On Sunday, Game of Thrones will wrap up its second season of fantastical, filthy-soldier-bifurcating action. In less than two weeks, there will be no more opportunities for Mad Men to expose how unhealthily invested we are in its characters’ ongoing spiritual prostitution. Veep and Girls both are perched at the edge of the precipice of hiatus. The mighty, if creaky, Idol machine has ground to a halt, giving way to the tired, nonsensical celebriwarbling of Duets. Summer is coming.

But summer’s already here. Last night, CBS, its aging walls under siege by advancing hordes of nightly Pawn Stars marathons, unleashed its first volley of green fire upon the world. (For those of you who are unfamiliar with “CBS,” it’s a channel that comes into your home for free, but it only shows unpleasant things like people in sunglasses hunching over freshly defiled corpses, or Jon Cryer hunching over a freshly defiled Ashton Kutcher.) The network debuted something called Dogs in the City, which, sadly, is not a scene-by-scene reenactment of classic Sex and the City episodes using a bichon frise, a petit basset, a pomeranian, and a greyhound (cast them as you wish, but one’s pretty obviously the Carrie). Instead, it attempts to solve a long-standing frustration with the gold standard of canine-subjugation shows, The Dog Whisperer: Why couldn’t Cesar Millan be a much more fashionable, younger man having obedience-training adventures in Manhattan? And so we enter the world of one Justin Silver, who has the much-less-cool nickname “The Dog Guru” (presumably, the more youthfully appropriate “The Dog Texter” didn’t test well), as he attempts to tame the Big Apple’s dysfunctional bitches. In last night’s series premiere, Justin counsels a couple whose relationship has been imperiled (OK, maybe not imperiled, but let’s create some stakes here) by their needy, skateboarding bulldog, Beefy. And then there’s a model-attacking dog named Charlotte (two things Justin loves: dogs and models). And then there’s … well, we turned it off after the scene where he sat Charlotte on a park bench and tried to establish a rapport by talking about his own mommy issues, afraid that the conversation was about to take a weird turn about their shared love of devouring beautiful women. But we’re sure he solved all of his clients’ problems and everyone finished the hour with happier, healthier, less model-disfiguring pets.

Let the summer begin. Walter White can’t get here fast enough to save us.