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Boner Boy (the case of the very horny dog)

13 Sep

adult-dog[1]

After getting absolutely no response on the Bukowski post (none of you blog readers enjoys classic literature I guess) I suppose it is back to doing what people liked about this blog: funny animal stories. Actually, what people seem to like best is advice or sports or politics or medical shit but here goes anyway.
I was in my second year of pet sitting, having yet to give my business a name (it later became Moonlight Pet Sitting) and I had a regular client I’d acquired through the clinic I worked at. Suffice it to say all of my clients at that time were through the clinic. I’d met the family when I assisted with the euthanasia of their cat, a very sad event indeed, but what follows is quite humorous. Besides the cat they also had two beagles, a male and female, Max and Roxy respectively. They were both very sweet dogs that got to enjoy a lot of time outside because they had a fenced backyard, and were also very young at this point. Max was just over a year and Roxy was six months. Because of this she had to be crated when left alone in the house and Max had to be kept in the laundry room. They later added a dog door and allowed Roxy free reign, but at the time I was pet sitting for them this wasn’t the case, so I always tried not to be gone for very long in sympathy of their overactive bladders.
Whenever I pet sat for them the owners would gate off the kitchen/dining room area (as this had the patio doors that led to the backyard) and this was where we spent all of our time. The living room was right next to it and I could turn on the TV and watch it from the kitchen table. Gradually I’d allow myself to go over the gate and sit in one of the living room chairs, but mostly I hung out with them out of compassion because when I went over the gate they wanted to as well. At night we all slept in one of the kids bedrooms in the bed together, snuggling closely.
So things went like this for about a year and then a friend of theirs got a poodle mix named Black Jack and I began pet sitting for him too. He was a very sweet, hyper little guy and he loved playing with Max and Roxy. Since they got on so famously the owners elected to have me pet sit all three at the beagle’s house when the two families went on vacation together. No problem, I thought. Easy money because I could charge for three pets.
That was where I was wrong. Together they were a nonstop combo of playfulness that knew no bounds. They tore around the yard constantly, the three of them acting like kids on the first day of summer vacation. And that wasn’t all. For some reason (although all three were fixed) they went at it like a bunch of horny teenagers. Black Jack was after Roxy and Max was after Black Jack. Yes, this meant that Max was gay or bi, but at least he wasn’t going after his sister (I failed to mention that they were from the same bitch, different fathers but same mom).
One evening as the orgy was taking a turn for the worse I had to separate all of them but I allowed Max to have his pillow. He kept at that thing, humping and humping as I watched and laughed. That is until I realized I should make him stop. I mean, enough is enough, right?
When I took the pillow away I noticed Max was walking all hunched over, that he seemed as if he was in pain. Closer examination revealed his erect penis was stuck outside the prepuce (the sheath of skin that holds it in). It was big and red and swollen (well, duh). I didn’t know what to do so I called the veterinarian I worked for. At the time he’d take my calls after hours (it was nine on a Saturday night) on his home phone or cell.
“Hello?” he answered.
“It’s huge and it’s swollen!” I exclaimed.
“What?”
“And it’s all red and I can’t get it to go down! What do I do?”
At this point I have to mention that the vet was young and had a perverted mind like my own. I think it is safe to say he thought I was talking about myself and was somewhat taken aback (only because he wasn’t gay).
“What do you want me to do about it?” Sounds like a personal problem, his tone suggested.
“It’s Max!” I explained and at once he understood.
“Let me get on line.”
He booted up his laptop and started researching it.
“Get some cold water, or some ice and apply it to the, um, swelling…”
At this we both had to laugh.
“Either that or you can use salt. You know, like how you can remove a leech or slug?”
“Sure, sure.”
I dug through the cabinets, found a rag and then filled it with ice from the freezer.
“I’m going to try it and call you back.”
I hung up and sought out Max, who had lied down in the meanwhile. I rolled him over onto his back (he was such a sweet, docile dog) and saw to my joyful surprise that it had gone in on it’s own. The ice pack wasn’t necessary. I called the vet back.
“Problem solved.”
I brought Max in to see him the next day and while he was being examined I referred to him as ‘Boner Boy’ and the name stuck. It became our personal nickname for him whenever he visited the clinic for shots, blood draws etc. And I still pet sat for he and Roxy and took them on walks, until 2008 when the bottom fell out of the market and the family had to cut back on their spending and could no longer afford me. It was sad to see them go.
But while I was still pet sitting for them I had to tell the owners about what happened, and they had to confront the issue that their dog was gay (or bi) and that the three probably shouldn’t be combined for overnight pet sitting. After that I took care of the houses separately. Black Jack’s owners continued to be a client of mine after Max and Roxy no longer were, so I would see them around the neighborhood, and then eventually they didn’t need me anymore either. But by that time my clients had all turned over and I’d replaced them with new ones, but I’ll never forget little Max the Boner Boy, his sweet sister Roxy and the ever-randy Mr. Black Jack…they were always ‘up’ for a good time!

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