President Bush’s session of drumming his desk and singing “I am the President!” was interrupted by the intercom.
“Mr. President, a Cesar Millan is here to see you.”
Bush shot out of his chair. “Ooh! The Dog Whisperer got my fan letter! Send him in!”
Cesar Millan came in the Oval Office. Bush immediately noticed the camera crew following him. “Wow! Am I going to be on T.V.?”
“That is not important,” Cesar said, “What are important are the dog and the dog owner. I hear we are dealing with an unusually aggressive dog?”
“He’s angry,” Bush said, and then thought for a moment. “Very angry, actually. Here, look at this.” Bush handed Cesar the Guinness Book of World Records.
“The World’s Angriest Dog: Chomps,” Cesar read aloud and then looked back to Bush. “I like to think that all dogs can be rehabilitated, but this should be a challenge. With troubled dogs, the real problem comes from the owner. That’s why I focus most on training people.”
“Yeah, well, just make sure your life insurance is updated. Chomps is so bad that we’ve had to discontinue political relations with Burma because the ambassador is too scared to come to the White House in case Chomps is in here. I would really appreciate your help on this.”
“And I am glad to give it,” Cesar answered. “When I was a boy in Mexico, I dreamed of one day being the greatest dog trainer in the world, so great that even the President of the United States would call upon me.”
“Well, cool, but don’t mention the ‘being from Mexico’ too much; I have enough people getting angry with me about illegal immigrants.”
“But I’m here legally.”
Bush looked confused. “Mexicans can do that?”
“Yipe! Yipe! Yipe!” Barney said as the little Scotty dog ran into the room.
“That dog is unruly too,” Bush said, “but he’s small enough that I can just kick him across the room if he annoys me.”
“Shh!” Cesar said to Barney as he pushed his fingers into the side of the dog’s neck. Barney immediately went to the ground and lay there quietly.
“That’s amazing!” Bush shouted. “Still, that’s not as fun as kicking him.”
“The reason Barney doesn’t listen to you,” Cesar explained, “is that he doesn’t see you as a leader.”
Bush hung his head. “No one does.”

“What are you doing in my house?” Donald Rumsfeld demanded.
“I’m Cesar Millan, the Dog Whisperer, and I rehabilitate dogs and train people.”
“You whisper to dogs?”
“Uh… no. The Dog Whisperer is just a title the National Geographic Channel came up with… you know, like that movie with Robert Redford, The Horse Whisperer.”
“Never saw it.”
“Neither have I. Anyway, I hear you have a rottweiler with an aggression problem.”
Rumsfeld took a swig from his whiskey flask. “A what problem?”
“I hear he bites people.”
“Yeah, he bites people… and objects… and air and water.”
“How did you come to own Chomps?”
Rumsfeld thought for a moment. “Well, about two and a half years ago, he mauled Michael Moore for the first time. Later, after an interdimensional crisis was handled, he followed me around. Since he only attacks people and things I don’t like or care about, I decided not to beat him until he left me alone.” Rumsfeld pointed to a large stick leaning against a wall. “That’s the original stick I thought of beating him with. If he’s ever noisy, I shake it at him.”
“So Chomps has always shown aggression?”
“He likes biting people and destroying things.”
“And what do you do when Chomps shows aggression?”
“I either ignore him or laugh, depending on the situation.”
“But you don’t take control of the situation?”
Rumsfeld took another swig of whiskey. “Who am I tell him what to do? He never tells me what to do.”
“Here is the problem,” Cesar explained. “You can’t control Chomps because Chomps does not see you as a pack leader; he just sees you as a roommate.”
Rumsfeld shrugged. “So? He pays half the mortgage. Every so often, he comes home with a wallet. I don’t care how he gets them as long as they have cash inside.”
“That is not an attitude that Chomps needs to keep him mentally balanced.”
“And I should care because…”
Cesar was silent for a second. “May I meet Chomps?”
Chomps burst through the wall behind them, snarling and baring his teeth. Rumsfeld took another drink of whiskey. “Smile and say, ‘Hi!'”

“The first thing I like to do with any dog is go on a walk,” Cesar said, “This allows me to show to the dog I’m the pack leader and let him feel my calm, assertive energy.”
Rumsfeld snorted. “Chomps doesn’t like leashes.”
“Then what you have to do is…”
Chomps quickly grabbed the leash from Cesar and swallowed it. Cesar looked a while at Chomps. “Okay, this could be a problem.”

“For certain dogs, I have to use creative measures,” Cesar told the cameras. “For Chomps, to make a leash, I needed to use a chain from a tow truck to make him a leash he can’t immediately chew through.” Chomps tried to bite the leash, but Cesar shouted, “Eh!” as he tugged on the chain.
“You’re asking for it,” Rumsfeld laughed.
“By keeping the leash – well chain – high on his neck, I can keep him facing forward. Now, he can only be angry at things in front of him… or in the sky. Right now, it looks like he’s being agitated by that one cloud up there.”
Chomps began to growl, but Cesar yelled, “Shh!” as he jerked on the chain. Chomps then quieted and stared at Cesar. “You can see the immediate change in behavior, because he now considers me the pack leader and is trusting my guidance.”
“I think he’s just confused why you don’t seem to care for you own life,” Rumsfeld commented.
While Cesar was distracted for a second listening to Rumsfeld, Chomps grabbed a fire hydrant, ripped it out of the ground, and then snapped wildly at the water that shot out.
“Maybe it’s time we bring him home.”

“As you can see,” Cesar told the cameras as Chomps sat beside him, shaking but not making a sound, “I have gotten Chomps to contain his anger for the moment. Now, I have to give him something to release this poison on. In front of him, I’ll now unveil a scale model of downtown Paris.”
Cesar pulled the sheet off, and Chomps immediately leapt on the model and started ripping it apart with his teeth.
“Now, having gotten rid of his anger, he will have a chance to be calm and submissive.”
The model destroyed, Chomps now growled and snapped at everything in sight.
“Uh… I guess he has more anger than I thought. Now is the time to be calm and assertive to take control.” Cesar looked to Rumsfeld. “Donald, see if you can make Chomps respond by being calm and assertive.”
“QUIET NOW OR I’LL RIP YOUR SPINE OUT AND BEAT YOU WITH IT! RARR!” Rumsfeld screamed at the dog.
Chomps kept snarling.
“Okay, Donald, that was assertive, but it wasn’t calm.”
“Shut up, dogman, or I’ll rip out your spine and beat you with it! Rarr!”
Chomps leapt out a window, and screams could be heard outside. “Don’t eat anymore children!” Rumsfeld yelled outside. “I hate dealing with the weepy moms of dumb kids!”

Bush looked up from his desk. “Hey, Dog Whisperer, how did things go?”
Cesar shook his head. “I hate to ever say this, but he needs to be put down.”
“We need to kill Chomps?”
“No, you don’t understand,” Cesar explained. “Most of my work is training people, and Donald Rumsfeld is untrainable. He causes dogs and anything else around him to become more violent. Having just spent a couple hours with him, I just want to get home and beat my children for some reason. Donald should not be allowed near any living creatures or the support structures of buildings. He needs to be put down.”
“Aww,” Bush groaned, “everyone is always telling me to either fire Rumsfeld or euthanize him.” Bush perked up a bit. “When will this episode air?”
“I don’t think this training attempt will be informative to the viewers.”
Bush put his head on his desk and sulked. “I’m never going to get on T.V.”