Every Dog Has It’s Day- Even Charley

by Gregory B. Gonzalez

I never thought I’d own another dog after my last one, Hanako, died. She was a Norwegian Elkhound- beautiful and dumb as a stump. I often thought of her as the canine version of Anna Nicole Smith. I was devastated when she died, so when Charley dropped into my lap, I was reluctant to adopt him because I didn’t want to face that pain again. But looking into his fuzzy, big-eared face, I had a hard time denying that I fell in love with the little jerk.

I cry a little bit at the thought that I will lose him eventually, but I’d rather live with that future pain than be without him. At least I can be happy that I gave Charley a loving home with people who adore him. And they do- at the dog park, among my friends, and even random people on the street go nuts when they meet him, complimenting on how much of a sweet boy he is.

Everybody except my brother. Charley hates my brother. He’s afraid that Charley will rip his throat out one of these days. He lives in genuine fear of my dog, and I just sit here and laugh. The most damage Charley could do is tear into the skin of an ankle, and my brother guards his scrotum like he’s expecting Charley to jump up and clamp on like a lobster with a drooling problem. Not hardly.

He’s changed a lot in the year I’ve had him- he used to be really timid and clingy, but now he struts around my house like he owns it and defends his territory like a female pitbull who’s just given birth to a litter of puppies.

But he wasn’t always like that. In fact, whenever we went to the dog park, he would always just sit there and take it whenever some other dog tried to mount him to show dominance.

The first time it happened, some random mutt sniffed Charley’s butt, mounted him, and began to hump him. My first impulse was to kick the dog away and scream at the owner, “What the Hell, Dude?” But we both looked on in silent fascination for a few seconds, not really knowing what to say to each other. It was an awkward moment that seemed to last forever. When we finally did break them up, we both exchanged a silent nod of apology and wandered our separate ways. But for the remainder of our visit, the other dog kept trying to hump on Charley like a pubescent boy enjoying his very first hard-on.

I thought it was funny at first, but it stopped being entertaining when it started becoming a recurring phenomenon. At one point, as another pooch ground away on him, Charley looked up at me with this expression that said, “Why does this keep happening to me?” I told him, “Why are you giving me that look? I can’t help it if you’re so damned handsome every dog wants to hump you! Despite the gates surrounding the park, this isn’t a prison shower- you can fight back!”

So he did. After my little pep talk, he started snapping at every dog that tried to jump on his back. I was grateful for that, because I was beginning to get slightly concerned that my dog was a little light in the loafers, if you know what I mean.

I mean, I don’t think dogs know the meaning of homosexuality, and I doubt that they’d even care if they did. They’re slaves to their instincts, not their intellect. As for me, I’m not homophobic, I just don’t enjoy seeing my dog being treated like a prison bitch.

Having said that, I will admit that I breathed a sigh of relief when I found him grinding on a female poodle one afternoon.

I only hope he got the green light. The last thing I need is my dog being accused of sexual harassment.

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