Terry Doe used to write a column in "Dogs Today" about Morris, his Bull Terrier and the antics he got up to.
Here is one of his stories.
Right, blame Juliet Shaw for me posting this one. It's EVER so rude, so if you're easily offended, look away now. ;-)
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TERRY DOE
DOING... ‘THINGY’
My Morris has done ‘thingy’ you know. That’s thingy singular. Like, just the once thanks very much - but it was with a girly, so he’s earned the right to tell ‘go on my son’ stories to the lads over a boozy curry of a Friday night. And unlike most, Morris won’t be making it up, because I was there when it happened.
I saw him pull the girl in question. I saw him push her quite a bit as well, and I gawped in horror as he trundled her around like a wheelbarrow. I even saw him become half of a Pushme-pullyou. You frequent witnesses to dog-thingy will know what I’m talking about and doubtless you’ll be astonished at my prudish references to what we’ve been asked to believe is a perfectly natural act.
Well it didn’t look very natural when Morris did it!
I’ll set the pre-thingy scene for you, then the sheer toe-curlingness of it all will be laid bare, so to speak. Believe it or not, our Morris is a bit of a looker. Thick he may be, but he’s one seriously happenin’ hunk and several bull terrier owners have approached me with thingy on their minds. One such overture came from a lady who owns a house so large, that you have to change the time on your watch if you intend to walk the entire hall carpet. This distinguished lady wanted Morris to thingy her Lucy within the week and there was no time to lose.
I consulted Herself on the matter and she adopted her usual positive stance where matters of Morris are concerned.
‘If anyone is mad enough to want to replicate that bloody dog - they must be even stupider than he is.’ Thank you my dear. Remind me to top-up your carafe of evening primrose oil before I go.
Thus it was that one snowy winter’s eve, the virginal Morris found himself at the desperately posh home of Mrs. Gertrude Calloway, whose dear-departed had been huge in music or somesuch. Anyway, ‘call me Trudi’ now devoted herself to her dogs, cats and causes. The cause before her this evening, was to get Morris and Lucy productively rogering.
Now, call me old Mr. Silly, but I expected to lob Morris and Lucy into one of Trudi’s empty stables and leave them to it. I imagined that Trudi and I would share a sherry or two, gossip a bit, then retrieve the happy couple after their half an hour’s worth of happy coupling. ‘Aaay naaay Terry. The whole thing has to be soopahvised, especially with bullies. Have you never seen it done?’
Well of course I’d seen it done hadn’t I? It’s just that where I grew up, every time it was done, someone would come out and throw a bucket of water over those that were doing it. I’d seen it done plenty of times. It’s just that I’d never seen it encouraged that’s all.
What followed was the most embarrassing episode of my entire life - bar none.
Trudi was pleased that when introduced in the games room, Morris and Lucy actually wanted to get it together in the rumpy-pumpy department, rather than bite lumps out of each other. Morris was more than pleased, because with my own eyes I actually saw the creature from Alien begin to emerge from his bits. It was like that advert for the TV Times - ‘I never knew there was so much in it.’ Where the hell he’d stored that lot I’ll never know, but there it was, and apart from a few er...’directional’ problems, he seemed to know what it was all for as well.
I just wanted to apologise for it. I mean, in front of a posh woman and all, when Trudi did something that nearly made me faint. Get this. While Morris was mid piggy-back with Lucy and frantically stabbing thin air with the Alien, Trudi knelt down and using her professionally manicured hand...aimed it for him! And to think she could have offered me a sandwich.
‘Oh good’, said Trudi, as most of the Alien docked with Lucy. ‘Oh God’, said I, as another gallon of sweat fell away and sizzled on the games room floor. I’d had enough by now and slipped gratefully into the courtyard where a cooling carpet of snow had fallen. I literally steamed with embarrassment, yet couldn’t resist a peek through the window at the goings-on. Morris and Lucy, still nailed together by the Alien, now stood tail-to-tail, panting, while Trudi stroked their heads reassuringly.
Ten interminable minutes later, Morris was led out to join me and as Trudi enthused over this ‘text-book’ mating, I watched awe-struck as Morris’s Alien burned a trail through the snow before climbing back into its furry hangar. For the first and last time if I’ve got anything to do with it.
Finally it was over and I could breathe the shame-free air of liberty. And you can bet I waved good-bye to ‘call me Trudi’, rather than shake her guiding hand.
************** E N D ***************
For more exploits see his book "Guide Dog for the Thick".
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