A dog and his boner

"Sure enough! He was whimpering really loud. I thought he must be having some kind of relapse from parvo, kidney failure or something. I called the vet, and they told me that he probably got a little overexcited."

"Are you telling me our dog has a painful boner? Are you telling me our dog's boner is so painful he can't walk?"

You should have seen Tony's and his friend's face.

"Well, I died laughing when she told me that," Julie said. "The nurse held the phone out so the doctor could hear me laughing. And then they asked me if I had any Vaseline!"

"Vaseline?! Oh god. It's mortal sin."

"They told me to give the dog sugar water and watch him for an hour. If he still hasn't calmed down, if you follow me, I'm supposed to bring him in."

"Well, we'll be there in a few minutes, and I'll take a look."

As it happened, our poor little priapic pooch was on the back deck looking pathetic. But detumescent, bless his heart. Something was wrong with his leg. I made a couple of bad jokes, and then teased Julie for coming undone by the sight of our little dog engorged.

"Once a Baptist..." I teased.

"Yeah," she laughed, "they really drill you hard with that stuff."

"Is that really the phrase you want to use in this context?" I said.

She turned beet-red. I didn't dare look at Tony's face.

Anyway, after coffee I took Roscoe in to the vet, and it turned out one of his toenails had been doubled in backwards. He yowled and yowled as the nurse straightened it out. The vet finally came, looked at him closely, and said she doesn't think his toe is broken, but to give him an anti-inflammatory for two days, and if he's no better by Saturday, bring him back.

"I've gotta ask," I said, "how come if his problem was a messed-up toe, he got all excited? Was it stress?"

"Who knows with dogs," the vet said. "I've seen them get excited over all kinds of things. I've even observed a couple of dogs masturbating with a pillow."

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" I shrieked. "That's disgusting! Dogs pleasuring themselves on a pillow! I can't stand it!"

(I was laying it on thick for comic effect, but honestly, what kind of dog kibbles his own bit? I mean, gaah!)

Roscoe's doing better tonight, but I tell you, not a single throw pillow in this house will rest easy until that hound is old enough to have his goolies snipped.