My cousin Trixie (the pornstar manicurist and my partner in work and crime) and her husband Harry got a Maltese/Shih-Tsu (Multi-Shit) puppy about seven months ago.  He’s a little white and beige ball of fluff and energy.  I like big dog names for little dogs so I suggested a few monickers for the new beast.  Brutus, Killer, Fang, Butch and Fredo were pooh-pooh’d but they did like “Max” so that became his name.  Now we call him Maxwell Dumb, Max-a-million, Max Power and Maxi pad… because we’re like that.

Max’s mom and dad are brother and sister which makes them his aunt and uncle as well.  I still shake my head over the fact that they paid 350$ for this inbred mutt.  Trix thought it was OK to be your own cousin in the dog world but I assured her it is not OK in any world.  I also assured her the dog would be retarded, and I (of course) was right.  The woman who sold them the dog claimed that the breeding was accidental but if that was the case then she should not have sold them.  There were five pups in the litter originally, one was still-born and two died a few days later, Max was born with a hernia and he’s as dumb as a bag full of hammers and the people who bought his sister are having all kinds of problems training her as well.  See, retarded.  Trix and Harry are not dog people, they didn’t know any better, they just wanted a non-shedding, hypo-allergenic pet.  See, suckers.

Since they had no idea what they were doing, combined with the fact that the dog is mental, house training was a nightmare.  The only good thing was that since the pup was so small his poops  were easily scooped off the carpet and his piddles were rarely more than a squirt.  I love my cousin and her husband but consistency is not in their vocabulary.  Some days they’d take the dog out often, other days hardly at all.  On the days that I worked I was taking him out more than they were and it took a long time at that rate to teach the mutt that outside was the place to do his business.

About the time they thought the dog finally understood that he wasn’t supposed to piss in the house he started marking his territory… in the house.  A little squirt here, a little squirt there and suddenly their “baby” became “that little fucker”.  I admit it made me laugh, until they brought him out to my house and he peed all over here too.  It was also about this time that Max discovered his hump reflex.  We bought him a squeaky duck for Xmas and that was his favorite object of affection until he discovered my dog’s leg and the neck pillow on Trixie’s bed.  

They hoped (beyond hope) that getting him snipped would curtail his marking and the incessant humpage.  Three weeks ago they took Max to have his hernia fixed and his smarties removed.  The poor little pisser had no idea what happened to him but his nose was out of joint and his tongue was in his crotch for days after.  My husband said if he had been able to he would have licked his nuts after his vasectomy too, nobody understood Max’s pain like Heiny did.

The dog was so preoccupied with his knackers (or where they used to be) for that first week he didn’t have time to think about marking his territory but once his wounds had healed he began lifting his leg on everything once again.  It also didn’t take long for him to get back on the squeaky duck and the neck pillow.

I don’t like boy dogs.  The pink thing creeps me out.  I can deal with the whole humping thing, Mika (my bitch) started humping things after we got her fixed.  We knew we were true hillbilly’s when we’d tell The Boy to crawl across the floor and we’d piss ourselves laughing while the dog tried to mount him.  The difference is that when a girl dog humps it’s innocent, when a boy dog does it he’s looking for satisfaction… and the lipstick pops out.  It’s gross.

The other night Max was going to town on the neck pillow, he had his front paws wrapped around it and his tongue out in an obscene hug while his hips rode that poor cushion like he was the pony express.  Trixie said he humped like there was no tomorrow and when he finally collapsed from sheer exhaustion his pink thing remained unsheathed.  She said he looked all depressed, she figured it was because he was left unsatisfied, but when his willy didn’t retract she got concerned.

“Harry, there is something wrong with him, call the vet!”

Harry didn’t want to call the vet.  What does one say in such a situation?  I personally would have googled it before calling anyone but Harry does what he is told so he picked up the phone.

“Hi Dr. P. Max was humping his favorite pillow and now his dingle won’t go back in.”

No formalities, no chatter, right to business.

Apparently when a boy dog gets his groove on it can dry out and then the little hairs around his “dingle” prevent it from going back into its sheath.  The vet told them to put some petroleum jelly on it and it would retract as it should.

Trixie didn’t hesitate, she grabbed the lube from beside the bed, flipped her pet onto his back and gave him a squirt and rubbed it in.  It didn’t take long for Max to return to whatever normal is for the little handicapper and for his pink thing to go back inside.

We harassed Trix something awful about her heavy petting and said that what she did would be considered bestiality since she didn’t wear a rubber glove.  No glove no love!  And I also told her that if the whole nail business thing doesn’t work out she can always get a job wanking animals and collecting sperm for artificial insemination.  She isn’t licensed but experience is everything.  We also thought maybe she could get her own TV show in competition with Caesar Milan and call it “The Dog Wankerer.” 

Harry has been left feeling hurt and dejected ever since the incident as his wife is never as quick to give his wood a rub as she was the dog’s.