My Dog Was In Season And I Was In Distress
It was that time of year: Molly was in heat and we had covered all seats and ourselves with old throws. She spent her time licking her bottom and ignoring my reproachful and repelling looks.
I had never been around a dog in season before. I can’t say I was in favour of it. I don’t think she was either: she was confused and didn’t know what to do with herself when her tongue was at rest.
The Hub took 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. He found a mate for her in Bolton.
Hub and Spud took Molly, primped and perfumed to look her best for the great ugly brute about to violate her. The Brute was another Yorkshire Terrier called Toby. Our own Toby is de-testicled and has never 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. I felt like a mother pimping out a beloved child and I couldn’t bear to watch her deflowering. The Hub, of course, took a camera – for a picture of the babydaddy, I hasten to add. He intended 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.
My little girl is still virgo intacta - being only eighteen months old, like any adolescent male Toby was enthusiastic but clueless. He kept looking to the Hub for help but, even when the Hub lifted him on top of Molly, he couldn’t make the bat hit the ball, if you get my meaning.
Toby finally gave up but she came back exhausted anyway, because they spent an hour running and playing in the garden instead.
She was invited back next season, when it was hoped he’d have done some studying into the matter.
This post first appeared as two posts in January 2011.
Still no puppies. Toby never got the hang of it.