Chapter 2: The worst teacher in the world

The German shepherd pup moved in with me at the end of July, of course under whimpering protest. It was Wilfried who delivered him to me, because after spending the night with me, Peter had been unusually peaceful for a few weeks before he resumed his bad behavior. So, the St. Bernard had come to the conclusion that I, and only I, would be the right foster parent for the pup. I, of course, disagreed. What was I to do with such a scrawny slob in my well-kept ambiance? 

My Gisela also surprisingly took Wilfried's side, "You always wanted a child, Werner. Now you're going to have one. You can't choose your children!" She also thought a pup like Peter would be good for me, "It's rejuvenating! You're getting fat!" Of course, that wasn't true at all. I may be massively built, but I have muscles instead of fat. This clever old viper knew that. After all, she knew my body, but as always, she also knew how to bait me. So, I agreed.

Have I already told you about Gisela? Well, she was my friend, lover, play partner and a nail in my coffin for a long time. Don't tell anyone, but I always thought it was possible to kind of guess her profession by just looking at her. You see, she is a trainer for feral dogs and teaches police dogs to obey. Tough and snappy she is, you have to get used to her special charm, but in her judgment, she is as reliable as a loyal guard dog. So, if this wiry old rottweiler-woman thought I should take a 15-year-old brat into my house, I guess I could dare.

Peter moved into the big quest room on the second floor. It was funny. The German shepherd pup hadn't been there ten minutes when the beautiful room with its bright furniture was already lost in complete chaos and it even looked like it had been that way for a long time. Well, as long as the chaos was confined to his room, it should be fine with me. After all, he was no longer a toddler and had a right to his privacy.

However, I wanted to be less tolerant when it came to his school attendance. On the very first evening, I approached Peter about it. "I'm not going to school anymore," the pup announced, looking at me provocatively. I had expected this, Wilfried had warned me. But without any school-leaving qualifications, nothing would become of Peter and I wasn't going to let him screw up his life. I tried to argue, but only provoked defiance and I also didn’t want to simply force him. That way he probably would skip the school as much as possible. Well, we would try it differently.

The next two days I left Peter completely alone, so that he could settle in a bit. He was quite invisible, hanging around somewhere during the day or splashing in the pool in the basement. In the evenings, he retired to his room. On Sunday evening, however, I approached the pup again about going to school, "I've made up my mind about school, Peter. You don't have to go there anymore." The German shepherd stared at me, dumbfounded. I explained to him what I was going to do, "I'm going to teach you here at home. You can study while I'm at work. Then in the afternoon we'll go over it together." 

He was surprised by the suggestion and asked, "Are you a teacher, Mr. Feldhoff?" I smiled. "No, not at all. I'll probably be the worst teacher in the world. I'm an engineer and know something about math and physics. The rest we'll read from books. It'll be fine." Peter was skeptical, but didn't start mutinying until I announced the schedule, "We'd better start right away tomorrow." 

"But it's still vacation!" he countered directly. "Vacations only happen at school. Let's do it differently. Look, I'll leave you a note with assignments tomorrow when I leave. I'll be back around four, and then we'll discuss what you've done." Peter nagged a bit more, but eventually retreated to his room and listened to music. He didn't even notice that I said goodnight to him later because of all the noise.

The next morning, I left the house early. I had moved my working hours forward and started at six o'clock so that I would have time for the pup in the afternoon. As an independent contractor, you can't take time off forever, even if you suddenly had a child. For Peter, I had put a list of tasks, books and notebooks on the table. It was a tight program that I had come up with for him. If he didn't get up early and work very disciplined, he couldn't do it. And that was exactly the point.

I was back home punctually at four o'clock and found Peter in swimming trunks on the terrace. The school things were on the garden table next to him. That was at least something. I called him in and had him bring the notebooks. "How did it go?", I asked hypocritically, and he looked at me just as innocently as he replied, "I didn't quite finish." "Oh, that's too bad. Well, maybe I gave you too much to do. Let's see what you've accomplished." 

It turned out that he had basically accomplished nothing, because he had not taken my instructions seriously. I had written down some pages from books, geography, history and German, which he should have copied. In addition, I had given him some pieces of paper with math problems, simple tasks with which I wanted to test his basic knowledge. He was supposed to copy them into his notebook and work them out. The notebook was empty, but he had calculated a piece of paper, on the sheet. 

"Why didn't you write that in the notebook?" I wanted to know from him. He shook his head and explained, "That takes way too long. It's faster this way." I looked in the other notebooks. Nothing. Already quite annoyed, I asked, "What about the other assignments?" "I've read everything!" he defended himself directly. "You were supposed to write it!" "But that's completely pointless! What am I supposed to learn from that?" he just grumbled. 

"Did you learn anything from reading?" I inquired and began questioning him. Dates of certain events and some degrees of longitude. Of course, he didn't know them. Well, he probably wouldn't have known them even after copying them down, but I told you I was a bad teacher. Nevertheless, I grabbed my foster pup after the eighth wrong answer, put him over my broad knee and pulled down his swim trunks. With my left paw I pulled his tail over his back. 

"Don't, Mr. Feldhoff! Please, don't spank me!", Peter stammered hastily at that. "You didn't even bother to learn!", I returned directly, slapping his little butt with my big paw. He whined and fidgeted. "Lie still, you brat!", I growled, slapping him hard, repeatedly on his right buttock, which I covered completely with my paw. 

He howled and grumbled, but I did not let myself be disturbed. When the right butt cheek had a nice red under his short white fur, I started with the left and worked on it with the same German thoroughness. He didn't stop kicking, howling and whining as he cried, "That's not fair!" I pulled his pants back up and made him stand up while I asked, "What's not fair?" "That you give me so much to do. And that I have to write all this. I mean, that's dumb. And I can't do math!" he sobbed. 

I remembered his report card. In fact, he had an F in math. I grabbed the one piece of paper he had calculated. The problems were not difficult and he had not made any mistakes. So, his mathematical talent could not be that bad. I would take care of this problem in a few days. For now, there was another goal to achieve. "Sit down." 

Peter sniffed in offense and carefully sat down on his sore bottom. "We're going to study together now. Wait a minute." I went into the storage room and took out the slender cane I had already picked out the night before. Peter looked at me with wide eyes and whined in horror, "But I didn't do anything!" "Then you have nothing to fear," I pretended and sat down across from him at the dining table.

After all, his future was at stake, so for once I had to ignore justice and fairness. He looked suspicious and gnawed on the pencil. "Take the pencil out of your mouth. You're not a pacifier child anymore!" Peter looked at me defiantly, but obeyed. I put the geography text in front of him again. First, he had to read it aloud, then he had to mark the most important points and formulate mnemonic sentences, which he had to write three times in his notebook. Yes, I know, I really am the worst teacher in the world. 

As soon as pup finished, I took the notebook and checked it. His spelling was quite good, so I couldn't get him at that, but the writing and form were really horrible. Lines didn't seem to exist for him. He sometimes had a wide margin and sometimes none at all, and corrections looked as if he had spit in the notebook. "Why are you smearing like that?", I ruled him, slamming the notebook on the table. He winced. "You write that again!", I ordered sharply.

He protested, "But Mr. Feldhoff..." "Shut up and stand up!" He folded his mouth shut in fright and slowly rose. "I don't know why you're scrawling like that, but if that's the way you want it, I'll give you a reason. Put out your left paw." The German shepherd took a step back and nearly fell over his chair. "Why?" he asked shakily, taking another step back. "Well wonderful," I thought, "he's resisting. Caught in the trap, pup." I walked around the table and grabbed one of his skinny arms. 

"Just wait, brat. I'll teach you to obey in class!" I laid him across the table, pulled down his pants and grabbed his tail to hold it on his back with my left paw. Then I pulled the belt out of my suit pants. With a rich "slap" the belt hit his still red bottom for the first time and he howled, "Please don't, Mr. Feldhoff!" I was not deterred and burned the next one on his small butt. I hit quite hard, after all, I wanted to reach my goal with him today and not discuss this school issue forever. He was probably really one who could feel better than hear.

After the belt landed on his buttocks for the sixth time, I put him back on his feet and had him pull up his pants. Crying, he wiped a few tears from his face and wanted to sit down behind his notebook again. "Stop!" I barked. His teary, deep brown eyes looked at me in wonder. "Where were we just now?", I inquired. He understood and rose very hesitantly. "Come here", I ordered sharply, waving the cane. Slowly he came to me and stood in front of me. 

I nodded encouragingly and he gently held out his slender left paw to me. "You get six," I announced. "And don't you dare fidget!" I took careful aim and let the thin tube whiz into the pup's big paw pad. "Ouch!" Peter flicked his little paw and rubbed it on his thigh. "You're supposed to hold still! You'll get that one again, and two more!" The pup looked at me, stunned, because even his math skills were good enough to tell that we were at a total of nine now.

He looked desperate and reached out his paw again. I let the cane land on it again. He began to cry, but kept still. He also bravely endured the next two hits. That was not quite right for me, we still had to accomplish something today. So, I put a little more force into my efforts and aimed across his fingertips. He howled and shook his paw. Again three more. 

I saw the horror in his eyes, because he realized that I could extend the punishment in this way at will, but I did not. He got a total of 15 hits on the left, not all of them really hard, but still so that the paw hurt noticeably. I decided that this number was also just the right amount for the other paw and asked him to stick out the right.

"Please, Mr. Feldhoff, I want to make an effort!" he whined. "I'm sure you'll make an effort. Paw out, six more!" I didn't give him a chance to get away with the six. Every time he had been brave for a few hits, I provided a few extra until I reached 15. After that, he was allowed to sit down again. 

"And now you write your work again," I ordered and added shortly afterwards, "When you're done with that, you write another punishment work. One hundred times, "I must write neatly!" in the black punishment workbook." This was meanness at its finest. After all, his fingers must be hurting badly by now, but it had to be done. He should realize what a shitty life he would have if I remained his teacher.

It took him quite some time to finish geography. I sat across from him like an avenging angel and watched him scribble. I sensed clearly that he would have preferred to be alone so he could have a good cry, but I didn't do him that favor. I merely looked at his mnemonic notes when he finished. They were barely legible and he was obviously expecting more punishment, but that would just have been cruel. "All right," I growled. "If I'm picky now, we won't be done in three months."

He shuddered and carefully fumbled for the black punishment notebook. "Go get dressed first, pup. It's getting cold," I said, however, because by now it had already become evening. Peter still had to write his punishment sentences and afterwards we would talk about his school attendance. I didn't expect much resistance anymore, but wanted to make sure. I had no intention of repeating all this tomorrow.

While he was doing his punishment work, I still watched him very carefully. The pup moved a lot in his chair. His small bottom probably hurt quite a bit. "What's wrong? Do you need to go to the bathroom?" I asked. He shook his head. He wasn't crying anymore. "My ass just fucking hurts," he stammered barely audible. A second later he realized his words and looked up at me in shock. He was probably begging God right now that I haven't heard that. 

Of course, I looked at him also shocked. "Perfect," I thought, and angrily commanded, "Get up!" "Please, Mr. Feldhoff, I'm sorry." I got up from my chair and raised the cane, "Stand up and come here or this will be much worse." The pup already started crying again while he slowly rose from his chair. Anxiously, he came and stood in front of me. He was shaking like a leaf. "Take your pants off and put them on the table."

While whimpering, the German shepherd slowly took off his sweatpants, folded them and placed them on the table next to his notebook. His colorful boxer shorts followed a moment later. Only in his T-shirt, he looked at me with his teary brown eyes. "Please don't...", he muttered. "Shut up! I will teach you to not use such language in class. Lie down on the table and raise your tail. You get three. And don't you dare to stand up or cover your butt with your hands or tail. I'm going to count them out loud. So, if I don't say a number, it didn't count."

Very hesitantly he turned to the table, leaned forward and laid his upper body on it. However, he kept his tail on his butt and even tucked it between his legs. "Raise your tail, Peter, be a good pup or it will be six." He sobbed. 

It took him some time, but a few seconds later the German shepherd raised his tail and revealed his small red bottom. I raised the cane over my shoulder and brought it down on his sore butt. After the typical sound of the cane hissing through the air, it landed with a sharp smack. Peter cried out loudly, rose and danced on the spot while rubbing his butt with both paws. Of course, I didn't use as much force as last time in the basement, but it was still enough to hurt quite a bit.

"Lie back down, pup, and stay down. This one didn't count. Put more effort into it. Or do we have to go down in the basement for this?" Peter looked at me horrified. "N-no," he sobbed immediately and lay back on the table. "Tail up." He raised his tail and howled loudly as I hit him again. This time, he stayed on the table, still wiggled his butt though. "One," I announced. As soon as he had calmed down a bit, the cane burned the next line across his sore buttocks. Again, he just wiggled around, but otherwise managed to hold his stance. "Two," I said.
 
After the third strike however, two small Paws and a tail appeared on his red bottom. "Be a good pup. Move your hands and raise your tail again," I commanded. Nothing. He was just crying. "Peter, the last one didn't count so move your hands and raise your tail." "N-no. Please no more," he stammered, sobbing. "Move them, now," I growled angrily. Again, nothing. He just howled, but even louder, when the cane landed on the backs of his paws. 

Immediately, he pulled them away, shacking them around. While he was distracted with them, I grabbed his tail, pulled it up and burned him the last one with a lot more force on his small butt. The German shepherd let out a scream of pain and whined and sobbed even more. "Three," I said and sat down again. He needed a longer crying break this time and of course, I let him have it while gently stroking his back.

When he had calmed down a little, I helped him stand up and held him until he stopped shaking so much. "Now, finish the punishment sentences. After that we're done with the lessons for today." The pup just nodded, still crying silently. He wanted to put his pants back on, but I said, "Leave them on the table. The coolness of the wooden chair will do you good." 

Again, he just nodded and very carefully sat down behind his notebook. Of course, it still hurt but he didn’t complain. Luckily, he already had done most of the sentences. It only took him a few more minutes to finish it. "I'm finished, Mr. Feldhoff. Can I go to my room now?" he asked almost inaudibly. 

"Not yet, my little pup. Come," I answered and took Peter to the sofa, where I sat down with him. I laid him across my legs and lightly stroked his T-shirt and sometimes over his sore bottom. He resisted a little at first, but the light pressure of my warm paws on his cramped back convinced him that lying still would not be his harm. Finally, he relaxed and allowed the caresses. 

While I was still thinking about how to proceed with my plan, the pup timidly took the initiative, "Mr. Feldhoff?" "Yes, my pup?", I asked briefly, to which he very cautiously replied, "I was thinking that I would quite like to go to school after all." "Oh really," I thought, grinning to myself. I pretended to be very thoughtful, "I don't think it would be a good idea." He immediately tensed up and asked anxiously, "Why not?" "I don't know if you can succeed, Peter. You don't have any discipline. I think it's better if I take it on myself." 

His horror was noticeable. He squirmed under my paws. I turned him around so that we were looking into each other's eyes and said, "I'll make you a deal: I'll give you a task every morning until the end of the vacation, and you'll do it carefully. If that works, you can go back to school." "Yes, Mr. Feldhoff, that's what we'll do," he agreed, directly delighted. After that, surprisingly, he didn't want to go back to his room. Instead, he lay down on my lap again and let me stroke him. Of course, I had nothing against it.

Over the next few days, I was really fair to Peter and he tried really hard. He had to do all the tasks in writing. Neatly, was always written in the instructions, and he had to hand in some extra work too sometimes. But it was not so much that it would have completely spoiled his vacations, there was still time for the pool. However, when I came home on the second to last day of vacation, I found my foster pup sitting meekly and tearfully in a corner of the living room. "What's wrong?", I wanted to know and he complained, "I didn't finish it. Yet I've tried and tried and tried, but I just can't do math!" 

"But it was just one math problem," I objected. "Yes, but I didn't get it out," he whined, looking unhappily at the floor and muttering, "It's not fair if I'm not allowed to go to school because of it." I felt sorry for the poor puppy, now I had tricked him again. "Let me see what you've done." He brought me his notebook. For many pages he had attempted the difficult task, had tried, calculated and struggled. I immersed myself in his notes. What I saw made my heart swell. "Come over here, Peter." 

He came hesitantly, probably expecting a punishment. I grabbed him around the waist and pulled him to me. After giving him a kiss on the cheek, I petted his head behind his right ear. He loved it there the most. "You did that very, very well, my little pup," I praised him delightedly, but he just stared at me confused and completely surprised. I explained it to him, "This task was not solvable for you. A good engineer can do it approximately. It's much too difficult for a 9th grade student, but you still did everything right. That's exactly how you have to start it, and you even tried several ways. All of them were good." 

"But why did I have to do it then?" asked Peter, still totally confused. "Because I wanted to prove what I've long suspected: That you're a talent when it comes to natural sciences. I couldn't do that if I kept giving you the easy stuff." I stroked his back and he leaned against me in relief, with a cute smile on his face. "But I want to compensate you for your drudgery. If you want, we can go to the go-cart race track tomorrow. Would you like that?" Peter beamed with delight, "Oh yes, Mr. Feldhoff!" "You can call me Uncle Werner, my little pup."