That Awful (ly Sweet) Silky

Today I got a phone call from a very sweet lady who had read on our Web site about our efforts to stud Deuce out.

"I am so glad to find a Silky stud in Houston!" the lady said, full of excitement. "I told my husband that 'this is meant to be' because HIS name is Martin, just like your first Silky was."

"I love my little Belle so much and I want her to have puppies, but Silkys are so hard to find!" she gushed. "It almost seems too good to be true."

And then I had to tell her it was.

About a week ago we got Deuce neutered.

Why?

Because he was a fucker. He hiked on everything. He humped everything. He growled at everything. He barked at everything. He was aggressive toward everything. Basically, if he weren't so cute, I would have rang his neck. We'd been through a year-and-a-half of sheer hell with Deuce and his "moods." We just couldn't take it anymore, so over the holidays when he had to be boarded a few days, we took the opportunity to have him fixed.

And the results? VERY POSITIVE.

He's only hiked once or twice. His general disposition is far, far calmer. And -- thank you sweet baby Jesus -- he hasn't raped any unwilling Schnauzer, pillow or toy. Ne'er again when someone visits our house for the first time will we have to say: "Hi, welcome to our home. These are our dogs, Ripken and Sonny. This is our cat, Gertrude. Oh and don't mind the little fellow having his way with the Aggie's briefcase. We swear it's consentual. The briefcase was practically begging for it... Can I take your coat and purse?... No, no, no. Don't sit them on the coffee table. Deuce can reach them there. Let's lock everyone's belongings in the bathroom, shall we."

So as sad as I am to turn away that $1500 stud fee, I'm pretty sure we've made the right decision. I love my Silky Terrorist so much. He's my little buddy and sidekick. I don't want him shot by an angry neighbor because he's broken into their yard and taken liberties with their Cockapoo again. (Sorry, Smith Family!)

No, we want to have Deuce as long as the Aggie's family had predecessor, and I'm pretty sure toning down Casanova's 'urges' will help us in that direction.

After I broke it to the lady that Deuce was no longer on the market, we spent the next half hour talking about Martin. She'd read all about him on our site and said it gave her comfort to know that her Silky could possibly live such a lengthy, full life.

"Wow, Martin must have really loved you," she said.

I snorted.

"God, no!" I laughed. "He hated my guts."

(Insert awkward silence.)

"I mean, he loved to hate me," I said. "He liked me okay when I was the only one around. But you have to understand, Martin was a one-woman dog. He loved his Mama. Don't get me wrong, he loved my husband and his siblings, but Martin was definitely my mother-in-law's baby. Losing him was like losing one of her children."

"That is exactly how I feel about my Silky!" she said.

"Then don't worry, she'll be around to torment you for another 15 or so years," I said.

(Insert thoughtful pause.)

"Can I ask you your opinion on something?" she said.

"Sure."

"What do you think about Silky's breeding with Schnauzers?"

Well, I think we all know what I should have said, Internet. If I were a moral, decent person I would have told her all about Deuce and Lady Belle. How when they are together they makes Bibles shake and priests sweat blood. I should have said: NO! YOU CANNOT COMBINE THOSE GENES. IT WILL RESULT IN UNSPEAKABLE EVIL Instead, I told her another truth.

I said, "Well, I can tell you honestly that Deuce has never met a Schnauzer he didn't like."

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See the left ear. We call that The Naughty Ear. It's always sticking up in a playful sort of way. It's also a Badness Barometer. It measures his level of mischievousness. In this picture he's at an 8, which is equivalent to Red on the Homeland Security Advisory Scale. SEVERE RISK OF TERRORIST ATTACK. Now take your fucking shoes off and go through the metal detector, sheep.