THE CRUDE SENIOR

Doggy Style

Life of an untrained codger

The older I get, the more I act like a dog. Maybe I’m not as cute as a poodle or a pug, but my behavior sure resembles a canine.

I first realized the dog similarity after a meal — especially if I eat food that’s high in fiber. I scratch at the door until my wife takes me for a walk. But I quickly turn around because I need to have a bowel movement. Otherwise, I’d find a pee-scented patch of grass to do my business, letting the other dogs know I was there.

I enjoy chasing rubber balls on the beach.

Bikes piss me off.

Dog parks turn me on.

I enjoy sniffing a stranger’s behind.

When people say, “Look, he’s smiling,” I really have gas.

I only let people with clean hands shake my paws.

I hate it when I go to the Vet. The doctor always sticks something long and sharp into my butt or threatens to remove my genitalia.

I often lick my balls when nervous.

My wife has me on a short leash. And I wear a studded collar from PetSmart that makes me look like Sid Vicious. She also puts a bandana around my neck, saying it makes me appear more youthful — although I’m not a hippy dog or a trendy mutt.

I like to stick my head out the window when my wife drives. I enjoy how the rush of wind feels against my flapping ears. Sometimes she allows me to sit on her lap when she’s at the wheel — but only if she doesn’t feel bloated.

I’m not fond of how cats smell, and small children annoy me.

I prefer heavy petting to brushing.

The doggy style is too confusing. The backdoor is easier to navigate.

I often wait for the mailman to put mail in the slot, and I’ll bark like hell at the Amazon delivery person whenever I see his truck go by. While I don’t go as far as biting any of them — I will growl and show my teeth.

Sometimes when I sit too long, my rear end itches. My proctologist says I have pruritus and should use TUCKS Medicated Pads. But I prefer to scratch my hindquarters for hours until I draw blood or my wife puts a cone of shame around my neck.

If I’m a naughty dog, like eating food from the trash or peeing in the house, my wife either talks to me in a condescending tone — Now, Harry, you know you’re not supposed to make a tinkle in the house — or hits me with a rolled-up newspaper if she’s lost her patience.

Of course, I’m a bit of a whore — I’ll chase any female dog on four legs — neutered or otherwise. My lipstick seems to pop out at all hours of the day, even when I’m not horny. And then the neighbors complain that I’m humping their pure breeds and threaten to call a dogcatcher if it continues, but I don’t care.

My wife will bail me out of trouble — she always does.

© 2022 Mark Tulin

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