My Dog Tulip Page #4

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when she is in season.

She has two kinds

of, uh, urination...

a necessity and a social.

In necessity,

she squats squarely and abruptly

right down on her shins,

her hind legs

forming a kind of dam

against the stream

that gushes out from behind.

Her expression is complacent.

For social urination,

she seldom squats,

but balances herself

on one hind leg,

the other being cocked up

in the air.

A single drop will do.

The expression on her face

is businesslike,

as though

she were signing a check.

She attends socially

to a wide range of objects,

the commonest group being

the droppings of other animals.

Fresh horse dung having

a special attraction for her

and is always liberally sprayed.

Then she sprinkles any food

that has been thrown out...

buns, bones...

fish, bread...

vomit...

unless it is food

she wishes to eat.

Dead and decaying animals

are carefully attended to.

There came a day

when she suddenly added my urine

to the other privileged objects

of her social attention.

How touched I was.

How honored I felt.

"Oh, Tulip.

Thank you," I said.

And now she always does it.

So I feel that if ever there

were differences between us...

...they're washed out now.

I feel a proper dog.

Soon after Tulip

came into my possession,

I set about finding

a husband for her.

She had had a lonely

and frustrated life hitherto.

Now she should have a full one.

A full life naturally included

the pleasures of sex

and maternity.

And although I could not,

of course, accommodate her

little puppies in my small flat,

that was a matter to which

I would give my attention later.

Miss, uh, Canvenini,

provided me with the address

of a Mr. Blandish,

who lived in sheen and owned

a good Alsatian named max

whom he was willing to lend.

Max was then revealed

as a heavy, handsome dog

with the grave deportment

of the old family retainer.

When I was invited

into the sitting room...

show the gentleman in,

max.

...he kept me

under close surveillance.

The house and its management

clearly belonged to him.

To have offered him any kind

of familiarity, it was plain,

would have been as shocking

a breach of etiquette

as if one had attempted

to stroke the butler.

Matches.

Matches. Are there no matches

in the house?

Oh, well, never mind.

L-i think I've got some.

Thank you, max.

Uh, then, will this be

his first experience

of, um, uh

With the opposite sex?

I've been told there might be

some difficulties

unless, uh...

oh, you needn't

worry about that.

Max knows his oats,

all right.

Oh, he's been

married before, then?

He's never been churched,

it's true.

But when we were down in the

country a couple years ago,

he happened upon a stray b*tch

in heat...

not at all a classy one,

either...

and had his wicked way with her

on the spot.

He'll be delighted to repeat

the performance with Tulip,

I can assure you.

Oh, then, well, well,

it was only that...

leave it all to me.

I've got a very reliable

little book,

not that max will need

to look up anything in it.

It's all right, max.

The gentleman

has permission.

In case

you took the wrong hat.

A formal introduction

was effected a few days later.

The sound

of max's throaty rumble

as we advanced up the driveway

announced that he was on duty.

And the opening door

disclosed him planted squarely

on the threshold as before.

But no sooner had max approached

Tulip in the most affable manner

than she rounded

vigorously upon him

and drove him down the passage

into the pantry.

The blandishes took no offense.

Mr. Blandish.

"I see she is..."

quite the sweet

and proper little b*tch.

I can see them get along

famously together

when her time comes.

Uh, more chuckles and winks

at Mrs."B."

I could not help wondering

from what source of knowledge

such optimism derived.

That should be between

her seventh and ninth day.

...his index finger

knowingly pointing to heaven.

The nuptials shall take place

in the back garden.

...uh, pointing at my tie.

"Well, uh, my own information

says a later day,"

I ventured to remark,

"and that the second week

might be better."

But he firmly replied

that I was mistaken

and I could safely leave matters

to his judgment.

I then suggested that they

might be exercised together

between now and then.

What a good idea!

...cried Mrs. Blandish.

But her husband was instantly

and flatly opposed.

It was Mrs. Blandish

who took max for walks

while he himself was at work.

And he would not permit her to

have any part in this business,

at any rate, in his absence.

When we left, max was again

withdrawn from hiding,

to say goodbye to Tulip.

His other wife

bit him in the shoulder,

but he won't at all mind

a few more bites

when his time

with Tulip comes.

eh?

He said this with such gusto

that I glanced again,

involuntary, at Mrs. Blandish,

who was smiling roguishly at him

with her small, even teeth.

Dear Tulip chose to come to heat

in the midst

of the most arctic winter

this chilly country had suffered

for 50 years.

But it was my first experience

of her in this condition,

and I was enchanted.

I was touched by the mysterious

process at work within her

and felt very sweet towards her.

That small, dark bud...

her vulva...

became swollen

and more noticeable

as she walked ahead of me,

and sometimes

it would set up a tickle

or some other sensation,

for she would suddenly

squat down on the road

and fall to licking it.

Tulip is still bleeding,

I'm afraid.

Oh, not to worry.

Yes.

Never mind.

Everything

will be quite all right

after we leave them alone

together in the garden.

They'll get down to business

in no time.

Yes.

Yes.

Everything will be

quite all right.

The end of this fiasco

will already be apparent.

Max was propelled by Tulip

back into the house.

And so it was

that this marked the end

of Mr. Blandish's indulgence

and our visit.

"You bad girl," I said to Tulip

as we trudged away

through the snow.

But she was now,

when she had me back to herself,

in her most disarming mood.

And as soon as we were home,

she attempted

to bestow upon my leg

all the love

that the pusillanimous max

had been denied.

Uh, miss Canvenini informed me

that mating dogs

was not always a simple matter

and added

the belated information

that when they were

inexperienced,

the application of a little

vaseline to the b*tch

sometimes helped to excite

and define the interest,

besides acting as a lubricant.

She then put me in touch

with a Mr. Plum,

who owned a well-kept Alsatian

off putney hill.

"Now, do be serious,"

I said to Tulip.

I rang Mr. Plum's bell.

He at once emerged

and led us to the garage.

"Nice dog," I said.

"What's his name?"

Uh, chum.

...said Mr. Plum.

Mr. Plum looks at his watch.

"Perhaps Tulip would concentrate

better if we left them alone,"

suggested Mr. Plum.

He looks at his watch again.

Mrs. Plum has a cup of tea

for us in the flat.

...Mr. Plum added,

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