My Dog and Kevin Spacey
I wouldn’t admit it to myself for a long time.
Not the fact that my dog, Neddy, is gayer than pink ink. That part doesn’t bother me. Anyone who says homosexuality is unnatural has never owned a male dog. They all like to try it on, from time to time.
“Oh, it’s just dominance,” people say. But is it, really? And, if so, why all the kissing and foreplay?
No, it’s not the occasional manifestation of his sexual preference that bothers me – it’s the realization that Neddy is a serial sexual harasser. He simply won’t leave Archie the Beagle alone.
Archie gets him going like no other dog. Neddy sees him and bounds over, greeting him by rubbing up against him and washing his ears. Then things get more serious. I’m constantly having to haul Neddy off Archie’s rump. And Archie just stands there, taking the abuse. Maybe he thinks people won’t believe him. Maybe he secretly likes it. It’s hard to tell with Beagles.
But enough’s enough, especially in our #MeToo Generation. Today, I am writing a formal apology to Archie and his human for my dog’s inappropriate behaviour. Neddy will be departing shortly for a clinic in Switzerland for intensive, very expensive sexual addiction therapy. And Archie will be compensated for his trauma with an undisclosed amount of dog biscuits.