That’s Just Wrong

Sola likes me. Sola really, really likes me. Now I’m sure you’re thinking, “That’s a great story. My dog really likes me too.” I understand. I’m sure your dog follows you around, wants to be with you wherever you go, is affectionate, and protective. Sola does all of these things. And she does…well, more. What I’m trying to convey (despite my discomfort in doing so) is that Sola likes me the wrong way. The way rednecks like their sisters.

I can already picture some of you running for the phone to call the ASPCA. But take a look at that picture above. If I choose to lie down on the floor, the bed, the couch or even outside in the yard Sola will find me and immediately jump on me. Then the real fun begins. She flattens herself on top of me and begins the all-too-familiar makeout session. At first, her licks are quick, light, good natured. Then her eyes half close as her pace slows, becomes more deliberate. She licks the entire length of my face, slowly, her jaw shaking. She tries with all of her might to force my lips open (she succeeded on one occasion and nearly took out a tonsil. I haven’t been right since.) Drool pours out of her, and she literally gets “hot and bothered”, panting heavily like she’s just been chased by the Yard Monster.

Mrs. Author finds this amusing, laughing as I am molested against my will. I struggle under Sola’s weight trying to fight off the tongue slaps that seem to come from everywhere. Sola presses on, undeterred, her panting frantic, her dog food breath hot on my face.

It ends as suddenly as it began. Sola rolls off me and stumbles away, disinterested. Mrs. Author giggles and refers to Sola with a five letter word that rhymes with “floor.” I wonder if I’d feel less cheap if someone would just hold me. Nigel cracks one eye and stares at me from the couch, clearly disturbed. Sola sprawls out on the kitchen floor tiles, cooling herself. She lights a cigarette…

The answer is no. I am not crazy. Nigel and Mrs. Author have witnessed this twisted ritual countless times. Time and again I stagger to the bathroom to clean myself, praying that one day a simple game of fetch will satiate Sola. I return to the living room ashamed, and act as though nothing has happened. Nigel guffaws with glee, spared.

It only gets worse. Last week I opened my computer bag at work and found this:

Chills ran down my spine. I kept this to myself – surely Mrs. Author would take offense at such blatant gestures. I shredded the letter and threw it away. I made the drive home in silence, radio off, brain churning. I walked directly to the junk drawer and flung it open…and gasped. Stuck to a pen in the front of the drawer – yellow dog hair. Sola watched me, a telling ink stain on her right forepaw. I quickly closed the drawer and tried to forget the day and all that had happened…

It was not long before another, even more disturbing event took place. I was in the living room, listening to smoky, sultry jazz music, the lights turned down. Nigel was (as always) passed out on the couch like a crystal meth junkie. Mrs. Author was taking a bath. I thought I heard the junk drawer rattle at one point, but attributed it to a heavy bass note in the song I was listening to. I reached over to pick up my drink…and screamed.

Another note, crudely scratched on a piece of scrap paper, stared at me from the table:

I sprung from my chair terrified, turning the music down and the lights up. Nigel continued to slobber on himself, unaware. I snatched the letter from the table and immediately buried it in the bottom of the trash can. I turned and- there was Sola, standing behind me, panting, unmoving, a disturbing look on her face. I threw her a chewie to distract her, and opened the freezer, palms sweating, heart pounding. My hands shook as I worked an ice cube out of its tray and pressed it to my forehead. A few deep breaths later I convinced myself I had imagined it. I dried my forehead, and fell in to bed, exhausted. Sola jumped on the bed and slept beside me, between Mrs. Author and I.

A few days passed without incident. I was careful not to lie on my back in Sola’s presence. Busy with work and writing, I actually forgot about the disturbing events that had transpired. I let my guard down. Then yesterday morning, I kissed Mrs. Author, scooped up my computer bag, said goodbye to Nigel & Sola, picked up my car keys…and froze. Hidden under my car keys was another note:

My breath escaped me in a series of coughs and hacks. I crumpled the letter and stuffed it in my pocket, dumbfounded. I walked outside and looked under Mrs. Author’s SUV. No brake fluid. I went back in to the garage and placed all of my tools on shelves that I knew Sola could not reach. I started my car and slowly pulled out of the driveway. I cast a glance at the window and there was Sola, her gaze focused on me, unwavering. I goosed the accelerator and made haste, seeking refuge in the familiar duties of my job.

Mrs. Author called me to let me know she had arrived at work safely. I settled in to my desk chair, sipping coffee, reading e-mail. The phone rang, I answered, and my blood went cold. My brain just registered the fact that the number on caller ID was our home number as I heard slow, pronounced panting on the other end of the phone line…

Somebody please help me.

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  1. I am only here to mark this post. It’s the very first “Life With Dogs” post I ever read, way back in the day. (Assume the day is sometime in 2006.) This is the lens through which I have always viewed you. 😀

  2. OMG….I had no idea this happened to anyone else. I bought my boyfriend (at the time) a beautiful Blk/Tan Dobie for his bithday. He named her Monkey Love and she is infatuated with him as much as Sola is with you Mr. Author. I tell you she would pin him to the bed an they would have a make out sessions. She would not let him up (I think he liked it just as much though) and like Sola, her eyes would eventually roll in the back of her head and her licks would gradually grow slower and wetter. What till I call him to tell him he is not alone!

  3. I’m worried about you…. it been over a month since you posted “Fatal Attraction 2: Doggy Style”.

    Hope you and the missus are ok.

  4. OMG! I hope someday that you get published. You are just a hoot.

    Sola sounds more like a rhyming “mutt”.

    Poor Nigel will need therapy soon.

    Ringo can’t wait to meet them someday.

    Hope all is well.

    Take Care!


  5. tell scola, that wench, to read my blog, and if she’s interested, maybe we can hook up…although i personally don’t like mudbaths, or anything wet for that matter.

    yearning for scola..

  6. Another awesome story – I think it may be time to take Sola to go see Mr Doctor and maybe… sort of… kind of… join Nigel in unich-ville.

    Thankfully my bitch isn’t a shagger!

  7. What a hoot you are Sola! Mr Author you are a very funny man and your Blogg is still bookmarked. Looking forward to the next story 🙂 Can you have a Nigel adventure? Greyhounds aren’t that boring.

  8. Hilarious as usual Neil, thank you for being the sick bastard that you are.

    I’m glad we didn’t venture into Sola pinning you down and dry humping you in detail.

    I think you should keep a closer eye on Nigel though, the quiet ones that are the biggest freaks of all.
    He is just putting you on with his whole lazy dog,”sleeping on the couch routine”.

    Sounds to me like he is biding his time until the time is right before making his move on Mrs. Author.

  9. You’d appreciate one of my females, who is a very loveable–rhymes with “Thespian.” And, I’m your auntie!

    Love your humor! Thanks much.

  10. thank you!!! You made me smile, no laugh..only serious dog people can relate or even cat people…I have two kittens, 6 mos old..who are male “floors” rhymes with…neck sucking most of the night. Now they are getting closer to full grown, the kneeding and sucking gets a bit violent.

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