Chapter Twenty-Nine: Somewhat Difficult to Handle

"Do you think that's possible?" Zhang Congwen asked back, sounding a little drained.

"Damn! Is this dog really that stubborn? Even when you threatened it with euthanasia, it still won’t listen," Song Jiawei said.

Zhang Congwen rolled his eyes. "If only it could understand human speech."

Song Jiawei thought about it and agreed. Most dogs, with training, can understand a few human words; some particularly clever ones can even associate new words by context. But expecting a dog to fully comprehend human language was a tall order, even for the most gifted canine.

"Brother Zhang, can Da Hu be trained?" Xie Caizhe inquired from the side.

Zhang Congwen looked at the hopeful expression on Xie Caizhe’s face, not wanting to dash his hopes, but the truth had to be spoken. "It's very difficult," he said.

"But can it be done?" Xie Julie immediately pressed.

As a girl, Xie Julie found the idea of euthanizing a living creature rather cruel, but witnessing Zhang Congwen’s struggle with Da Hu had truly frightened her. She desperately wanted her family’s dog to be retrained, hated the thought of putting Da Hu down, but was equally unwilling to see anyone bitten. Her heart was torn.

Zhang Congwen didn’t answer her directly, turning instead to Xie Caizhe. "You’ve been bitten by Da Hu too, haven’t you? Could I see your wound?"

Xie Caizhe nodded, a tinge of guilt in his voice. "All of us have been bitten by Da Hu. Even my sister has a big scar on her leg. She wouldn’t have gotten bitten, but she jumped in to save me..."

Song Jiawei glanced at Xie Julie, surprised. He never would have expected this gentle-looking girl to step in front of such a fierce dog. It was a pity, he thought; Xie Julie looked so clean and quiet, like a delicate white flower—she easily won people’s affection. Yet because of a dog, that delicate white flower now bore a scar.

A surge of sympathy welled up in Song Jiawei, and he turned to Zhang Congwen. "What’s with this dog anyway?"

Zhang Congwen pondered for a moment before answering. "From what I’ve observed, Da Hu is highly sensitive. Any external stimulus can provoke aggression. At the same time, he’s very dominant, opinionated, self-centered. And I don’t think he regards the siblings as his owners. Instead, he sees them as his possessions."

"How do you know that?" Song Jiawei was beginning to understand Zhang Congwen’s dilemma.

"When we first let Da Hu out from under the tree, he wanted to sniff you. You moved, and he immediately gave you a warning glance. That was his way of telling you to stay still and obediently submit to his inspection. After smelling us, his first move was to separate us from the siblings, making it clear that they belong to him, and warning us not to mess with them," Zhang Congwen explained, step by step.

After hearing the explanation, Song Jiawei felt a headache coming on. A dog with such a problematic temperament, completely mistaken about its place in the household, treating itself as the master—trouble was inevitable.

"Is there any hope?" Song Jiawei circled back to the main question.

In truth, this dog was giving Zhang Congwen a lot of pressure. Usually, a dog isn’t both sensitive and dominant at the same time. From what he’d seen, Da Hu’s sensitivity seemed to be innate. Zhang Congwen had asked the owner to install the dog crate at home to help with this trait.

The confusion about its position could be corrected, as long as the owner asserted dominance the right way, Da Hu could slowly learn its place. It wasn’t too hard, but not exactly easy either—the real challenge lay not in the dog, but in the owner. Xie Julie was gentle, a quiet little white flower, hardly the right person for such a job. Xie Caizhe was still young and lost control when Da Hu acted out, so he wasn’t suitable either. According to the sisters, their mother was afraid of Da Hu, so she was out of the question. That left only their father, the only one who fit the bill—Da Hu’s attitude toward him made that clear. With the right methods, the dog could be sorted out in less than two months. But their father’s time was limited, and it would be difficult for him to devote enough attention every day.

Beyond that, Da Hu’s greatest problem was his dominant temperament. Since no one knew what the dog had been through, it was impossible to address the root cause. Zhang Congwen’s only option was to reduce the dog’s stress through specific training, and even then, it would take at least a year to see improvement.

More importantly, if this approach failed or if the situation suddenly deteriorated, they had to be ready at any moment to take Da Hu in for euthanasia.

Zhang Congwen relayed all this to the Xie siblings, and their faces darkened. Although it was hard to accept, Xie Julie still recorded everything Zhang Congwen said and sent it to her father.

The reply came back: Zhang Congwen should go ahead with the training.

Zhang Congwen then had Xie Julie ask her father if he’d be home tomorrow. After a long conversation with her father, she told Zhang Congwen he would be available.

With that confirmation, Zhang Congwen stood up. "Let’s leave it at that for today. I’ll come back tomorrow."

"You’re leaving already?" Song Jiawei was surprised. It was only three in the afternoon—not late at all, no reason to rush.

"If you’re not going, I am," Zhang Congwen said, noticing Song Jiawei’s reluctance.

In the end, Song Jiawei followed Zhang Congwen out of the Xie family villa.

As soon as they got into the ride-share, Song Jiawei asked, "Why are we going back so early?"

"This dog is tough to handle. I need to go home and think carefully about how to train him. Besides, with the boss away today, the next stage of training will need his cooperation."

Song Jiawei responded with a noncommittal "Oh," quickly losing interest and turning to his phone, chatting with someone unknown.

Even as they reached the entrance of their apartment complex, Song Jiawei was still glued to his phone, grinning foolishly from time to time.

At first, Zhang Congwen didn’t pay much attention, closing himself in his room to work out the next day’s training plan.

When hunger struck and he checked the clock, it was already seven-thirty in the evening.

"Are you hungry? Do you want to eat?" Zhang Congwen called out as he stepped into the living room. Song Jiawei was still in the same spot, chatting away, as if he hadn’t budged since coming home.

"Whatever," Song Jiawei replied absentmindedly.

"Fried rice or fried noodles? Or how about fried rice noodles?" Zhang Congwen pressed.

"Whatever," Song Jiawei repeated, just as dismissively.

"Then I’ll get fried rice noodles for myself and bring you a serving of fried shit," Zhang Congwen said.

"Whatever," Song Jiawei replied, not even seeming to register what Zhang Congwen had said. Normally, he would have jumped up and sparred back.

"..."

Zhang Congwen gave up, went downstairs, and bought two servings of fried rice noodles from the gate.

When he returned, Song Jiawei was still at it, phone in hand, chatting away.

"Who are you talking to, acting like some lovesick schoolboy?"

Zhang Congwen was momentarily stunned by his own words, then quickly realized something was off.