If you came over here from the Facebook page, then you’ve already seen a picture of Daisy. She’s the little white dog in the picture, and being forced to pose in Facebook photos with me, while I for some reason try to look all stern and tough, well that is only the beginning of her problems.
She is a very confused Habanese Pomeranian, partially because she hasn’t been spayed yet, and partially because that’s the nature of her breeding. Her breeding stresses two things – being a companion and being adorable. Everything else – intelligence, sanity, common sense – is secondary.
For instance, her eyes don’t work quite right. You have to clean them out once in a while, because they sort of leak. You can’t really tell, because they have black fur growing around them like natural eye shadow – otherwise the leaky eyes would detract from the adorable-ness.
Also, she’s too tiny to actually bear puppies normally. If we were to breed her – which we are not going to do – then she would have to deliver by C-section, because the other way would kill her, plain and simple.
So she’s a very adorable companion dog – she literally has her chin resting on my right wrist as I’m typing this right now. The cuteness thing seems to include some sort of pheromone-like chemical or hormone. She’s like a tribble. I could sit here petting this dog for quite some time without getting bored in the slightest.
Yes, but she’s got problems all right. For instance, my horrible, nasty cat Zack kind of has a thing for her. He’s neutered, but as I’ve discussed in the past, that doesn’t stop him from having his way with his stuffed monkey girlfriend. And Daisy is about 40 percent the size of Zack with approximately the same colors and patterns of fur.
It’s a lot like they came from the same freakish litter, the big-eyed playful puppy dog and the scowling, depraved kitty.
Depraved might seem like a strong word for a kitty. After all, his brain is tiny and who knows what’s flickering through it when he decides to have his way with the monkey. I mean, I’ve checked and the monkey is eighteen – it’s cool.
But the thing is, I’ve thought for a long time that Zack would have his way with Daisy if he could get her on board with the idea. He’s not quite tough enough to hold her down and do anything horrible, but the two of them wrestle around in a pretty creepy way.
Usually, it’s Daisy thinking she’s being tough and taking on the cat, and Zack – who doesn’t even snick out his claws – kind of lying there under her like a boy on the playground.
Aw, you got me Daisy!
And he’ll sit there watching her from his chair or from a ledge as she prances by, the crooked old pervert. He reminds me of the old dude with the walker and the bathrobe from Family Guy.
For a while, I thought that was Daisy’s biggest problem – Zack was giving her the eye like a creepy landscaper or a hammered guy at the end of the bar.
Then Daisy went into heat. She’s scheduled to get spayed soon, but not yet. You have to wait until she’s out of heat, or something. I don’t know – feel free to ask Marlyn.
Anyway, going into heat really brought to the front and center exactly what a confused and mixed-up animal Daisy is, and I’m afraid this is going to get a little bit disturbing. You might want to have the kids go to another computer, and if you have a heart condition, you should stop reading right now.
You see, when an adorable, seven-pound creature is looking for some action, it’s a creepy enough thing to behold on general principle. She stops short of pole dancing, but really not very far.
Like if you saw Smurfette wearing a red dress and spike heels, hanging out on the corner smoking a cigarette, laying on the eye contact. That kind of thing can cause an aneurism.
So anyway, suddenly Daisy’s shaking her little butt all over the house. Her personality is the same but instead of trotting up to everyone and everything, asking if they have a tasty nibble of yumminess, she is instead trotting around asking if anyone would care to knock her up.
A weird and unpleasant twist on the old children’s book where the baby bird wants to know if everything is it’s mommy or not.
Zack is all right with this new transformation. He’s thinking, well, Daisy, maybe we could help each other out.
So like any group of adolescents, we have to ratchet up the supervision a little. You have to be kind of ready for anything as a parent and also as a pet owner. You can’t be squeamish. I had a pair of Huskies one time get stuck together while being intimate. It took a solid hour for them to get it figured out.
Found out later there’s a word for that – dogtied. Gave me nightmares.
But nothing could have prepared me for a recent report from a family member, that Daisy was spotted enthusiastically humping Zack’s head.
Yes, whatever your face just did after reading that, that’s about what mine did, too. There are so many tentacles of crazy in that image that it’s hard to untangle them all.
First of all, I hadn’t seen her actually hump anything, ever. I thought that was more of a male thing, running around humping legs – we’ve all gone through the leg-humping phase.
But yes, it turns out female animals like to get their humpty-hump on once in a while, too. Typically, however, when they go after an animal as opposed to a leg, they tend to be somehow aware of which end you’re supposed to hump.
And if you’re a cat, and you’re twice as big as the dog in question, you’re supposed to do something about it. All indications are, this really poorly-thought-out attempt at recreational cross-breeding was entirely consensual.
I mean, I guess there’s no harm in it, but I’m afraid I simply can’t allow it to continue.
She’s already pulling out of heat, and I think the thing to do next time, if there is a next time, is to chain her to a radiator like a werewolf, and toss the cat outside. He’s the real problem – he’s old enough to know better, and all he’s doing is taking advantage of Daisy’s youth and confusion. It’s sick.
The last thing you want to do in a situation like that is make the dog feel filthy about it. If the dog feels filthy, then the dog feels like you don’t love her anymore, because that’s what filthy is. And if you don’t love her anymore, then the closest thing she’s got left to love is, well – the depraved cat’s head. That’s not progress.
Well, I guess it’s progress for the monkey.