There is one major problem with Montana, however: his ginormous testicles. He has been attempting to violate my dogs since his arrival. I've told him, "Take a cold shower! Think about baseball!" All to no avail. After a weekend we are now affectionately referring to as Humpfest 2010, I gave some serious consideration to neutering him myself. I have a basic idea of how it's done and could feel my frustration growing with each thrust of his little white hips. As he is preparing to hump one of my dogs, he does this little cha-cha-cha step where he juts his rear legs out behind him, alternating in quick succession. I called my vet clinic this morning and got him in for next Monday. Gideon is having a minor surgery the same day, so that way I can drop them both off at the same time. I hope we last that long.
In the mean time, we've got six more days to tolerate Humpy McHumperton. I remember learning in school about the Supreme Court's attempt to define obscenity. Here is the definition:
1) A thing must be prurient in nature
2) A thing must be completely devoid of scientific, political, educational, or social value
3) A thing must violate the local community standards
If it meets all three of these things, it is obscenity.
I think we are pretty close with what's been going on at our house. First, Montana attempted to make sweet love to Gideon, my male Boxer. Gideon, who generally tolerates just about anything, turned on Montana and told him where he could put his desire. This scene repeated itself several times until Montana did actually absorb the message. Gideon's actions surprised me a little because normally he is so easygoing with other dogs. As I've often said, "If Gideon doesn't like your dog, your dog's probably a dick."
Gretchen, for whatever reason, has not been as successful in thwarting Montana's advances. She's tried telling him politely, "Hey, no thanks!" She informed him that she signed one of those celibacy contracts in high school. She's tried telling him less politely. But still, he perseveres. He licks her cheek and then does the cha-cha-cha. And so on it goes. As Gretchen moves from room to room, Montana follows along behind her, humping the air as he goes. "And you thought I was bad," said my oft-neglected husband.
After giving my daughter a shower this evening, she started saying how she knows Montana's a boy because he's got a penis. "Does he ever," I thought to myself. I feared the conversation would spiral out of control from there, but she didn't ask any questions. Thank God for small miracles.