So there I am, 11:47 PM, still wearing my greasy work polo from the 12-hour shift at the big-box hardware store where I’ve been helping grown men argue about the difference between a Phillips and a flathead for the last four hours. I’m scrolling Amazon with the lights off, half-asleep, and I see the Dog training collars with remote for $37.97. And I think, you know what, I deserve this. I deserve a moment of clarity. So I buy it. I don’t even own a dog. I live in a studio apartment that smells faintly of burnt coffee and regret. But the package arrives, and I’m holding this little black collar with a remote that looks like a tiny TV remote from 2002, and the question just forms in my mind like a puddle of melted butter on a hot sidewalk: what if it’s not for a dog?
I’ve done this before. I’m that person. The one who sees a product and thinks, “But what if I try it in the other way?” It’s not a fetish. It’s an occupational hazard of being chronically curious and deeply under-slept. So I power it on. The remote has two buttons—a zap button and a beep button—plus a little dial for levels 1 through 10. Level 1 is a gentle static tickle, like a cat licking your palm. Level 10 is described in the manual as “training mode for stubborn breeds,” but I interpret it differently.
I strap the collar around my thigh. Tight. Clip the contact points in. It’s not great. The plastic housing digs in like a bad boyfriend’s attitude. But I press the zap button at level 3. Nothing happens for a second, then a low, deep buzz radiates through my hamstring. It feels... confusing. Like when you walk into a room and forget why you’re there. I try level 7. That’s when I start questioning my life choices. It’s not painful, but it’s deeply unsettling, like being gently tasered by a robot that’s also disappointed in you. The beep function is actually kind of nice. It makes a polite chirp, like a bird from a health insurance commercial.
I should mention, trying this was a mistake. My thigh now has a red ring around it and I keep getting random buzzes when I shift in my chair because I accidentally set the remote down on the couch. The furbo dog collar amazon listing says it’s for “barking, biting, jumping, aggression.” But I’d argue it’s also for midlife crisis experimentation at 1 AM. Is it worth it? For the story? Absolutely. For anything else? No. No, it’s not. The collar smells like a factory in Shenzhen and the remote takes three AAA batteries. Three. In 2024. The danger rating is real. Don’t strap this to anything sensitive unless you’re prepared to learn a hard lesson about conductivity and poor life choices.
