Mad Max Trainer Fling Upd Guide

Giblet lunged. Max sidestepped. Giblet’s chain snapped taut, and the dog flipped, landing on his back with a confused whuff .

“Turnip. Protocol ‘Good Boy.’”

Max didn’t flinch. He knelt, pulled a dried piece of jerky from his vest, and held it out flat. Mad Max Trainer Fling UPD

One by one, the enemy dogs stopped. They sat. They tilted their heads. They wanted that . The calm. The treat. The clicker.

Max picked up the Pomeranian, tucked it into his jacket, and looked at the defeated gang. “Training isn’t breaking. It’s speaking. And you,” he added, tossing a bag of dehydrated liver treats to Scrotus Jr., “need to start with basic sit-stay. No more spare tires.” Giblet lunged

Velvet Lash screamed as her own prized Pomeranian trotted over to Max and offered a paw.

Max just held up a new leather muzzle. “Now. The puppy class.” “Turnip

“That’s Giblet,” Scrotus Jr. growled. “He bit three of my war boys last week. He ate my spare tire. He answers to no one. Fix him, or you feed the lizard pits.”