Cutis was no ordinary dog. He was a golden retriever with a mind sharper than most humans. His fur shimmered under the sunlight, and his eyes twinkled with mischief. He lived with his best friend and owner, Mike, a cheerful man who loved to take Cutis everywhere. But Cutis had a habit that left everyone in town either rolling with laughter or shaking their heads in disbelief—he had a special way of getting to the market with Mike.
Mike always took Cutis with him on errands. It was their thing. But instead of walking beside Mike like a regular dog, Cutis had developed his own unique method—a trolling method, as the townsfolk called it. He had learned, somehow, that if he acted just the right way, he could manipulate every situation in his favor.
One bright Saturday morning, Mike grabbed his shopping bag and called Cutis. “Come on, buddy! Let’s go to the market.”
Cutis sat up, stretched dramatically, and wagged his tail. But instead of walking to the door, he flopped onto the floor, belly up, with his tongue lolling out like a broken puppet. He let out a long, exaggerated groan.
“Oh no, not this again,” Mike sighed, folding his arms. “Cutis, get up. We don’t have time for your games.”
But Cutis only wagged his tail a little and gave Mike the saddest puppy-dog eyes in history. The Oscar-worthy performance had begun.
People outside the house could hear Mike groaning, followed by a series of grunts as he tried to lift Cutis, who had suddenly gone as limp as a noodle. It was as if his bones had vanished.
“Come on, Cutis! You’re not sick! You did this yesterday!”
Cutis remained floppy, refusing to move a single muscle. Mike had no choice. He bent down, scooped up his furry troublemaker, and carried him out the door.
The moment they stepped outside, the neighbors burst into laughter.
“Ah, Cutis is at it again!” shouted Mrs. Thompson, wiping tears from her eyes.
“He’s got you wrapped around his paw, Mike!” chuckled old Mr. Jenkins.
Mike just sighed as he adjusted Cutis in his arms. The golden retriever peeked out, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and gave a triumphant little wag of his tail. He had won again.
But that was just the beginning. Cutis’ special trolling method had multiple phases.
Phase two started when they reached the bus stop. Instead of walking onto the bus like a normal dog, Cutis refused to move.
Mike tried everything—he pulled on the leash, called his name, even waved a slice of bacon he had bought for breakfast. Nothing worked.
“I swear, Cutis,” Mike grumbled. “You could walk in your sleep if you wanted to.”
Cutis blinked lazily and yawned, lying down on the pavement like a stubborn rock.
The bus driver, a kind old man who had seen this scene many times before, chuckled and opened the doors wider. “You better carry him, Mike. We all know who’s in charge here.”
Mike groaned again, picked up Cutis, and carried him onto the bus. The passengers clapped and cheered, taking pictures of the golden mastermind, who basked in the attention.
The market was even worse. As soon as Mike put Cutis down, the golden retriever turned into a statue. A completely motionless, unmovable, furry rock.
Mike tried reasoning with him. “Buddy, come on. Just walk like a normal dog.”
Cutis responded by dramatically rolling onto his back and exposing his belly.
The stall owners burst into laughter. The fruit vendor clapped his hands. “Cutis is the king of drama!”
A young girl giggled. “Mommy, why is that dog playing dead?”
The butcher, who loved Cutis dearly, chuckled as he threw a piece of chicken into the air. The moment the meat flew, Cutis sprang to life like a well-oiled machine, caught the chicken mid-air, and gobbled it down.
Mike face-palmed. “Unbelievable.”
By now, the entire market had accepted that Cutis would never behave like a normal dog. He had his own way of getting things done. If he wanted to be carried, he would. If he wanted free treats, he’d act as if he hadn’t eaten in days. And if he wanted extra belly rubs, well, he would play dead until someone caved in.
But the final phase of Cutis’ troll method was the most brilliant of all.
On their way back home, Cutis magically regained all his energy. The moment they left the market, he trotted ahead, tail wagging, looking as lively as ever. No more playing dead, no more limp body tricks—just a happy, bouncy dog who had successfully gotten what he wanted.
Mike shook his head, watching his furry best friend prance down the road. “You, my friend, are the smartest troll I’ve ever met.”
Cutis looked back with a goofy smile as if saying, “I know.”
And so, Cutis continued his legendary trolling adventures. People in town adored him, vendors kept extra treats just for him, and Mike? Well, Mike knew that no matter what, he would always be carrying Cutis to the market. Because, at the end of the day, how could anyone say no to that mischievous golden dog with the heart of a genius?
