My dog gets more action than I do

My mom has a dog. Well, it was my sister's dog but when she got hitched last summer, the dog took permamnent residence at my mom's house. He is a big fat yellow lab who I like to call Lord G, because everyone treats him like a damn person. But not just any person, like say one's daughter, no, Lord G is effing royalty in my house. He decided he liked to sit in my favorite spot over the floor radiator when I was away at college one year. When I returned home for winter break, what was once "Jonesy's Spot" was now reserved for Lord G. Lord G has outfits, more leashes than I do shoes, and has had a different Halloween costume for the past 6 years. The family talks to him like he's a real human being. Yes, sometimes I really hate him.

This past weekend I spent the day at my mother's house, and until then I never really got the whole treating a dog as a person thing. I understood that the dog had feelings, as I would note everytime we left the house becaus ehe would pull the cushion off what had become "his chair" and leave it on the floor for us to pickup, a warning if you will, of what happens when his owners leave the house. At least it's a step up from him eating all of my bras and underwear a few years back. That dog still owes me $100 in unmentionables.

My mom was going out to dinner and Spanish and Gotittogether were both mia doing adult type things. I figured I should come back to the city and find something to do for the night. I put in a call to who I will call BFF, for the simple fact that she has been my friend since I was 3, and I asked her to take me to the train station. We started chatting and as I tend to do, I started wondering the house while talking on the phone. I left the kitchen and walkedinto my living room only to scream in horror at what I saw.

The chair cushion that I thought was so innocently being strewn to the floor was being raped or shoudl I saw in the more Shakespearean manner, ravaged, by Lord G. Mind you, this damn dog had his balls snipped shortly after he became a part of our family (as most men do because we are a strictly estrogen household). He should not be in heat. And he wasn't just rubbing against it, he had ripped a hole inside and was enjoying the feeling of the stuffing, while his tongue hung out of the side of his mouth. Little perv.

Doggie, Doggie where's your bone?

I screamed and ran away. He proceeded to shrink off in shame and lie on the floor panting for the next hour. Thank God he has no balls, because they would have been blue.

I ran pstairs, felt embarassed and a little dirty. Then it hit me, he was a dog, why did I care? it wasn't like I had walked in on a person having sex. It was nature, part of the animal kingdom, instinct. He doesn't have the cabability to reason. But he was my family dog, the puppy that over the past six years had grown on me and really become one in the family. He's like the little brother I never had (well, unless you count the two years I had that Russian little brother and sister from my Dad's second marriage, or the step-brother I have now that I haven't seen since 2004 from his third). And animal or not, watching him "do it" may have been the grossest thing I've ever seen.