I absolutely adore my dogs. They are totally the coolest little beasts you could ever imagine. Whether it’s the eight-pound toy poodle named Luna who runs shit like a boss, or the 20-pound mini schnauzer named Betsy who just wants to be cuddled and make grunt sounds in your ear; them bitches are my children. Luna knows how to lick away your tears after you’ve been crying, and Betsy will latch onto your shoulders and literally hug you if you pick her up. Nothing can compare to that happy jumping fit of excitement they always provide after a long day’s work, and nothing is more adorable than kisses from a tiny poodle face.
For real. Amazeballs.
My wife and I spoil those dogs like the offspring of the 1%. Yes, they have gluten-free, all natural diets. Yes, they have fancy beds with numerous blankets and two twenty gallon baskets full of toys. Yes, we have an entire cabinet for their treats and brushes and grooming tools. They are gorgeous and happy and get everything they could ever want in life. They aren’t just dogs. They aren’t just creatures. They aren’t just things that poop on things and bark at traffic and bite you when you pick them up during sleep.
Or maybe they are.
You see, as much as I love my dogs, I have a pretty big problem with something they do. While I put them before myself constantly and can’t imagine how horrendous the world would be without them, sometimes I want to punch them directly in their amazingly sweet, perfectly-groomed little faces. As often as they are prime examples of perfect animal creation, sometimes I hate what they do.
It’s all the vagina licking.
Listen, I get it. I may be the only male in the house aside from a parakeet named Drogo, but I know what goes on with these lady gizmos. I know they need attention. They need cleaned. They’re a pain. But seriously?
This is what happens when a dog is on the couch for more than five consecutive minutes.
The dogs don’t go about their licking in the same way. They both have their own quirks, their own tactics, and their own equally horrible results. They are distinct in their horribleness.
Betsy is the big suck puddle culprit. She’s not only a vagina licker, but a leg licker. She licks legs better than a fat guy with a bucket of KFC. Put her on a piece of furniture and she knows what to do. Relaxation? Hesitation? None. She puts a nice sopping saliva spot under her pooch cooch as if she works here. She’s home alone a lot, so every piece of furniture in the house is treated with that nice stain-resistant coating so that her suck puddles don’t leave marks. Every piece except one – the recliner which serves as my Xbox chair, which was purchased before all the other seating in the house. Guess which one is her favorite?
I keep Reckitt Benckiser in business with all the Woolite I buy for that chair. It doesn’t do any good. She leaves suck puddles when you don’t even know she’s been up there, and the chair is starting to look like a guy with vitiligo.
Luna isn’t quite as good with the suck puddles, mostly due to having a mouth the size of an almond, but what she lacks in salivary dispersion techniques she makes up for in audible vaginal moisturizing. When that little scumbag gets going on her dog puss, you can hear it six states away. She goes at herself with such an intense rhythm that it’s like a metronome… if metronomes were dog vaginas and sounded like someone plunging a toilet full of jello salad and cooked linguine. She enjoys sitting on the back of the couch like a cat while the Mrs. and I watch TV, usually right behind our heads. It’s nice to use her as a pillow… until she starts going all Jenna Haze on her own pee puff and makes you want to throw up all over yourself.
I want to tell my dogs about my feelings. I want to say “Listen, dogs. You’re here all day, you don’t vacuum, you don’t have dinner ready when I get home, you don’t put your toys away, and sometimes you poop in the family room. You contribute very little around here. At least let me have nice, dry, clean furniture and allow me to watch television without the Vertical Smile Orchestra playing a symphony behind my head. ”
Too bad telling them won’t do any damn good.
I guess if they didn’t spend all day cleaning the snapper, I’d have to do it for them. And that’s obviously not on my agenda.
I love you, Betsy and Luna. Even if you are gross suck puddle-making slit snackers.