When I was just four years old, the family dog died. I don't remember too much about it. I'm not even entirely sure if Razzy was a Rottweilier or a Black Lab. He is a big and blackish blur in my memory. My father told me some confusing nonsense about a "puppy farm in the sky" which led me to picture a floating garden with puppy heads growing in neat little rows.
Shortly afterwords, my parents and I went out to choose a new family pet. Over the years my mother had developed an intense allergy to dogs and cats, so eventually we were the proud owner of blue parakeet. He didn't lick me nearly as much as Razzy had.
There was never much drama surrounding family pets. I've owned one cat, three parakeets, umpteen billion fish, two hamsters, an assortment of gerbils that I bred for a local pet store, two chinchillas, six leopard geckos, one calote, one anole, and one flying squirrel. Not all at the same time, though I did have a gecko, the cat, the squirrel, the calote and the anole all in the same house for a brief period of time.
On the rare occasions that the pet died (the squirrel and Spider the Chinchilla I gave to a friend of mine), I buried/flushed it (buried the fish, flushed the cat obviously) and went on with my life.
When Zuzu's cat, Eureka, died after sixteen years, she and her son were understandably devastated. Eureka had been the only family pet. A true member of the family. I loved the little furball, even though he pissed all over my papers when I decided to move to Vermont.
After a few weeks of grief, Zuzu decided to go pet hunting. Because Zuzu is stubborn, and, well, batshit crazy, she couldn't go the normal route of pet stores or animal "shelters". Instead, she decided to call another one of our crazy friends for advice on what type of dog to get. A golden retriever? Too big. A miniature dachshund? Too likely that I'd punt it through a window when I visited.
I put my vote in for a chihuahua. I'm not a big fan of little dogs, but ever since I heard someone read a poem about how they shiver because they're in a state of constant orgasm, I've had an affinity for the little Taco Bell spokesmen. Plus, if Zuzu ever brought the dog over to my house, I would sit in front of the lizard tank and say "Heeeeeere leezard leeezard leezard" over and over again until it either stopped being funny, or the dog died of starvation.
Zuzu decided to call our friend Eve to get her opinion. I love Eve, she's a rock star. She served as bridesmaid to dozens of couples during the night they legalized gay marriages in Boston. The thing is, if you ask Eve whether or not she thinks you should get a chihuahua, she will give you a six hour lecture on the history of dogs beginning with their evolution from dinosaurs to their current role as purse accessories.
It was during Eve's canine magnum opus that Zuzu and I first heard of a lesbian couple who bred border collies. We agreed that border collies were beyond cute with their hypnotizing eyes and reserved nature. So Zuzu contacted the breeders (lesbian breeders? I've discovered a new oxymoron!) and set up an appointment to meet with them. But she weren't just going to go to their house and hang out with dogs, Donna and Elaine (the lesbians) wanted to show Zuzu the breeding process. So why shouldn't I tag along? What's more exciting than a Sunday afternoon kicking back a few Jack & Cokes and watching dogs fuck?
We reached Donna & Elaine's at around 11 AM. We had heard the dogs barking since 9:15. During our conversation with Donna, we had to yell in order to be heard. I was amazed at the way Elaine seemed to waltz around the room completely oblivious to the constant yapping of puppies. Turns out she's Deaf.
After some ASL dialogue, and witty repartée, we were ready to watch the breeding. At least, I thought we were ready.
I'm familiar with canine sex habits. Male sniffs female. Male gets erection. Male commences fucking. Mother Nature makes male doggy's cock so engorged with blood that he can't pull out until his little spermies have established property rights in female's uterus. No big whoop. The lesbians, however, had a different breeding method.
While we watched, a male dog, who we'll call Harrowed, was picked up by Elaine. Donna entered the room with a female dog, appropriately known as Bitch. Bitch was put down on a table so that her face and Harrowed's were level, though Harrowed was still being held by Elaine. Harrowed began sniffing her face. At this point, Donna brings out a large tube and begins jerking off Harrowed into the tube. When the tube is filled, Donna attaches it to a syringe and proceeds to inject it into Bitch's vagina.
"Oh don't look so traumatized." Donna said, while I sat in a chair looking and being traumatized. "How did you think dogs were bred."
I know how dogs are supposed to breed. What these people, these lesbians were doing was just cruel. Just because they can't get pregnant without use of a sperm donor and a turkey baster is no reason to inflict their lifestyle on their dogs. Fuck marriage and adoption, lesbians should not be allowed to breed dogs.