I have never been around a dog in season before. I can’t say I’m in favour of it. I don’t think she is either: she appears confused and doesn’t know what to do with herself when her tongue is at rest. Nature is disgusting.
The Hub has taken charge, having grown up around breeding dogs and cats. He is a great believer in female domestic animals having a litter before sterilisation particularly when, like Molly, they have had a phantom pregnancy, so he has found a mate for her in Bolton. He and Spud are on their way there now, with Molly primped and perfumed to look her best for the great ugly brute about to violate her. He is another Yorkshire Terrier called Toby. Our own Toby is de-testicled and hasn’t paid her any attention at all. I guess, if you can’t find love at home you will play away….
I couldn’t go with them. My excuse is that I’m taking down the tree, but really it’s because I feel like a mother pimping out a beloved child and I can’t bear to watch her deflowering. The Hub, of course, has taken a camera – for a picture of the father, I hasten to add. He’s going to document the process, from innocent little girl to being loaned out as a baby factory to motherhood to having her beautiful babies snatched from her bosom…my dog, the pawn star.