Dog Whores

I like wet dog noses resting on my skin, and feeling the fine, downy soft hairs of a sweet muzzle underneath. I love dogs, mostly all dogs. Possibly one or two I have met in my lifetime rubbed me the wrong way, but of the many thousands I have petted and cuddled, that isn’t too bad.

When I am away from home, I put pillows on my body so that when I fall asleep, it still feels like my dogs are there. Pillows don’t radiate heat or curl around my neck like a Chihuahua can, but when you are a dogless nomad, these and other people’s dogs are all you have.

I think that there should be dog prostitutes. High priced Great Dane gigalos. Miniature Doberman hustlers, in tiny white tank tops and studded leather collars. A fancifully beribboned Bichon Frise, a little aloof, but with kind eyes, to coo over and stroke all night. I want a mixed breed Midnight Cowboy, to warm my bed and ease my lonely heart. Of course, in the end, when you have to go to your early morning flight, with no time to check in any odd sized baggage or go to the vet to get a travel certificate, you would have to pay them to leave, just like you paid them for the extras, like maintaining a down stay for an extended period or any particular canine agility.

I would spend a fortune on dog prostitutes, most likely fall in love more than once, filling up my home with dog whores from all over the world. Lhasa Apsos and Labrador Retrievers. French Poodles and English Bulldogs. Chows and Irish Setters. All mine for the night, then all mine forever. I have the potential to be one of those crazy people who take in hundreds of strays and then irresponsibly die, only to have all my dear pets eat me. I will have someone look in on me now and again to ensure that does not happen.