Charley the Dog—A Regular Ladykiller

by Gregory B. Gonzalez

I often stare at my dog, Charley, and wonder what he could be thinking about. I’m like a lot of dog owners in that we think our animals have thoughts other than eating, sleeping, playing, and going to the bathroom. Sometimes I wonder if Charley even understands me when I talk to him. I don’t talk to him in baby talk, and I don’t talk to him like a dog; I talk to him as if he were human.

There are probably key words and phrases that he understands like any pooch, but he has this uncanny way of looking in my eyes that makes it seem as though he understands what I’m saying. For instance, when I first got him, I took him out to the front of my house to get the mail, naively thinking he would stay with me since he followed me wherever I went. As it turned out, I was wrong. As soon as he caught sight of a stray cat, he took off like a marathon sprinter in search of a bathroom after a bad taco from a truck. It took me a few minutes, but I managed to track him down, gather him in my arms, and drag him back home, kicking and howling.

I was pissed, but instead of yelling ‘bad doggie’, I took him to my room, sat him down, and said, “Listen, Brewster, (his full name being Charley Brewster,) you can’t go running off like that again. Master isn’t as fast as you are, and if I can’t find you, I can’t help you if you need me. Plus, Master would be so sad if he lost you! So, from now on, you stay with me, okay?” I gave him a hug and rubbed his head. He licked my face in response. Since then, it hasn’t been much of an issue. He sticks with me no matter what.

As far as women go, he hasn’t been the greatest student, but he’s no less charming. One look at that cute face, and women’s panties melt off like a popsicle in the Sahara. Women just flock to him; the boy is a babe magnet. If I had to guess what his lure is, it would be his ears. Chicks dig the ears. They’re bigger than his head. It’s a good thing we don’t live in Florida, because one good blast of hurricane wind, and I’d never see him again.

When girls come up and tell me how cute my dog is, I tell them, “He’s only half-dog. His mother was mounted by a gremlin. It’s why I don’t feed him after midnight. God knows I don’t want to wake up next to a cocoon!” As soon as they laugh, I know it’s on.

Anyway, though women adore him, he doesn’t quite know how to deal with them, human or canine. When I first got him, I was flirting with this one girl when we were at the dog park, and instead of letting her pet him or cuddle up to her, he stood close to her, lifted his leg, and tried to mark her as his property. As we left, I explained to him that we did things differently in the human world- we flirt, have drinks, buy dinner, etc. If it was just matter of pissing on a girl and mounting her, I’d never wear pants. Charley just snorted, tilted his head, and looked at me as if to say, “That sounds like too much work! My way is better!” I can’t say I disagree with him.

Yeah, his skills as a wingman need a lot of work. Another time at the doggie park, these other two hotties showed up with their pugs, and instead of trying to play with them, Charley kept trying to drive them away from their owners to clear the way for me. He ended up chasing them away and making me look like a jackass who couldn’t control his dog. I wanted asphyxiate myself with a plastic waste bag in embarrassment. Aw well, at least he didn’t pee on them.

Relations with his own kind (no pun intended,) haven’t been much smoother. For awhile there, I thought Charley might be a little light in the loafers due to the fact that the doggies in the park seemed more interested in mounting him than playing with him, but after finding him giving the business to some random poodle, I stopped worrying after that. I guess every dog does eventually have his day.

But as cute as Charley is, even he strikes out on occasion. For whatever reason, he was attracted to this one little white terrier who happened to have a pink mohawk. Charley was so captivated by her that he followed her everywhere she went. He tried all the tricks in his doggie repertoire- he tried mounting her, she snapped at him; he tried marking her, she pushed him away. He went so far as to offer her the doggie treat I had given him. Nothing. It’s a good thing her owner left soon after, any longer and Charley might have been arrested for doggie sexual harassment. He kept barking for her to stay, then cried as they left. I scooped him up in my arms and said, “It just wasn’t meant to be buddy! Besides, it never would have worked out- she’s punk rock, you’re more of a Lawrence Welk fan!”

Hey, I tried to broaden his musical tastes. It’s not my fault if “The Pina Colada Song” is his favorite.

Just about the only woman completely wrapped around his tiny paw is my mother, his Nana. She talks to him like he’s a baby, and for whatever reason, he loves it. She’s given him more nicknames than I have. I’m amazed he knows his own name anymore. Whenever she’s around he follows her everywhere. I hate to admit it, but I’m kind of jealous. Almost.

Personally, I think it fills a need in both of them- Charley has the mother he may or may not have had, and my mother has the closest thing to a grandchild she’ll ever get from me. And best part? He’ll never get any bigger and tell her, “I hate you, Nana!”

In case you missed it: Charley and Me—A True Story

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Posted by on July 7, 2019. Filed under COMMENTARY/OPINION. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. You can leave a response or trackback to this entry
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2 Responses to Charley the Dog—A Regular Ladykiller

  1. Michael John Scott Reply

    July 7, 2019 at 8:56 am

    The Pina Colada song? LOL. Perfect fit for this cute little guy.

  2. Glenn Geist Reply

    July 7, 2019 at 9:43 am

    Actually looks like he’s had one or two already. I wish I could relax like that!

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