Agility is a dog competition event where your dog navigates an obstacle course involving jumps, ramps, tunnels, poles, putting together a military rifle, and firing at a target.

It turns out that agility is a super serious sport, at least for that agility school, and that the first rule of agility (after not talking about agility) is that you're not supposed to have any fun. The trainer yelled at us to not let the dogs actually touch any of the equipment for the entire first course, otherwise it would "ruin" the dogs because they would think a tunnel or ramp is something to be scared of or to play with and never accept it as the serious dog career achievement it is meant to be.

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That probably seems ridiculous to a normal person who thinks dog activities should be about having fun and not about certificates or trophies or whatever dumb symbols of achievement that dogs don't care about because they can't eat them. That's not why we ended up pulling him out of that class, though. It was because there was a gentleman in the class with us who liked to call his dog up onto his lap and kiss it on the mouth. Gross.

Anyway, it's fine with me that Frobolome doesn't want to pursue agility, but he hasn't taken the slightest initiative since then to enroll in anything else, let alone stay the course. Just last week, I tried to interest him in a computer certification course I found in the local community college catalog. He ate it.

It seems like "social media" (the Twitters, the Face Books, the chat programs where you send pictures of your penis to other people) is taking over everybody's social interactions, at least according to magazines and other media for old people.

Back in my day, we didn't interact with all our friends through computer screens using Facebook and Twitter. We interacted with our friends through computer screens using MySpace and Friendster. But even before that, I hear people interacted with people in person. And dogs interacted with other dogs dog-to-dog.

Sure, Frobolome will go out in the backyard and bark to all the other dogs in the neighborhood about how there sure is a lot of poop in the yard, or whatever they talk about. But instead of scheduling get-togethers at each other's houses where they can show off their poop, like I assume dogs used to do in the old days, he just posts his latest poops on his Instagram account. They keep removing his poop photos because it violates their terms of service or something, so here's what's left, basically:

Part of it is also that voters of all demographics have lost all trust in our political system, which is not unreasonable, because the government is pretty awful. My personal philosophy is based on the same idea as the Churchill quote about how democracy is the worst form of government except for all the other ones. From the way people talk, you'd think things couldn't get any worse, but if no good people ever voted again, we could theoretically end up reinstituting slavery or storing nuclear waste in schools or something, I don't know. My vote may not be able to stop my state from periodically bankrupting itself, but I guess at least we can try to keep our kids from being irradiated while they fail to learn math.

So I can't interest Frobolome in any of that. I think he's disillusioned because he's always had a strong belief in trickle-down economics, as he keeps hanging around the kitchen counter and dinner table waiting for the theoretical payoffs from this system. Which never come, by the way, because that's people food, Frobolome! It'll make you sick!

He also should care about free speech issues, as he always complains he is the victim of heavy-handed censorship in the matter of expressing his opinion to UPS deliverymen, outdoor cats, passing cars, and neighborhood children. (His opinion is "BARKBARKBARKBARKBARK.") But no, he'd rather sit around and whine about it than try to vote and make a difference.

Sure, he's good at acting like a responsible driver -- he makes a big show of checking his rearview mirrors and making sure that he's shifted into the right gear (even though he can only drive automatic, big whoop).

And I guess he can navigate local streets all right, more or less, but what trips him up on the test every single time is the parallel parking:

I've searched the Internet to see if this is a common problem with the breed, but I haven't seen parallel parking come up as an issue on any Corgi forums, so I guess he's just a defective freak.

What? Oh yeah, millennials. They're probably bad at parking, too. I didn't have time to look it up, I was busy taking dog pictures.

(Consult the following diagram by SIR to further understand Corgi mechanics.)

Well, the first step to getting your dog into herding is to take him to a "herding instinct test," where they check to see if your dog still has the herding instinct bred into his ancestors or whether he is a defective specimen of the breed good for absolutely nothing. You can probably guess which category Frobolome fits into, but let's just keep going with the story.

The test involves putting your dog into a pen with a few sheep and seeing if he exhibits any desire to herd them. The bar for passing is actually extremely low. Some of the dogs made a go of chasing the sheep, but really any interest in the sheep at all, including looking at them, seemed to count as "passing." With standards that low, all of the 25 or so dogs passed except one.

When it was Frobolome's turn, he certainly noticed that there were sheep in the pen, but instead of seeing them as animals to be herded, or living creatures of any kind, he sort of saw them as obstacles to navigate in order to get to what was really interesting -- sheep poop. God damn, that stuff must have been delicious, because he just went to town, eating sheep poop left and right, whenever a sheep would be so kind as to get out of the way.

Note that this is the one job Corgis were bred for (herding, I mean, not eating sheep poop), and it did not even register with him that it was a thing that a dog might do.

So now he does nothing all day. He sits around on the couch, plays some PlayStation, barks at nothing once in a while, posts on Facebook, and then calls it a day.

Ladies and gentlemen: Frobolome, voice of a generation.

Christina worries about Frobolome's Instagram account becoming more popular than her own Twitter and Facebook accounts.

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