Dog Daze

This long, narrow island is a favorite place for folks to walk their dogs in the evening. While anyone who takes the time and energy to exercise their pooch is clearly a kind and considerate cut above the rest, almost all humanoids I see have one major failing, viz., nearly everyone refuses to allow their hound to do their business in hound time.

Most dog owners love their dogs but most dog owners are embarrassed by their dogs. After all, here is an important businessman who owns a yacht and moves millions each day, now standing idly around under his neighbors’ gaze, while his pug’s mug is plunged into some pee puddle or poop plop. And who could blame the blushing young woman, the one with her eye on the tanned young god approaching, if she tugs hard at her Golden Lab which picks THAT precise moment to double-hunch into a gigantic public BM?

Consequently, rather than “walk” their pets I’ve noticed that many owners drag and jerk them along at a self-conscious, avoid-embarrassment-at-all-cost human pace, not in dog time. Alas. I can only imagine what some of us would do if we were jerked off the can every night right in the middle of doing our business. And, as for the seemingly interminable sniff-a-thons that dogs go through when a curious scent is detected, if folks would only keep in mind that this is IT for the dog; after a day of boredom, yawning and sleeping in the house or backyard by themselves, this walk with all its sights, sounds AND smells is the dog’s big deal for the day; it is his daily newspaper, his magazine, his television, his telephone, his internet, his book, his banter at school, his chit-chat in the workplace. This is IT; this is the only time in the dog’s day where the world has purpose and meaning and interest. If people understood this I think they would learn more patience with their pets. But I must admit, I too feel embarrassment like everyone else.

My peke, Pepper, was more into sniffing pee than any dog I have ever known (it was a science with him and this little pissologist could seemingly “study” samples for hours). If the opportunity availed itself, however, Pepper was always mindful of matters canine carnal.

I was in the habit of, bye and bye, taking Pepper to a nearby “bark park” when I was living in Kansas. One evening just after arrival, hardly had I put Pepper down than a fluffy little black varmint dashed over. Within seconds, these two were madly trying to do each other.

Nose-to-hole, nose-to-hole, nose-to-hole, HUMP . . . . Nose-to-hole, nose-to-hole, nose-to-hole, HUMP. . . .

And so on. The fact that they were both males didn’t seem much of a problem except when each tried to “saddle up.” Both dogs wanted to be the mounter, not the mountee, and it was hilarious watching each try to quickly avoid the others lusty embrace. By far, the little black fluff was the faster of the two and before Pepper hardly knew what had happened his assailant had switched positions in a blink and was now hard astern. Being an Alpha male (with a capital “A”), my little guy found no humor at all in that and with growls and gruffs he fought to free himself each time.

Finally, the black fluff dashed away to other fields of conquest, leaving my little pervert just standing there, dry whacking empty air in rhythmic motion.

One thousand one . . .  one thousand two . . . one thousand three . . . one thousand four . . . (look down . . . dog still dry whacking . . . red face . . . look away) . . . one thousand five . . . one thousand six . . . one thousand seven . . . (look down . . . roll eyes . . . weak smile) . . . one thousand eight . . . one thousand nine . . . one thousand ten . . . (act indifferent . . . look away . . . women laughing . . . glance down . . . dry whacking . . . “Oh God! Make it end!”)

Dogs will be dogs, I know, but this was one time I really was embarrassed.

“Is that your dog?” asked an amused lady.

With a feeble grin, I wanted to say, “Dog . . . what dog?”

As revolting as this shameless display was, when once a week I took Pepper over to see his fenced-in friend, “Ozzie,” it was the canine version of Sodom and Gomorrah. What that kinky little pervert did to Pepper I won’t even attempt to describe. Even Ozzie’s mistress called him “nasty.”

Meanwhile, East Bound and Down . . . here in Florida . . .

. . . seems nothin’ ever normal at Punta.  Seems among the stump-grubbers and swamp savages over there abnorm is the new norm.  At the local nose-to-hole-hump-and-grind outdoor canine theater aka the Bark Park, 57-year-old Joe Johns got all bent out of shape one steamy eve because some chap in a wheel chair could not, or would not, control his pooch.  Seems the cur in question persisted in “jumping up” on JJ (that’s sissy-speak for “leg-fucking Joe’s leg”).  A normal person would have simply shook the dog loose and forgotten the incident in five minutes.  But hey, if Joe Johns was a normal, rational, mentally sound individual I wouldn’t be blogging about him, now would I?

And so, mentally disturbed Joe—burning with indignity—and burning from the tears of laughter pouring from those who were watching the dog grind on his leg—somehow slipped from the dog’s amorous embrace, walked over to the dog’s owner, then gave him a right sharp rap right in the puss.  Since that not only stopped the laughter but also felt pretty good too, Joe smote the man again . . . and again.  By now, Joe was really warming to the idea of smiting someone who couldn’t smite back and so our boy then knocked the cripple from his wheel chair and really got with the program.  Already helplessly confined to the chair, when the victim hit the turf he was as defenseless as an earth worm.  JJ continued to beat, kick and punch the leg-humping dog’s owner.  When the leg-humping dog’s owner’s girl friend’s mother stepped in, she too got a sound beating.

Meanwhile, the cops—on chariots drawn by only the swiftest of tree sloths—eventually showed up.  Although JJ insisted that it was HE who was the actual victim, it was pretty hard to shake all that pesky evidence—wheel chair turned over, cripple cringing on ground in curled fetal position, old woman knocked unconscious, cripple’s dog whimpering in sorrow for his smitten master while leg-humping cop’s leg. In spite of his pleas of innocence, the bark park bully was cuffed and carted away.

No doubt Joe Johns is now out on bond, presumably looking for more paraplegics and old ladies to pound on, and perhaps even a toddler or two.

Who could make this crap up?

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