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My
Life with Her Dog
While I personally never owned a copy of the ubiquitous "Hang in There Baby!" kitty poster, I feel compelled to emphasize my genuine appreciation for animals as well as for birds and the ladybug. Even I would be at a loss to dispute the necessity and purpose of unicorns, dragons and other magical beasts. I've read about the use of animal therapy on prison inmates and, apparently, a serial rapist can find much needed self-esteem in the sweet snuggle of a scruffy spaniel. It's irrefutably beautiful! I must have seen Academy Award-worthy Benji a hundred times and often gave inspired discourses on its value during recess and nap time. I'll bet Tony the Tiger is in fact Grrrrreat! and that Pooh is, as some suspect, the second coming of Christ. Come to think of it, who would Bam Bam be without the flight of the Pterodactyl as inspiration? Hey, I even lent my voice to the straight-to-video opus The Lion King Part 2. And recently I was horseback riding and told my willful (that's trainer euphemism for psychotic) pony that he was, "Such a good boy!" while I patted his saddle horn. I even did it in baby talk for emphasis. Animals and I go way back. Throughout childhood, I loved and cared for multiple shitzsus, two cats, three parakeets, four hermit crabs, (another story entirely), countless goldfish and a ball can of fireflies. To quote Golde in Fiddler on The Roof, "If that's not love what is"? What I have learned in the years since my fireflies tiny lights winked out is that pets are fine!… it's the owners who should be spayed and neutered! That registered, whatever affection I had for the household pet population has been repeatedly and violently side-swiped by, what in my admittedly unsolicited opinion, had been my partner's imbalanced pursuit to fulfill a desperate desire for real intimacy by projecting it onto a four-legger incapable of it, instead of creating it where it is possible… with me. Many years back, the actor Harvey Fierstein personally told me that, quote, "I had better reincarnate, as a cat" so that a love-starved women would happily rub me all the time. I quickly set him straight by explaining that cat owners aren't love-starved at all, but rather love-stuffed and need a place to express their love where it might be received unconditionally and not met with the complications so often associated with relationships with humans. That being said here's the rundown, in sound bite vignettes, of some of my experiences. Please note: The names of all women, lesbian or lesbian adjacent, and their pets, have been changed just enough that anyone who's ever met me or sat next to me on a subway, can still know exactly who I'm talking about.
But one experience stands out for me as wholly bizarre. I read somewhere that experience is the worst teacher because it gives us the test before presenting the lesson. How fucked up is that?! Patience,
a direct descendant of the Mayflower folk who never felt there was
enough time to live up to her name, saw me at a friend's birthday
party and then shortly thereafter again at a dinner party she herself
was throwing. (I later came to understand that this woman could
cook up anything… in the kitchen and out.) After an attraction
was quietly considered, we simultaneously whipped up some witty
banter and a lotta yada yada and presto! Instant "us!"
A tantalizing dish that compelled me to dig right in, clear out
a drawer, and pack up my fancy Fred Segal fennel flavored toothpaste
for an indefinite sleep-over at her place.
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Before
I tell what has been, for my therapist(s), a harrowing tale, I wish
to clarify its title. Firstly, by "My Life" I refer to
my love life, the last 14 years or so that just so happen to revolve
around significant and various regular contributors to PETA whom
I collectively refer to as "Her." "Dog" is a
catch-all concept for any species of the animal kingdom that
might be owned -- or in some cases possessed by -- any species of
the lesbian kingdom or vice-versa. 
