Without giving me any advanced notice, all of my friends decided to adopt puppies this summer. My friends have brought their dogs into various home environments. One dog, Leo Feinberg, is the son of single mom, Julie. Another dog, Lily Rabin, is the beloved daughter of Jen and Adam. This leave me, on the other hand, as the spinster auntie, barren of puppy love and dog poop.
The other day, Leo and Lily came over to play in my backyard and pool. When Lily arrived, Jen told me that Lily needed to greet me outside because she would get excited and start to dribble pee upon seeing me. So we stood on the patio, oohing and ahhing over the golden doodle and her pee splattering on our feet.
Lily enjoyed the pool for a while until Leo arrived. Leo, a lab pit mix, excitedly eyed Lily. I am sure he was into her fluffy doodle haircut, teddybear like complexion, and large, silky ears. As they began to dance around, pawing one another, Lily would coquettishly pat him on the lower back or flirtily sniff his asshole. It was not all that different than a scene out of Axis Radius or Pussy Cat Lounge.
As Lily is both younger and smaller than Leo, he was fairly responsive when she would start to back off from their little romp. And just as Lily's mom was getting comfortable with the playdate, Leo went biserk and jumped Lily's bones, sending her rolling into a pile of grass. She sat up, stunned.
"He did that because he has to poop," Julie said, hopping out of the pool, "it's really sad but my life now revolves around when he needs to poop." I sat in the pool and contemplated my friends' life changes. Julie, the single mom, was thinking feces 24/7. Jen, on the other hand, was fretting over her golden doodle's playdate gone amuck. These were not animals, they were children. Dog babies to be exact.
After a few hours of swimming and playing, the babies needed their naps.
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