But all that jazz is beside the point. The point is two of my friends had to have their dog neutered the other day.
This dog--I'll call him Dino--is a macho, prized purebred, and my friend Sal is a doting, equally macho owner. He hails from Spain, where machismo was invented. This being the case, it was a tough decision for him to abide by the impending law, and Sal and his wife, Delores, were only able to get themselves to do so after taking care of a few things.
"A few things" was actually only one thing--freezing Dino's sperm. I guess it was easier for them to deal with Dino being 'broken' if they at least had the power to create children for him , should Dino decide in his later years that he wants to bring children into this cruel, cruel world.
Conveniently, the only doggie sperm bank in the country happens to be located in California, a fact I find very hard to believe. I mean easy to believe--very, very easy to believe.
Now, since I heard this story from my mailman, through a game of telephone, I don't know all the details, but I do know some:
Delores drove 110 miles to San Marcos, CA, to the Canine Cryobank, with little ole Dino--a virgin--to supervise his first-ever sexual experience.
As it turned out, her involvement went a bit beyond 'supervision.'
As it turned out, Delores had to hold Dino's head in place, forcing him to look at the 'teaser bitch' as a female technician jacked off her dog. She offered helpful encouragement:
"Look at the bitch, Dino! Look at the bitch!"A 'teaser bitch,' for those of you weirdos out there unfamiliar, is a female dog in heat, brought in to excite the male dog from afar, which I find fascinating. Why are doggie porn magazines not enough? Why is direct, clinically-precise stimulation of his doggie dick not enough? Why is any random sexy bitch, as opposed to one who is specifically in heat, not enough? Why are they not allowed to 'play?' He just has to be held down while he looks at her? They can't even kiss?
There must be a science to it. I mean, I doubt the scene is created just for kicks, since dog semen acquirers/injectors are clearly busy people who don't fuck around; this must just be the efficient result of over 25 years of trial and error.
That's right--I said 25 years. They've been freezing dog semen for more than TWENTY-FIVE YEARS. A dog who died before Back to the Future came out could have a kid tomorrow. In fact, the day before Dino done got did, a filthy little bitch was inseminated with semen that was twenty-six years old. Wow.
Back to Dino. Let's dog-ize this story once more. This is about a dog named Dino. His name is Dino. Let's not forget that. Dino was born, Dino was purchased and taken away from his family, Dino grew up with his new loving owners, Dino went through dog puberty, Dino's semen was deemed a citywide nuisance, Dino was held down and hand-raped by a specialist, Dino had his balls cut off.
What is Dino supposed to do now? Sit in a rocking chair in the front yard, with a blanket over his lap, reading Proust and frowning? Hide in the trees and drink himself into a stupor, repetitively reminiscing about his solitary orgasm?
"Let's see...I was in a room with some smokin' hot bitch who totally wanted me, but she was playin' hard to get, or she was tied to a post or something, I forget now, and all I wanted to do was run over and fuck her, and I don't know why, I don't even really know what that means, but that's irrelevant because I couldn't move. I couldn't stand to look at her, to smell her, but not be able to have her, so I tried to look away, but that woman kept forcing me to look at her. I tried to see what the hell was going on with my dick--it felt like something was happening to it, something weird, something good--but I couldn't move my head at all. Then I had the greatest feeling known to dog, suddenly felt tired, the bitch left, and I went home and took a nap. Then she took me somewhere else, somebody cut my balls off, and I've never felt that feeling again. Is there some correlation? I think there is and I can't understand a world that would deprive me of that feeling. What is the point of living anymore? Woe is me..."Dino, if you're reading--my condolences, dog. I wish you the best, but fear depression shall rule the day. Good luck with that.
Especially when, on your deathbed, you come face to face with a younger version of yourself, fresh from the laboratory, full of vim and vigor and the arrogance of innocence--a further, deeper reminder of that most enjoyable/awful day, the final nail in your coffin.
Oh, and by the way, in case you were wondering, yes--you can have dog semen shipped around the world FedEx Overnight. Huh. What a package to be waiting for, or to receive in error, or to have leak all over your package...
What a world we live in...