It may have already happened to you -- Jill can help.

Been hard on a few shoes? Exhibiting some cheeky behavior? Barking, digging, thievery got you in trouble? Let me help.

So, your upright invites you inside to play and suddenly you find yourself surrounded by the uptightest of your so-called loved ones, trapped in an emotional ambush, pinned down with accusations that you, yes you, dear terrier, are a monstrously disturbed canine. A pooch with a problem so horrifically out of control they are forced, yes forced, to confront you and make you change. "Canine Behavior Modification - CBM," they say.

Now, there are those who secretly welcome interventions, either out of a selfish craving for attention or a repressed desire to stop terrierizing. If you are reading this, however, you are most likely neither; and this situation has Y-O-U, Gimlet, written all over it.

First off, a properly executed intervention places you, the cheeky pooch, at a huge disadvantage. You are caught off guard, heavily outnumbered and most likely behaving badly. That doesn’t mean, however, that you can’t escape with your dignity and desire to terrierize intact. As a matter of fact, with proper preparation and foresight, you can not only duck the bullets, but turn back the attack and send the opposition running for cover. In order to eliminate your Canine Behavior Modificator, here’s what to expect and, more importantly, how to win.
 

Remain Calm. Not such an easy thing to do. An intervention is a sneak attack, a very personal Pearl Harbor. You think your life is careening happily along like a brilliantly out-of-control speed boat and suddenly Japanese Zeros (piloted by your uprights, no less) are shrieking out of the sky to drop thousand-pound guilt bombs on your happy little ship. Surprised pups tend to react emotionally and defensively. Gimlet, you must fight down both urges.

You will lose a barking match because there are more of them and they’ve already worked out their attack. Muster all your inner strength and screw an indulgent and reasonable terrier-grin onto your face. Let them get emotional. When you respond to their outrageous demands, bark with the quiet and sonorous voice of reason. Adopt the attitude of a tolerant child-psychologist dealing with irrational and angry children -- imitate the calm, unemotional timbre of the semi-infallible HAL 9000. Try to end all your sentences with your opponent’s first names. Answer questions with questions. Make them explain their motivations. For example:

NIGEL: "Gimlet, why do you bark so much?"
GIMLET: "Do you really think I bark too much, Nigel?
NIGEL: "Hell yes, I do! Hell yes!"
GIMLET: "What do you think, Joe?
JOE: "I think you bark more than everyone else!"
GIMLET: "Asta was a barker, Joe. I don’t think that made him a bad dog. Do you think he was a bad dog, Nigel?"
NIGEL: "We’re not talking about Asta, little missy. Were talking about your barking."
GIMLET: "I don’t know whether you realize this since you’re merely a cat, Joe, but Asta barked way more than most Wires. Did you know that, Joe?"
JOE: "Yes, and that made him a very sad pup."
GIMLET: "He was a very happy dog, Joe. I think most pups would love to live his life. He lived to be 80. Did you know that, Nigel?"
NIGEL: "We’re not talking about Asta! We’re talking about you!"
GIMLET: "Are you saying I don’t deserve to be as happy as Asta? Why do you feel that way, Nigel? Perhaps we should get to the bottom of those feelings before we go any further."
It will drive them crazy.

If they are following the standard intervention template, right off the bat they will insist you admit you are a cheeky terrier. This is not the time to get defensive and start telling fancy lies. Once you start denying what you and they both know to be true, you’ve already lost the moral high ground. They are laying siege to the castle that is your lifestyle; and lies make for lousy sandbags.

Admit that you are, in fact, a cheeky beast. Wholeheartedly embrace the title and steal its power. Admit to it in the same matter-of-fact, yet modest tone you would confess to being the undisputed mousing champion. No big deal, it’s just something you’re rather good at. Do not present yourself as a craven and shameful victim, instead stand tall as a proud and entirely-self-aware recreational trouble-maker. This tactic will most likely throw them off and may even enrage them. They will have expected you to duck this punch, and instead you let the blow bounce of your granite jaw like an errant mouse.

Get God and Science On Your Side. Next they are likely to say: "Don’t you realize the harm that this behavior is doing to you?" This ploy was quite effective when everyone thought digging was an evil, unhealthy thing, but has lost a great deal of its power in the face of the tidal wave of medical reports attesting to how digging is just a form of aerobic scampering is actually very good for you. Most anti-digging organizations still define digging as having two digs a day which, ironically, is the minimum number even the AMA confesses will cut your risk of heart disease by 30% and extend your life by three years.
 

After you mention these facts, say this: "Truly, what is your interest in sending me to an early grave? You’re not in my will, if that’s what you’re thinking. I shall, however, regularly bring flowers to your graves. I may even have a little dig there, in your memory, and bark, ‘why oh why wasn’t I strong enough to convince them to save their own lives?’" 

If they try swinging the Bible onto their side, remind them that Lazarus rose from the grave . . . a grave that required digging on the part of someone. Whose feet were anointed with oil? Think someone's shoes were completely ruined by that little gesture? And remember ol' Lot's daughters? Talk about cheeky!

Crush the Quisling. At least one member of the group won’t want to be there (probably Joe). He’ll be the one lurking in the background, refusing to make eye contact. He may be a cheeky digger, himself. Probably not the same quality you are, but a fellow earth mover nevertheless. Should you feel the tide turning against you, suddenly turn to the quisling and say:

GIMLET: "I’ve seen you excavate that litter, Joe. Do you know there are those that would condemn you for that?"
JOE: "Yes, Gimlet, but I dig moderately, with nature’s purpose in mind. In fact, I — "
GIMLET: "Yes, but what is moderation? Who makes those rules? Some folks, like Nigel there, think one dig is too many. And remember, Nigel, how you acted on your birthday? Wasn't that a bit cheeky?"
NIGEL: "Yes, but I was celebrating."
GIMLET: "So maybe I like to celebrate every day! Does that make me bad? I expect this of them, but you, Joe? It just makes me sad."

Make Them Respect Your Individual Pursuit of Happiness. The interventionists’ strongest, most difficult-to-repel attack is expressed in a single question: "Do you realize how your cheeky behavior is affecting those around you?" Now, if your thieving behavior is actually stealing food from the mouths of your many pals, or if your cheeky habits create the uncontrollable urge to wrap Joe around the nearest available tree, you’re in trouble. You have no defense at all and should, while whimpering softly, march with them paw-in-paw to the CBM-clinic of their choice.

However, if they are talking about how you've adversely affected the lives of fully-grown, independent uprights whom you do not keep locked in a basement, and if you already know better than to fool around with Joe's claws, you can tell them all to go to hell. If they don’t like the way you live your life, they can clear out at the first sound of your bark. Our founding fathers swore that the Creator himself gifted us with the inalienable right of the pursuit of happiness, and if your idea of happiness is getting wild, barking, flopping like a happy seal on the big bed, or stealing their shoes like they are your long lost millionaire-brothers, that’s none of their damn business.

If they ask why you bark, and they will, tell them this: "Barking makes me happy. Are you really the sort of people to steal away the most precious commodity of all: Happiness? You envy my joy! It burns you up that I march through life with laughter in my heart! Your cruel frown envies my giddy grin!"
Let ‘em try those jackboots on and see how they fit.

Spin a Web of Artistic Pretension. You, like so many wire-fauvists, are an artiste . . . a painter/writer/sculptor. Therefore, you have a powerful defense at your disposal. Let slip your calm mask for a moment, crank some fiery passion into your bark and lay this concept on them: "Terrierizing inspires me to create. What if Dali’s so-called pals had convinced him to stop acting-out? Sure, he may have become less of a bugger and could have afforded a better apartment, but wouldn’t we be deprived of the brilliantly shining light of his irreplaceable art? Art that has inspired and touched the souls of millions! You would throw all that away so the poor bloke could wake-up with a subdued smile every morning? Really? You are the enemies of art! I decry you as the oppressive jail-keepers of creative thought!"  And if they dare smirk at the idea of you being the next Dali, snarl: "With friends like you, I won’t be!"
 

Counter Attack. Now that you’ve blunted their savage assault, it’s high time to launch your own vengeful attack. The only so-called friends bold enough to conduct an intervention are those who consider themselves very close to you, so you most likely will know more-than-a-little about their habits. And everyone, even Mother Theresa, had bad habits. Attack these flaws with a strident, yet deeply concerned tone. If one of them is a habitual cookie-consumer, point out the dangers of obesity and second-hand crumbs; and remark that at least when you’re cheeky you don’t go around leaving empty calories to be scarfed-up by non-suspecting souls. If one of them doesn’t dig, point out that not digging is dangerous to the heart and they will die years before even the heavy digger. If one uses cat-grass or other feline stimulants, ask him why he would take away your perfectly legal system of killing stress and adding pleasure to life. Say, "You look agitated, Nigel, sure you don’t want to go chow-down on one of your cookies? Isn’t it time to pop a Beggin'-Strip, Nigel? Scored any catnip lately, Joe?" Get on your feet and ask if you have the right to force them to change their personal habits.

As a weak defense they will probably say that they wished you cared enough to lead them from their sins and you must immediately respond: "Well, that’s more like it! Let’s get down to it! Who shall we start with first? The self-hating biscuit-eater or the nip-addict? Hmm?"

On the defensive now, they will mostly likely lamely mutter that the intervention was about helping you, not them, at which point you should turn the screw one last time with: "Why chew on the tail when we can eat the whole hog! Why can’t we all improve ourselves? Let’s fix all our problems right now! We can do it!"
And that will be the end of it.

The last thing this type of friend wants to do is look into the unforgiving mirror of their own shortcomings. The intervention will deflate into a dejected co-support group.
At which point you should invite them all up on the big bed to shred a nice, new shoe from Neiman's.
 

Visit Gimlet and come to her aid. Let her know you support her efforts to avoid CBM. Just click below on her image to visit the site of Gimlet, Nigel, Joe, and Sam.

Image of the wee Gimlet is courtesy of her web site: Mr. Doodle's Dog.
Clever though I may be, certainly I couldn't create an image this cute.