Dog Training The American Male (27 page)

Jacob Cope entered
his home, having
spent the last few hours of daylight at the beach, contemplating his life.
“Nancy, I’m home.”

He placed the newspaper on the
shelf by the hall mirror and kicked off his sandals, leaving traces of sand by
the front door. His bladder ready to burst, he ducked into the hall bathroom,
lifted the lid and seat and urinated. Flushed. Rinsed his hands. Bypassing the
neatly-folded hand towel on the rack, he used his shirt to dry his hands,
mindful of his bandaged belly.

“Nance?”

“In the kitchen.”

He found her at the table, working
at her laptop. “How was work?” she asked without looking up, her voice
inflection a telltale bit too high.

“Fine,” he lied. “Where’s Sam?”
He glanced outside, the German Shepherd nowhere to be seen.

“I took him to the vet.”

“The vet? Why? What’s wrong?”

“He wigged out this morning,
attacking another dog. I spoke to a friend, who suggested we have Sam neutered.
It seemed like a good idea, so—”

“You had my dog’s balls cut off without
asking me!”

“You bought the dog without
asking
me.”

“That’s different.”

“I don’t see how. Anyway, the vet
told me Sam should have been neutered when we first got him. It’s better for
the dog.”

“How? How is it better for my dog
to chop off his nuts?”

“For one thing, you’ll never have
to worry about Sam getting testicular cancer. Plus his penis will smell better
and look a lot better—it’s embarrassing to have company over with that big rock
sack flopping around between his legs.”

“He was born that way! Jesus,
Nancy, you took away his manhood.”

“More like his ego. At least now
I won’t have to worry about Sam attacking every female dog that wiggles her
naked ass at him.”

Jacob felt the blood rush from
his face. A moment later his knees buckled and he hit the floor.

THE
VAGINA DIALOGUES

The mansion was
situated on an acre of oceanfront property in Manalapan, a small island town
just north of Boynton Beach. Jacob drove up to the iron gate with the giant
letter C and pressed the button on the speaker. “Hello?”

“Name?” The male voice seemed
bothered by his intrusion.

“Jacob Cope. I’m a guest of Ruby
Kleinhenz.”

The gate retracted on either
side.

Jacob followed the stone paver
driveway up to the two story, twenty-two room, five-car garage dwelling.

He parked . . . and
prayed. “Dear God Almighty: Out of love for Nancy, I jerked-off twice today.
Please don’t let me get horny around Ruby Kleinhenz—I really need this gig.
Thanks, God. Oh . . . sorry for saying ‘jerked-off,’ that
was kind of rude. I should have said masturbated. Actually, you probably
already know what I did since you’re God and you see everything. Amen.”

Reaching across the console, he
grabbed the suitcase lying on the passenger seat and exited the van. Before he
could ring the bell, the right side of the double-door opened, revealing a flamboyant
gay man in his early forties, dressed in a tight-fitting charcoal colored
tee-shirt and white Ralph Lauren slacks, the high hem exposing his bare ankles
and hemp loafers. A light knit salmon-pink cardigan was draped like a cape over
his shoulders; silver bracelets adorned his left wrist.

“
Namaste
. My name is Cyril
and you must be . . . oh my God, I know you, don’t I? This
is so embarrassing, but wait . . . don’t you dare tell me.
I know, we met on the dance floor at
Twist
in Miami. It was White Party
week and you were dressed in a French cuff with scarab cuff links which
intoxicated me like heroin.”

“No—”

“Okay, just give me one clue—did
it involve a pirate costume and a fake parrot named Mr. Tweed?”

“It involved a dog.”

“Eww, really?”

“You tried to sell me a Bichon at
the pet store where you work.”

“Okay, but the dog
was
white?”

“Yeah. So what?”

“Gaydar! It never lets me down.”

“Dude, I’m not gay. What are you
doing here anyway? Shouldn’t you be selling cats or something?”

“Don’t get testy. Olivia invited me
over to see your act. She’s hosting a big gig on the family yacht for her
father’s eighty-third birthday—as if she really wants to celebrate the
occasion. All I can say is you’d better be good, especially after you waited
until I filled out all that paperwork to cancel my puppy sale. See, Mr. Jacob,
I do remember. Come this way.”

He followed Cyril inside. They
passed through a two-story grand salon illuminated by a crystal chandelier, then
trekked across the polished marble floors past a twenty-seat dining room. An
alcove led them to an atrium, the indoor greenhouse’s glass doors exiting to
the back of the mansion.

“Holy shit.”

The tranquil azure waters of an
invisible-line twenty-meter pool appeared to run straight into the ocean, its
southern border melding into a stone and wood deck featuring a fireplace, koi
pond, waterfalls, bridge, and sun deck.

“Hi, there.”

Jacob turned. Ruby waved from a
padded lounge chair. She was wearing a blue metallic micro-thong bikini, the
woman in the chair next to her dressed in identical apparel, only metallic-purple.

Hail Mary, full of face . . . I
ask the Lord my soul to take.

“Jacob, I want you to meet my
dearest most-wonderful friend in the world, Olivia Cabot. Olivia, this is the
young man I’ve been bragging to you about all morning.”

Olivia Cabot smiled. “He’s cute,
but he dresses like my gardener. Cyril, think you can style him up a bit for my
father’s party?”

“Bitch, please. I could dress him
in a Hefty bag and it’d be an improvement.”

Jacob forced his eyes away from
the two nearly naked women. “So, uh, where do you want me to perform?”

Olivia cooed, “Why don’t you
perform for us in my romp room.”

“How ‘bout the sauna?” Ruby
responded. “I like it sweaty.”

“The whirlpool,” Olivia retorted.
“The jets act like vibrators.”

“My guest room.”

“Better in my bedroom.”

“Better in my mouth.”

“Better in my ass!”

The women hi-fived, laughing
hysterically.

“In her ass . . . as
if.” Cyril rolled his eyes at Jacob, who was sweating profusely. “Well, look at
you—nervous as a virgin prince at a prison rodeo. Hey Cougars? Your friend here
just shit himself a brick.”

Ruby turned to Jacob, her voice
inflecting a motherly tone. “Sweetie, just grab a chair and set everything up
right here.”

Locating a straight-backed deck
chair, Jacob placed it on the koi pond’s bridge facing his audience of three.
“Ready?”

“Go for it, sweet-cheeks.” Olivia
winked.

“I, uh . . . okay.
Good afternoon. My name is Jacob, and this . . .” he opened his
case, removing a Lisa Simpson dummy, “this is my friend, Lisa. Lisa, welcome to
the show.”

“Thank you, Jacob.” He strained
to reach the practiced higher octave, earning applause from Ruby. “Lisa, you
told me earlier you had something important to discuss.”

“Yes, Jacob. I wanted to talk to
you about Mrs. Henderson.”

“And who’s Mrs. Henderson?”

“She’s . . . my
vagina.”

“Oh God!” Cyril burst out.

“I’m terribly worried about Mrs.
Henderson. She’s getting older and more wrinkled. Plus she’s growing hair, only
the hair isn’t yellow like mine, it’s dark and curly. And it itches. I’m afraid
to scratch it in public.”

“Because you’re afraid people
might think you’re playing with it?”

“No. Because I’m afraid our Tea
Party Governor will pass some stupid law making it illegal for me to even own a
Mrs. Henderson.”

Cyril had tears streaming down
his face. “You go, girl.”

“To be honest, Lisa, I feel a
little uncomfortable speaking to an eight-year-old about her vagina.”

“That’s exactly what my mother
said. Fortunately, I found quite a few references to it on the internet. I’m
scared, Jacob.”

“What are you so scared of,
Lisa?”

“For one thing, high cholesterol.
You should see how much meat Mrs. Henderson consumes in some of these videos.
The poor dear is being turned into a sausage factory. Which brings up a new
term I just learned: Blow Job. Does the woman get paid to inflate the man’s
penis by blowing air into his pee hole? Does the expression, ‘this job really
blows’ relate to the pay scale or nature of the work?”

“All good questions, Lisa.”

“Here’s another. If a vegan is
someone who only eats veggies, why isn’t a lesbian called a vagan?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you know the anagram for
penis is snipe, a wading bird with a long, hard, stiff bill? Most snipes fall
into the genus,
Gallinago
, the closest relative being the woodcock.
Pretty deep, huh, Jacob?”

“Very.”

“I only ask because my vagina is
made of wood. Simple logic dictates that I acquire the services of a wood cock
to please Mrs. Henderson.”

“Just don’t get splinters in your
mouth when you’re polishing his wood.”

“Oh my, I never even considered
that! That job really would blow, no doubt pushing me toward a vagan
lifestyle.”

“You’re a little girl, Lisa, you
shouldn’t be thinking about these things.”

“It’s unavoidable, Jacob, it’s
always on television.”

“Really? Lisa, what TV show
features such graphic sexual content?”

“
Family Guy
.”

* * * *
*

Nancy briefed Spencer
as she led the
dog trainer through her home to the back yard. “Everything was fine until Sam
saw that other dog. It was scary, I could barely restrain him.”

“I’m not sure neutering him was
the solution.”

“I needed to set some
boundaries.”

“You probably had the collar
positioned too low. No worries, I brought Sam a prong collar. You’ll use it
whenever you train him outside the home. As for Sam’s aggressive nature around
other dogs, you can fix that with a little training.”

“Forget it. I’m paying you—you do
the training.”

“And what good would that do?
Sam’s your dog, not mine. His aggressiveness is a reflection of your own
conscious nature.”

“My nature? This is his previous
owner’s fault, not mine. I barely knew the dog before I let him move in. I mean . . . oh
never mind.”

“Let’s put that little theory to
the test, shall we?” Spencer opened the sliding glass door and greeted Sam. The
German Shepherd immediately calmed, its ears drooping, its tail low and tucked
between its bandaged groin. The former military man leashed the dog and led him
out front to his parked van, Nancy following them out.

“Sam, sit!”

The dog waited in a sit position while
Spencer opened the back doors, sending Tilda into a frenzy. He opened the cage.
“Tilda, heel!”

The female leapt down from her
perch to take her place on Spencer’s right. Moving Sam to his left, the trainer
attempted to walk both dogs, the male Shepherd fighting to get to the female to
sniff her behind.

“Sam, stop it, that’s
disgusting!” Nancy pushed her dog’s snout away from Tilda’s hind quarters.

“There’s nothing to be distressed
about—a dog sniffing another dog's genitalia is perfectly natural. Sam is
merely attempting to obtain information from Tilda’s scent.”

“Maybe it’s natural to you, but I
don’t want my dog sniffing another female’s ass.”

“As you wish.” Spencer tugged on
the choker chain, sending Sam scurrying back to his side of the trainer.

A minute later both dogs were
walking steadily and happily, flanking Spencer.

“Well?”

“Well . . . obviously
cutting off his nuts took away some of his aggressiveness. Besides, this was a
Golden Retriever, not another Shepherd. Not a
female
Shepherd.”

“Fine. We’ll visit a dog park
with Sam when he’s fully mended. For now, know this: A dog will reflect its
owner’s state of mind. If you’re confident, they’ll remain submissive. If
you’re angry, the animal will register your tense feelings and become
aggressive.”

“What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything,
Nancy, I’m stating a fact. The problem’s not Sam, it’s you.”