I popped into see my friends this morning, during my let’s lose some winter weight run. They don’t have kids (yet), but they have a cacophony of pets. Three dogs and two cats… That’s like having three children. And I say three, because cats don’t count.
Whenever I knock on the door of the menagerie, all the canines come running to greet me.
“Mum! Dad! NJ’s here! NJ’s heeeeerrrrrrrreeeeeeee!”
This of course is yelled in the complicated language of Bark.
Mum and Dad follow, as dogs don’t have opposable thumbs to pull the ranch slider across. The cats don’t even bother. They just sit in a cosy spot dispersing fur and thinking about themselves.
There’s Stanley the matriarch. She plods over and peers up at me through her long shaggy fringe, always greeting me with a smile. She’s never far so she can receive a cranial massage. There’s Gordon the middle child. He’s only recently become middle child and thus manages to find a spot to sulk in that is close enough to you to receive some sympathy pats, as he gives you the ‘woe is me look’ under his heavy eyelids. He is clearly not adjusting well to not being the smallest and the baby any more. Then there’s Charlie. This little jumping bean of energy is at the human equivalent of 3 years old.
This morning, Stan came over and lovingly left her breath and fur particles on me. Gordy came traipsing behind and grimaced at me. Like a temperamental teen, he is bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders while feeling left out at the same time. The mood was strangely peaceful, until Charles was let in.
Charlie tore around the corner like a speed demon and stopped abruptly to sniff my legs, then went on to rip into some toys. Gordy cringed. Stan was indifferent. At her age, she was a wise old sage.
The adults sat down to catch up, while the brood amused themselves. Gordy jumped up on the couch to avoid his younger sibling, and curled up on a cushion. While making sure that he was positioned so he could give ‘pity me’ glances. Stan reclined at my feet, after a head rub. Charlie zipped around the room, jumping from lap to lap.
Then the unthinkable happened. Charlie did something he shouldn’t of. While perched on my lap, he attempted to lick my crotch, after licking his own.
“Oh my God! Charlie!” I screeched as I threw him off me.
His parents looked shocked. Their child had just done something completely inappropriate in public, and they had to sheepishly apologise while internally blaming their other half for his behaviour.
Nervous giggles and shaking heads resonated through the room, as Charlie tried to find another lap to demoralise. No one wanted a bar of the creepy lap dog. Unbeknownst to himself, Charles had just made the ‘if we could only save two dogs, you wouldn’t be it’ list.
Not long after, I decided it was time to go. I said my goodbyes to my friends (who are still my friends). Stanley toddled on over to the door and nuzzled me farewell, Gordon hid his head under the cushion to cover up his embarrassment, and Charlie tried to leave with me. There was no way in hell, as I quickly shut the gate.