We Bought a ‘Peeing' Robot Attack Dog From Temu. It Was Even Weirder Than Expected
For less than the cost a round of drinks, a plasticized Boston Dynamics fever dream could be yours too. Courtesy of Esat Dedezade
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In my 15 years of reviewing tech, this pellet-firing, story-telling, pretend-urinating robot attack dog is easily the strangest thing I've ever tested.
Arriving in a slightly battered box following a series of questionable decisions on Temu, I'm immediately drawn to the words 'FIRE BULLETS PET' emblazoned on the box. And there, resting behind the protective plastic window with all the innocence of a newborn lamb, lies the plastic destroyer of worlds that my four-and-a-half-year-old immediately (and inexplicably), names Clippy.
Clippy is a robot dog. Of sorts. And he (my son assures me that it's a he), is clearly influenced by the remarkable, and somewhat terrifying, robotic canine creations of Boston Dynamics—a renowned company that's leading the robot revolution.
Naturally, given the $50 price tag (a little less if you don't want the—ahem—spinal-mounted pellet gun), I'm not expecting Clippy to perform miracles. But, given my track record, being served an Instagram ad promising all manner of animatronic wizardry for less than the cost of a round of drinks in a London bar, the opportunity was too tempting to pass up.
What happened, almost inevitably, was a lesson in not taking the social media ads you are served at face value. But, actually? It was also a lot of ridiculous fun. Robot Attack Dog: Lab Notes
After freeing Clippy from his box, I'm immediately met with some of the lightest, cheapest, glossiest plastic I've ever come across.
I have nothing against plastic. Remember the Nokia Lumia 920? Its polycarbonate body remains one of my favourite phone designs to this day. Sturdy, solid, and light, it was everything an object clad in plastic should be. Clippy and his accompanying remote, on the other hand, provide a somewhat Christmas cracker toy-like level of confidence in their durability.
Clippy's main body, filled with the bulk of the electronics, is weighty enough, but his four spindly legs do not give the impression that they're up to the task of supporting anything. Except, of course, that I am in ownership of the turret-toting model, which promises to lay waste to enemies by bombarding them with water-absorbent pellets (more on that in a bit).
Overall, the entire ensemble resembles an elongated CCTV camera on legs, with a turret resting on top—suitably menacing, and genuinely not far off Boston Dynamic's bona fide offering, in looks, at least.
Courtesy of Esat Dedezade
Elsewhere, I can only assume that the controller has been pumped full of helium, such is its hollow, airy lightness. Heavily inspired by the shape of an Xbox controller, I particularly love the fact that its bumper buttons and triggers are simply formed from one immobile piece of moulded plastic. There's something quite beautiful in their utter uselessness that I enjoy very much.
As for the business end, it's an ADHD nightmare. Littered with a chaotic array of buttons in seemingly no logical order, I give credit to the designers for creating a controller that laughs in the face of muscle memory.
Initial attempts at turning Clippy on are unsuccessful. The on/off switch does nothing, and the charging light remains dead when the USB-C cable is plugged in. There are no instructions.
Opening the battery compartment reveals the culprit—the battery is disconnected. Was this to avoid it draining in transit, or to reduce the risk of spontaneous combustion? Either way, it's plugged back in. Clippy lives.
And wow, he's loud. The built-in speakers are beyond shrill. I desperately look through the carnage of controller buttons, hoping to find a volume or mute option. There isn't one.
Naturally, I press 'urinate' first. Clippy's hind leg raises. That, I expected. What I didn't expect, was cheerful whistling, and the sound of water tinkling into a toilet bowl.
I look, and happen upon the 'handstand' button. This, I feel, will be an impressive test of his dexterity. A handstand maneuver will surely call upon multiple gyroscopes and accelerometers, combining and crunching data from numerous sensors in real time to ensure that Clippy's body remains perfectly poised in balance.
I press the button, and Clippy immediately—and rather violently—faceplants. The force of this manoeuvre takes me off guard, and the impact is loud. I am worried.
A moment passes, his rear legs rise, and they begin to twitch. I presume this apparent seizure is meant to represent elegant scissor kicks. It's reminiscent of how ants communicate with their antennae, a form of silent communication. 'Don't blame me bro, did you really expect anything else?' I can almost hear him plead. But, somehow, Clippy does return to his feet and appears unscathed, ready for more. Me? I'm not so sure. Multitalented
As I mentioned, the controller has many, many buttons—no less than 17 functions in fact—and I'm not going to bore you with overly gratuitous descriptions for each one. Instead, here's a quick rundown of the main buttons, to give you a general idea of some of Clippy's talents:
Kung fu: Absolutely zero semblance of any martial art moves, or even a cheeky backflip. Instead (and completely inexplicably), some form of poolside, Lost Frequencies-esque lounge music blasts out. Clippy 'dances.'
Swimming/Dance: I recently saw Usher perform live. Both of these buttons involve vigorous floor-humping that surpass even his most sexually charged efforts. A truly impressive feat. Oh, and a side note for any optimists out there, Clippy is not waterproof. Do not, I repeat do not, introduce him to water.
Push-up: Clippy blasts out push-ups while playing the guitar riff from'Eye of the Tiger.' I have no further notes.
Story: Buckle up, pressing this button results in very loud, tinny classical music blaring out over a spoken story. The narrator has an Eric Cartman-like twang to their voice, and the speaker quality means I can barely make out what's being said. The only plot I manage to grasp is about an old woman and an ageing cat. The woman scolds the cat for not being able to catch mice, as it has no teeth. The cat bestows a moral about respecting our elders for the contributions they used to make in their youth. The next story, I think, involves a pigeon. It may be injured.
Courtesy of Esat Dedezade
Despite this clearly incredible skillset, it is interesting that Clippy's ability to be controlled or steered via the remote is … flawed. Going forward is generally fine, and there are left and right buttons which cause him to turn very slowly, often toppling over in the process. There is no reverse, so I constantly have to pick him up before he collides with walls and furniture (no collision detection cameras appear to be present). He can, at least, shake hands (or "hadn-shake" on the remote) like any well-trained pup.
It would also be remiss not to mention that there is an official app which lets you control your robot dog via Bluetooth. Once you figure out how to change the language to English, it's easy enough to navigate, and there are even some bonus features they couldn't squeeze onto the remote. For example, you can select different 'foods' for him to eat, ranging from a bone to 'Nuclear Energy Source'—all of which result in various forms of eating animations.
There's also a voice command mode, which doesn't seem to work. Despite offering all the permissions asked for (including, against my better judgement, access to my phone and files), voice commands seem to fall on deaf ears. There's also a program mode which lets you set up custom actions, though all my attempts seem to end up in more faceplants. Munitions Report
According to the product page, Clippy's back-mounted turret 'can be loaded with water bombs to launch for fun.' The image accompanying this description is impressive. Two blue projectiles appear to blast forth from the cannon. I immediately picture an autonomous robotic guard dog patrolling the house, scanning for threats, and dispensing justice as appropriate.
The reality is a tiny packet of minuscule blue balls, about a millimetre in diameter. Once soaked in water for a few hours, they plump up, and you can load them into the turret, before firing away.
The test takes place in the makeshift bathtub firing range. I drop a few of the blue gel-like pellets into what is presumably the correct slot in the turret (I once again remind you of the lack of any instructions), and tell my son to stand back, in case the velocity rebounds anything towards our eyes.
I look down at the controller, and finally press the 'attack' button. Clippy walks forward a few steps, crouches to steady his aim, and two pellets dribble out with all the urgency of a clogged ketchup bottle.
This method is repeated about ten times, with mixed results. At best, a pellet is fired relatively straight, but still not without any meaningful force—certainly not enough to even penetrate a wet square of toilet paper. We tried. After the ammo is spent, we decide that it's time to watch him faceplant again.
But should you buy this thing, as (relatively) cheap as it is? I think the answer is obvious. But while it's all too easy to slate, playing around with Clippy has taken me back to my childhood, where toys like this were life.
Clippy, as terrible as he is, has entertained my son daily, for the week that we've spent testing him. He brought him into our bedroom every morning, waking me up with a shrill, unintelligible story before blasting out a guitar riff with an enthusiasm that is already wearing thin.
It won't be long, of course, before Clippy gathers dust in some corner, replaced by the Next Thing. I imagine he'll end up in a thrift store, awaiting a new family to dazzle and confuse in equal measure. I just hope, whoever they are, that they like Survivor.
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