I've always been a dog person; cats for me are pointless and alien creatures, I’d get more pleasure from owning a pet telegraph pole. My childhood memories are always interspersed with happy dog memories (and a couple of sad ones) from our pointer/Labrador Sam chasing us around the garden as kids, and dragging us off the air raid shelter by our flaired trouser legs and back into the house, probably through its distemper addled shit etc. (To the untrained eye, a dog dragging a screaming child would probably look quite horrific, but it was harmless fun and we just saw it as the very poor mans dog drawn sled, the sled in this instance being our flares wearing arses (it was about 1979/80). Then growing up we have the bizarre power struggle between our then 3 dogs (which lasted longer than the Vietnam war) which resulted in numerous markings of territory which basically added up to anything that wasn’t off the floor getting pissed on by the 3 dogs, including our grand piano sized video recorder, which literally filled up to the top of its top loading slot with hot angry canine piss.
The bad memory being when I was pinned to a tree by an Alsatian guard dog which did exactly what it was supposed to when my mate booted the door of the launderette in (for no reason). I got bit a bit, but thank fuck it spared my beautiful face...
The other memory which should technically be a bad one, but was kind of funny was when my mate was interspecially “raped” by an old English sheep dog (bear with me) We was on Tooting Bec Common climbing trees, which for me, just meant standing on a tall tree root as I had technically worse climbing skills than Stephen Hawkins with a flat battery.
My mate Kelly (a boy?) was out with his new Lord Anthony body warmer on and we were all looking for the next climb when suddenly we saw a huge Old English Sheepdog bounding towards us, even at my young age I could see something written across its wooly face, that wasn’t anger, it wasn’t friendliness either, I saw lust, a protective instinct took over me and I practically ran up a tree like something out of the Matrix and watched down as Kelly's indecisiveness became his undoing, and the huge Mutt bore down on him like a furry Fred West, tongue lolling. Me and my brother watched with a mixture of confusion and curiosity as the beast climbed up and rested its huge paws on his shoulders and started doing the “time warp” on his back, me and brother looked at each other and made a confused noise that was half disgust and half laughter. Kelly just stood there crying, resigned that the weight of this dog meant that he was going nowhere.
Don’t get me wrong, the dog at no point penetrated him, but was instead relieving itself on the shiny material of the body warmer, the owner was now spotted, standing in the distance, making no effort to get his randy pet off my mate, but instead standing there belly laughing, shoulders and paunch wobbling. This only served to make me and my brother laugh a bit harder, eventually the dog “finished” put its “lipstick” away and trotted off, realising it could not share a post coital cigarette given its inability to use a lighter, or smoke a fag. We eventually came down to a clearly traumatised Kelly who had what we could only describe as “funk” up his back. He was never the same after that and we soon drifted apart, I neither hang around with dog fuckers or fuckees.
I've thought about the above after writing it down for the first time and actually, it’s my best dog memory ever, and anyone who calls their boy Kelly probably deserves them to have a long and protracted technically underage sexual assault at the hands of another species.
My Cat memories are less “glamorous” and just revolve mostly around looking at them, mystified while they sit there and do one of the following, clean their strange cat barbed cocks/fanny, look disdainfully at a plate of expensive food containing ingredients hundreds of millions of starving Africans can only dream of, lie there in the sun, torture a small animal, any mixture of the above.
I went through a phase of liking them as the girls I was dating, of my age group, generally have one, or more, because they are either too irresponsible or immature to have children, or have had one forced upon them, but it was a convenience thing rather than an actual like, it’s like being a vegetarian because your silly pale but good at blowjobs girlfriend is, same deal.
There are a couple of cats I like, the one where I used to live is nice, well, its actually a horrible bastard, 17 years old, the ex local bruiser, but she has character, she will allow you to stoke her and then fuck you up when she has had enough, like its for your pleasure, she is loud and shouts at you if you have failed to give her a bowl of condensed milk and either chicken or fresh fish, in normal terms I would hate an animal as ungrateful and shitty as that, but what makes me love her is one morning she called me “Terry” it was as clear as anything, well, more like “teeeerrreeeeeee” I was baffled but ultimately thought that a talking cat was well worth liking, overall she has about 40 phrases in her arsenal, they all amount to you being a “fucking cunt” for not attending one of her needs, but never the less, there are youths today with less literacy than that.
Then to the opposite of that was my last encounter with a cat, whose real name shall not be revealed but she should only be known as cunt cat, an animal so feeble, so pathetic that on several occasions I was tempted to put it in a pillow case and swing it into the wall (which is a horrible thing to do more than think about). This poor emotional quadriplegic would start its day at about 1am, darting up and down the flat, coming in the room, jumping on the bed, clawing my back or balls, leave, start the process again, go outside, whine from outside the window, come back in, etc etc. How it never started a row is beyond me. Thankfully, and because of that, I doubt I will ever own a pet, certainly not a cat, unless they are dead hollowed out husks which I am wearing as slippers.
A cat will attempt to reward you for having it (at which no point you will feel like you actually own the cat, it will go door to door like a traveling con merchant poncing food off neighbours and finding its love elsewhere, it’s like an organic timeshare). It might bring you a dead mouse, which will still smell of petrol where the cat has tortured it in the manner of reservoir dogs, or a moth, or a heroin needle or something pathetic, if you don’t act extremely grateful the cat will become most offended and probably bugger off for months leaving you believing it is dead. A dog would kill itself before it betrayed its owner, a dog would take a bullet for you (it would more likely fire one too, having mistaken its owners shotgun for a stick, enthusiastically bring it back to its owner and shaking it, firing both barrel’s of shot into the owners face turning it into a lasagne (which the dog will then eat). Just in the US, more people were killed by canine gun shots than gangs, whirlwinds, or anything else.
In quick conclusion then, apart from maybe a very good or working dog, guide dog, guard dog, most pets are pointless and a fucking drain, they stop you going on holiday or need you to get someone to look after/walk them, feed them. The only people who are really suited to owning a dog and getting best out of it are the long term unemployed or childless old cat hoarding hag bags who treat them like children to make up for the usually tragic crop failure of their own wombs. The scum bag council flat bull terrier owning fuck wits who tramp around like its some sort of status symbol, desperately trying to defend it against being put down after it has delicately eaten a toddlers face off like it was a sweetcorn.
Then you get “fancy pets” reptile owners are usually heavily pierced/tattooed unemployed devil worshippers (generally unemployed, not out of work in the line of Satan worship), coming home to find the temperature of the specialist vivarium has dropped by a half degree and their cock shaped red backed sarin gas breathing elephant killer cobra has gone into a deep sleep for the next 8 months.
Yawn
