Thursday, January 12, 2012

Doggie Toys

Two very large, stuffed doggie toys came our way this Christmas, one a St. Bernard, the other a sheep dog, both of them plump and soft and cute and filled with the best artificial stuffing one could buy.   The idiot Vishlu, Juneau, immediately took them as his. 

Juneau like every other idiot dog in a house of all male dogs, is fixed.   Gonads were removed at four to six months to prevent wandering, aggression, lust and testicle licking.   To the vet, short nap, wake up, look down and go – wait a minute, what just happened!?

If Juneau is any indicator, I’m not sure the process works.   His idea of playing with his new toys is to grab them by the neck, toss them violently around, then throw them down on the floor and hump the heck out of them.   Sometimes he throws the two of them down together and humps the heck out of both of them at once.   And when he’s finished, he picks one of them up – by the neck again – and drags it over to you as if to ask if you want to take a turn.   It’s actually sort of inspiring.

People have told me time and time again that all this indiscriminate humping is not a sex thing with dogs, it’s a dominance thing.   (Hmmm...)  And of course, the lovely wife has been told by those who should know – trainers - that it is an “excitement” thing.   (Duh!?)   She tells me that when she takes Juneau to service dog training, the puppies get so excited they all hump each other.  To which I ask - are the females humping the males?   To which she hesitates and says -- uh… no.

I rest my case.

The idiot doodle, Napoleon, is also a humper.  This is to be expected, he is French.  When on the walking path, his objects of affection are usually small dogs. – Pugs and miniature poodles.  They skitter and dodge around his feet.  As often as not he doesn’t seem to notice he is happily humping thin air.   I’m sure there any number of women who would tell you this is true of men in general.

The uber-idiot, Louis, doesn’t seem quite sure what all the ruckus is about.  He’ll watch.  His brow will furrow.   He’ll occasionally sneak up on an unsuspecting dog and give it a furtive try.   But his approach is all wrong, his technique is lousy and he’s often forced to turn and run with his tail between his legs.   I’m sure there any number of women who would tell you this is also true of men in general.

(As a sidebar, I’ve long suspected that he went to the vet, Louis’s brains were removed along with his privates.  Maybe they’re one and the same thing.)

By the way, my mother in law’s dog, Russell, is in a constant state of run.   A Great Dane named Herman (as in Munster), has decided to make Russell his boyfriend -- “Come here, little doggie, vat fun ve be havink!”   This, plus the attention of the Italian jobs - the miniature greyhounds - "We-a gonna make-a you our punk, man! - has left Russell with but one desire.  To go home.

Having said that, watching Russell run is almost as amusing as watching Juneau throw around his plush toys.  

All in all it brings to mind the old adage:

A girl hits adolescence, they go crazy for a few years and then they’re up and on their way.   A boy hits adolescence… and never recovers.

I’m sure there are any number of women, two legged or four, who will tell you the same thing.

Men lead lives of quiet desperation.

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