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A Girl with Balls


My dog is neurotic. I am serious, Molly Muffin, the ten pound schnauzer-poodle mix I have written about in other articles, has issues.

I told you that she thinks the ravens that live in the trees in our backyard are her mortal enemies, right? When she sees one, she does this odd Bruce Lee-like vocalization, a high-pitched, warbling “waaaaaa” that can frighten the breath out of someone (especially, let’s say, if they are home alone, at night).


Well, after months of fruitless chases across the yard, ending in the ravens flying to the tops of the trees and Molly barking madly, she has adopted a sneakier tactic. She half buries herself in a snowdrift and lies in wait. So far, none of the ravens have fallen for her commando act. Though she is white and blends in with the snow fairly well, I think her long, scraggly, wagging tail gives her away. She’s like a soldier decked out in camouflage, standing in the jungle, waving a flag. I confess, it is great fun to sit on the porch and watch her low-crawl across the snow, then bury her face in a dog-made foxhole. It’s fun to see her little butt in the air, tail wagging wildly, all the while knowing she thinks she is being as stealthy as a special ops agent.


I do worry, though, what will happen when one of her missions finally ends in tragedy. I am not worried about the ravens, especially after reading on http://www.alaskabirds.org/ that ravens are tricky, intelligent, strong fliers, and determined predators. Apparently, the Alaska Common Raven is an omnivore, which means, one day, if she is not careful, Molly might end up as food for some finely feathered foe.


That is only if another dog doesn’t eat her first. Much to my chagrin, Molly is one of those highly annoying dogs that yanks on her leash and yaps maniacally every time she sees another dog. Granted, at ten pounds, she is not exactly ripping my arm out of the socket as she drags me down the block (a la Marley), but it is still embarrassing.


Her issues are not limited to living creatures; she has problems with inanimate objects, too. Take my vacuum cleaner, for instance. Molly attacks the vacuum cleaner with the vehemence of a Marine assaulting a beachhead. As soon as my Bissell rolls out of the closet, Molly becomes ten-pounds of focused, ferocious fluff. She doesn’t cower in a corner or bark like a lunatic, she literally attacks the vacuum cleaner. She runs up, bites the rubber bumper on the front of the machine, and then retreats. She will regroup, re-attack, and retreat. She continues with this futile strategy until I turn the machine off and put it back in the closet.

She definitely suffers from the same complex that afflicted the little General from Corsica. Like Napoleon, Molly Muffin is completely unaware of her diminutive size. She struts around the house, head held high, chest puffed out, believing that the world (and our home) is hers for the taking. She sits human-style on my husband’s prized leather chair (like a queen on her throne), barges her way into the bathroom (and sometimes the shower), prefers to sleep on my pillow, is unhappy during car rides unless she is riding on the driver’s lap, and has an enviable knack for amassing spoils (my daughter’s socks, my son’s stuffed bear, my slipper, my husband’s golf balls). She leaves her them strewn around the house, as if to let the world know of her total dominance.

Napoleon had a massive gold-encrusted, silk-upholstered throne. He frequently burst in on his generals, even when they were conducting their toilette. He was an indefatigable rider and preferred to be in command of a horse than ride as a passenger in a carriage. And, let’s face it; he knew how to collect the spoils.

If there is anything to the reincarnation theory, I am convinced Napoleon Bonaparte reentered this world as my schnoodle.


Her next issue is a tad embarrassing, probably as much for her as it is for me. Molly is…how shall I put this?


Well, she is sexually frustrated.

Like any responsible pet owner, I had Molly spayed when she was five months old. I have no doubt she found the undertaking traumatic (who wouldn’t be traumatized at having their reproductive organs removed?), but she seemed to suffer no lasting effects.


For months, she acted the chaste canine. No gazing longingly or batting her eyelashes at the boy dogs. No passing notes in obedience class.


But then something happened.


She got her Mojo back.

I gave her a fairly realistic looking stuffed sheep for Christmas this year. At first, she seemed more interested in the gift bag than the gift itself. After she had destroyed the bag and consumed the rope handle, she trotted over to the sheep and sniffed it. Now, I don’t know what sort of pheromones this stuffed sheep was giving off, but they were strong enough to bring out Molly’s inner-whore. She took the sheep’s ear in her mouth, gave it a good bite, positioned the animal beneath her, and began humping like she was Jack Nicholson at the Playboy Mansion (cue Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get It On).


By mid-January, Molly and the sheep were becoming down-right obscene in their public displays of affection. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to have a friendly discussion with the mailman while your dog is dry humping a raggedly-looking stuffed animal at your feet? I can tell you this much, it adds a moment of levity to an otherwise stuffy dinner party. Notice I said “a moment.” Generally speaking, humping that lasts longer than a few minutes can be disturbing and awkward.


Desperate to find the cause of Molly’s sexual frustration, I did some internet-based research. According to a study conducted by canine behavioral specialist, Chris Bach, “The most recent thought is that humping is simply a social behavior motor pattern that dogs have. It is nature's way of letting them practice for sex. All it means is that the dog is excited or in an aroused state (hyper). Females do it too. Some females get a "shot" of testosterone from their brothers during the birth process if they are born between two males. It is a testosterone facilitated behavior motor pattern.”

A testosterone facilitated behavior pattern?

Molly is just being a modern, empowered gal. The kind of tough, in control girl P!nk sings about and Angelina Jolie portrays on screen.

A girl with some balls. That I get!

3 comments:

Nancy the Romancechick said...

Very cute story. Don't have the foggiest idea what magazine you could send it to. I'm not really up on doggie publications, but there has to be some, right? I know I see them in the pet store when I go to buy piggie food.

Anonymous said...

OGM! Terry and I laughed until we cried! You might try Dog World. Or check with Animal Planet--they may have a newsletter or other sources to check out. Oh and maybe the AKC?

I keep telling you, you need to write funny contemporary, Leah, you have the gift!

Fanny said...

Leah,

Funny little Molly...Do count your blessings though, for not having to witness poor little Porthos being molested by that nympho dog of yours! ;-P