I Bought a Robot Attack Dog From Temu — It Fires Pellets, Tells Stories, and Yes, Pretends to Pee
After 15 years of reviewing tech gadgets, I can confidently say this might be the weirdest thing I’ve ever tested: a robot attack dog that fires tiny pellets, tells bedtime stories, and — for reasons still unclear — pretends to urinate.
It arrived in a slightly crushed box after a late-night scroll through Temu turned into a questionable impulse buy. The packaging proudly declared “FIRE BULLETS PET,” which is somehow both a threat and a promise. Inside the clear plastic window sat the toy — a wide-eyed, plastic robo-pup that my 4-year-old son instantly named “Clippy.”
Clippy is a kind of robotic dog — and according to my son, definitely a “he.” His design borrows heavily (and hilariously) from the intimidating robot dogs made famous by Boston Dynamics. But this version, which cost about $50 (less if you skip the back-mounted pellet cannon), isn’t quite revolutionizing robotics. Still, the promise of a story-telling, weaponized robo-dog for less than the price of dinner was too wild to resist.
What I Got Wasn’t Great Tech — But It Was Great Fun
The moment I freed Clippy from the box, I was greeted by the cheapest, glossiest plastic I’ve ever handled. I’ve got nothing against plastic — the Nokia Lumia 920’s polycarbonate body is still one of my favorite phone builds. But Clippy? Clippy feels more like something you’d find in a holiday cracker prize.
His main body, which holds most of the electronics, has a bit of weight. But his stick-thin legs didn’t inspire confidence. Still, Clippy’s equipped with a water-pellet turret mounted on his back, giving off a strange robo-security-camera-on-legs vibe. Surprisingly menacing for something my kid now wants to cuddle.
Yes, he actually fires soft, absorbent pellets. And yes, he performs a fake peeing routine that both delights and confuses everyone in the room. Combine that with his ability to speak, walk, and sing lullabies, and you’ve got one of the most bizarre (and hilarious) toys Temu has to offer.
Testing Clippy the Robot Dog: Chaos, Confusion, and… Floor Dancing
Elsewhere in the box, the remote controller feels like it’s been filled with helium — that’s how unnervingly light and hollow it is. Modeled loosely after an Xbox controller, its resemblance stops at the shape. The bumper buttons and triggers? They’re just one solid, unmoving chunk of molded plastic. Completely useless, and weirdly charming in their design failure.
As for functionality? It’s an ADHD fever dream. The remote is cluttered with buttons — 17 in total — arranged in no logical order. It’s a complete rejection of user-friendly design or muscle memory. Still, there’s something admirable about that level of chaos.
Clippy’s First Moments: Loud, Proud, and Slightly Terrifying
Turning Clippy on doesn’t go well at first. The power switch? Useless. The charging light? Dead. Instructions? Nowhere to be found.
Eventually, I open the battery compartment and discover the battery isn’t even connected — whether for shipping safety or because the factory didn’t bother, who knows. I plug it in. Clippy awakens.
And oh, he’s loud. The built-in speaker screeches with a pitch that could scare a raccoon. I frantically start pressing buttons on the remote, hoping to find a volume or mute option. Spoiler: there isn’t one.
Naturally, the first button I press is “urinate.” His hind leg lifts — expected. What I didn’t expect? Whistling. Cheerful, melodic whistling. Followed by the unmistakable sound of water splashing into a toilet bowl.
Still curious, I press the “handstand” button, expecting a sophisticated balancing act. Maybe a display of robotic precision, thanks to some internal gyroscope magic.
Nope.
Clippy immediately faceplants, loud and hard. For a moment, I fear I’ve broken him. Then, with a twitch, his back legs jerk into the air in a vaguely synchronized rhythm. It’s like he’s doing scissor kicks or… communicating via insect antennae. I can almost hear him say, “Hey, you bought me. What did you expect?” Miraculously, Clippy survives the stunt and springs back to his feet, ready for more. Me? Less so.
So, What Can Clippy Do?
I won’t bore you with a breakdown of all 17 buttons (though I easily could), but here are a few highlights that showcase Clippy’s, uh, unique talents:
- Kung Fu: This button doesn’t trigger anything resembling martial arts. Instead, Clippy blasts generic poolside lounge music — think early 2010s Lost Frequencies — while doing a slow, off-beat “dance.” No punches. No flips. Just vibes.
- Swimming/Dance: I recently saw Usher live, and honestly, Clippy gives him a run for his money in sheer intensity. Both buttons trigger a kind of aggressive floor-humping that’s equal parts mesmerizing and deeply unsettling.
Oh, and despite what the “swimming” button suggests, Clippy is not waterproof. Don’t even think about testing that one unless you’re looking to add “robot dog funeral” to your weekend plans.
Push-Up Mode: A Robotic Workout Soundtracked by Rock Legends
Hit the “Push-Up” button, and Clippy springs into action, cranking out robotic push-ups while blasting the iconic guitar riff from “Eye of the Tiger.” It’s as absurd and amazing as it sounds. Honestly, no notes — this is peak performance art.
Story Mode: Confusing, Loud, and Slightly Existential
Pressing the “Story” button unleashes a chaotic mix of tinny classical music and a heavily accented, cartoonish voice that sounds suspiciously like Eric Cartman doing Shakespeare. The narration quality is… rough. I catch only fragments of the tale, which seems to involve an old woman berating her toothless cat for no longer catching mice. The cat, in a moment of unexpected wisdom, teaches a moral lesson about respecting the elderly for their past contributions.
The next story? I think it’s about a pigeon. Possibly injured. Possibly heroic. It’s hard to say — the sound quality makes it feel like listening to a radio broadcast from another dimension.
Clippy’s Movement: More Chaos Than Control
Despite his long list of bizarre and oddly entertaining features, Clippy’s basic movement skills leave much to be desired. He can move forward reasonably well, but turning is a slow, wobbly affair that often ends with him tipping over like a drunken tripod. There’s no reverse gear either, which means I’m constantly picking him up before he slams into walls, furniture, or the family dog. Unsurprisingly, there are no sensors for obstacle avoidance — this pup is flying blind.
To his credit, Clippy can shake hands — or attempt a “hadn-shake,” as it’s charmingly labeled on the remote. A small win.
Yes, There’s an App — And It’s Just as Weird
Clippy also connects to an official Bluetooth app. After figuring out how to switch the language to English (no small task), it’s surprisingly easy to navigate. The app even includes extra features that didn’t make it onto the remote. One lets you “feed” Clippy, with options ranging from a standard bone to — yes — a “Nuclear Energy Source.” Each food triggers a different animation, none of which makes much sense, but all of which are undeniably entertaining.
There’s also a voice command feature that, in theory, lets you talk to your robot dog. In reality, it doesn’t work — at all. Even after granting every requested permission (including, regrettably, full access to my phone and files), Clippy responds to voice prompts with the robotic equivalent of silence. A “program mode” lets you string together custom actions, but most of mine ended with another dramatic faceplant.
Firepower Fail: Clippy’s Water Bomb Launcher
Now let’s talk about the turret. According to the product page, Clippy’s back-mounted cannon can fire “water bombs” for added fun. The marketing image shows twin projectiles launching in a glorious arc, like something out of a sci-fi action movie. I imagined a robotic sentry dog, patrolling the living room and defending the household from intruders (or toddlers).
The reality? A tiny plastic baggie of minuscule blue beads — about the size of poppy seeds. After soaking in water for a few hours, they expand into soft gel-like pellets, which can be loaded into the turret and “fired.” It’s less “projectile attack” and more “gentle lob,” but still amusing in its own right.
Testing Clippy’s “Attack Mode” Was… Something
We conducted the grand water-pellet experiment in our makeshift bathtub firing range. I carefully dropped a few of the squishy blue gel balls into what I assumed was the correct slot on Clippy’s turret (again, there are no instructions), then warned my son to stand clear in case anything ricocheted with unexpected force.
With dramatic flair, I hit the “Attack” button on the controller. Clippy marched forward a few wobbly steps, crouched like he meant business… and two sad little pellets dribbled out of the cannon like ketchup from a near-empty bottle.
We repeated this process about ten times. The best result was a semi-straight shot that still wouldn’t have the strength to pierce a damp tissue. (Yes, we actually tested that.) When the “ammo” ran out, my son gleefully hit the handstand button again, just to watch Clippy faceplant one more time.
So, Should You Buy Clippy the Robot Attack Dog?
Let’s be honest — the answer is probably no. But in a weird way, Clippy still manages to be endearing. As low-quality and chaotic as he is, there’s something nostalgic about how silly and unpredictable he can be. He took me right back to the days of clunky childhood toys that didn’t quite work but still felt like magic.
Despite his many flaws, Clippy managed to charm my 4-year-old. Every morning during our week of testing, he proudly marched him into our bedroom, waking me with a burst of screechy storytelling followed by the unmistakable guitar riff from Eye of the Tiger. It’s a routine that’s already worn thin — but hey, he’s having fun.
In time, Clippy will probably end up collecting dust in a corner or sitting on a shelf at a thrift store, waiting for the next family to take him home. Hopefully, they’re as baffled and entertained as we were.
And, ideally, big fans of Survivor.