He needs a mate.
[Text and picture by Vasantha Angamuthu]
We named our pug Mr Jones because I had in mind a well-behaved portly little companion who would frolic lovingly when guests came and who would bring me the papers and slippers in the evening. Mr Jones, I thought, was a name that suggested good manners, good cheer and good breeding.
These days we’re calling him Engelbert Humperdinck, Humper, Mr Tom Jones (remember the pelvic thrust) and Free Willy.
You see Mr Jones has just matured into a young adult and, like male young adults the world over, has discovered sex. His tragedy is that there is no Mrs Jones around for him to indulge his new habit so all soft furnishings in my home have become fair game.
His favourites include the olive green raw silk curtains which I had especially made for the dining room. There must be something in its swing and its texture but Mr Jones has taken to mounting this curtain and having his way with it as it sways against his thrusting back legs.
All cushions, similarly, have become objects of his lust and the load of washing has grown incrementally since he attained his maturity because, quite frankly, I am loathe to lounge about the place on a cushion that may or may not have been royally felt up by the 30cm sentient being in the house.
At first he would look about the place guiltily before mounting anything padded and soft, giving us embarrassed backwards looks to check whether anyone was watching before breaking into rhythm.
Now he has become far more brazen. Often jumping on the bed, looking longingly at the pillows before gathering the bed coverings into a suitable mound before starting that Tom Jones-like backwards and forwards hip motion that have come to signify all that is wrong in our home.
His embarrassment has long been replaced by his need to satisfy his canine needs. My embarrassment is that I believe it’s not long before he starts clasping his front paws around the unsuspecting legs of visitors and having his way with them. It is for this reasons that I am a little wary of having people around for dinner. I just cannot see close friends enjoying roast lamb and salad after trying to shake off a determined pug who has found purchase on their lower limbs – even those who are super fond of him.
In an attempt to find a solution I have had discussions with the vet about neutering Mr Jones as I have learned that this little nip and tuck will calm him right down. Alas friends who have heard about my intentions are aghast. And everyone, with the exception of my daughter who – like me – has to live with Mr Jones’s fruitless search for fulfilment with the soft furnishings, is advising that the least I can do is mate him first before committing this callous act.
Of course every male I have discussed this with has winced and his hands have gone unwittingly to cup his nether regions protectively.
But the vets say I should go ahead and get it done and various websites say there is no need to mate him before getting it done.
But when I get home and his squished up face breaks into a welcome grin and he wags his stumpy little tail with pure affection I feel like Cruella de Ville for even thinking of consigning him to a lifetime of never experiencing sexual fulfillment with anything but cottons and linens.
And that’s where I am – torn between removing the itch or letting him be in the hopes that he will get over this phase. He’s only a year – a teenager, not yet quite an adult – so maybe he will grow out of it.
Or I can get him one of those doggie sex substitutes. Maybe they have them at Palika Bazaar.
Would appreciate all and any advice on whether Mr Jones should go under the knife.
[The author lives in GK-I]