Everything the Two Leggers Need to Know They Learned at a Superbowl Party

As many of you already know, I hosted my first annual Superbowl Party.

I am not a fan of two legger sports.

Ergo, as many of you may already suspect, I had ulterior motives.

I have come to the recent realization that my two leggers are somewhat lacking in the "Proper manners and courtesies regarding ones four legged betters" department.

I am not just another devilishly handsome face. Behind these irrisistable eyes lurks a keen and observant brain thingy.

And I HAVE observed.

I have observed that not every two legger walks around their house, wielding a water squirty thingy like Arnold Schwarzenegger on another cyborg thingy hunt.

Not every two legger screams and stamps their feet at every broken vase, shredded curtain or small act of arson. (That brings up a great memory, but I'll save it for another post)

Not every two legger would lock me in solitary confinement simply because Tiger Lily donated a little hair and blood to my favorite charity.

In short, my two leggers are in need of some behavioral modification. According to the talking box thingy, (specifically that Ivan shaped psychiatrist thingy, Dr. Phil) the best way to change undesirable behavior is to show the offending two legger proper examples of the desired behavior.

I was aware that every year, football season culminates in a single game called the Superbowl. On the day of this Superbowl, all two leggers are required to gather in groups, drink beer, eat fried food and yell maniacally at the nearest talking box thingy. I do not claim to understand the logic behind this compulsion, but I did see an opportunity.

I first researched all the two leggers that communicate with my two leggers via Facebook and e-mail. I made note of all his "friends" that posted cute pictures of four leggers and joined causes that help less fortunate four leggers.

I then ruled out all those that lived more than four hours away.

This left two prospective "instructors". I convinced my two legger that given my new found popularity, I should host a Superbowl party and submitted my "guest list". My two leggers agreed considering that they have a very large talking box thingy that deserves more than just two-two leggers screaming at it during the Superbowl.

At the appointed hour, Kelly and Shelly arrived at my house and my plan seemed to work perfectly. They immediately commenced to petting and praising me, showering with all the adoration I so richly deserve. They brought me gifts and these unbelievably tasty little treat thingys that were flavored with organic squirrel meat.

They did not yell at me when I sniffed their beer or helped myself to some of their food. The water squirty thingy never even seemed to enter their minds.

I of course rewarded them with much purring and the playful antics that two leggers seem to derive so much joy from.

However, it was to no avail. Every time I hazarded a glance at my male two legger to make sure he was taking notes, he was watching the talking box thingy and yelling. How can he see how good I can be unless he watches?

I finally had to go bite him in order to show him how nice I am.

I am thankful to Kelly and Shelly for their efforts, perhaps we'll try again in the Spring. Until then I may have to simply face the fact:

Some beasts are untrainable.