’s Got Talent, but nonetheless it still managed to annoy me. This is because the competition wasn’t won by one of the 60 million or so human beings currently living in the United Kingdom, but by a small dog named Pudsey (which is a bear’s name).

When this dog isn’t busy eating its own excrement, it is miraculously able to climb on things with a ludicrously dressed woman to the sound of the Mission Impossible theme song. That’s right; it was able to climb on top of things in the manner in which its trainer desired. Its talent is basically obedience.

First of all, I have a problem with obedience being classified as a talent: mainly because it isn’t a talent. Obedience takes no skill whatsoever. I could be obedient if there was such a person to be obedient to and a reason to be obedient for. If I was in the final of Britain’s Got Talent and somebody told me to be really obedient for five minutes, I think I could manage it. Of course I would have to hump someone’s leg and defecate somewhere really inappropriate first. But I could do it; it would be easy.

In fact, you could go as far as saying that blind obedience is more of an impairment than a talent. If you willingly subjugate yourself to the whims of random dog-trainers, then you never know what could happen. They might make you take part in a ridiculous dance routine to the theme song of an average Tom Cruise film.

Do you know what would be a better talent? Disobedience. The ability to stand up for what you believe in; the ability to resist the oppressive grasps of teenage control freaks armed with dog treats and a dangerous lack of self-awareness; the ability to say no to badly dressed women and Simon Cowell’s flat head.

I know a lot of people may say, “But David, it’s a dog. Have you ever tried to get a dog to climb on things?” And the answer is no. No, I haven’t. But I imagine if I tried for long enough, using techniques learned from dog-trainers more competent than myself, then I might be able to succeed in getting him to climb on top of a step or a small footstool at the very least. Perhaps after a few weeks I could get him to climb on top of a desk or a large chair.

The thing is, dogs can be trained to do things that you wouldn’t expect an ordinary dog to be able to do. But the reason one doesn’t expect such behaviour from ordinary dogs is because dogs are rubbish and lack the basic abilities that humans (or even most monkeys) can perform with ease.

But with enough training, dogs can do mad things. We’ve seen that now. There have been many dog acts on television whereby dogs jump on things or walk on their hind legs (just like humans but worse), and we just need to accept that they can be trained to do surprising things. So now that you have made that mental leap, now that you have managed to process that information, now that the realisation of the capabilities of dogs and their trainers has migrated from your short-term to your long-term memory, consider this: what is there left to be excited by in a dog act?

No matter how many things a dog climbs on or how many legs it manages to walk on, the simple fact of the matter is that they are still not as good as humans. They haven’t developed language, they have made very few tangible scientific advancements and they are less acquainted with the arts than a Coventry bus driver (those public service providing philistines).

They haven’t even developed the most rudimentary of bodily waste disposal procedures, and instead they rely on humans (a more capable species) to pick up said waste for them. To suggest that a dog is not only equal to a human, but more talented than every single human being in the whole of the United Kingdom, is ridiculous.

If a dog was successfully trained to sing like Pavarotti or play guitar like Hendrix, then I might start to be impressed. But such talents are reserved for a more advanced species. The lowering of expectations for dogs is a reflection of the uselessness of the animals. If I went on Britain’s Got Talent, being a human male I expect the judges would want me to actually have a talent in order to progress through the competition. If I got down on all fours and crawled about to the Mission Impossible theme song, people would think I were an idiot.

So the next time you see a dog act on a talent show and you find it impressive, ask yourself: is it really impressive, or is it a small furry animal climbing on things and occasionally walking on the same amount of legs as a far more amazing species?