Dudley, we hardly knew thee...

In the early 1980's, when I was about 13, we got a dog.  When I say dog, I mean that it resembled a dog in physiological sense, but other than that, it was more like a fluffy rat.  After much heated family debate, somehow it was decided that the dog's name was to be "Dudley."  My sister wanted to name him something gay like "Unicorn", or "Rainbow".  I wanted to name him "Morris Day".  We were both overruled by our parents because, at our ages, did not have the familial* lobbying power we have today.  Who am I kidding, I still don't have any patriarchal power.  This is why my son has a cat named "Sissy", instead of a cat named "Emperor Stabbasaurus".

*Note:  I thought I was making up a word, when I used the term "familial", but apparently, it is an actual word.  Check it here if you don't believe me.

Ok, so anyway, Dudley was a great dog.  He had a plucky, never give up, attitude.  He was a small Anglo-American (translation: white) dog, half cocker spaniel, and half poodle (idiotically, this is called a cockapoo), and had the amazing ability to transform himself into "dog luggage", meaning, that since he was so small, you could grab him under his belly, lift him up, and carry him around like a furry Samsonite over-night bag.  You could carry him like this all day if you felt like it.  I am not sure if he liked it, but no one ever heard him complain about "luggage" time.  Did I mention he was a very loyal dog?

Dudley did not get much respect.  We had two other dogs, both female, and both 3 times the size of Dudley.  These dogs (Molly, and Peanut) apparently, were lesbian dogs and would not give Dudley the time of day when it came to matters of procreation.  We also had a couple of cats, both bigger than Dudley, and they would kick his hairy white ass every  time they got a chance.

All of this lack of sex and domestic abuse never got Dudley down, so one day, doing what any sex-starved male would do,  he devised a plan for self gratification.  I swear I am not making any of this up, so before you send me emails calling me a liar, be aware that I have plenty of witnesses that would be able to corroborate my story.  Anyway, I have a sister that is 8 years my junior.  When she was very small, she had a blanket that she was very fond of.  After she was three years old, she gave the blanket up.  My mother, being ever so nostalgic, decided to keep the blanket for prosperity and put it into a box in the crawlspace.  The blanket stayed in the box in the crawlspace for a few years until one day, when Dudley, in an moment of resourcefulness seen only in 14 year old boys, or sometimes raccoons (they have very dexterous hands), somehow got into the crawlspace and did some looking around.  He found my sisters old blanket and decided that it would be adequate for his "needs."  What he did with the blanket afterwards, is not only hilarious, but disturbing at the same time.

Whenever Dudley would feel the urge to take matters into his own hands, such as, when one of the larger female dogs would bend over just right, or when he saw a hot bitch on the TV, he would go get the blanket.  While biting on one end, and bunching the other end up underneath him, he would achieve "red rocket"* status and go to town until he was satiated.

*Note: For all of you who have a normal sense of humor, the term "red rocket" is a euphemism for when a dog gets "excited", as evidenced by a South Park episode.

We all were, of course, rather mortified by this behavior, but decided to let him have his blanket since it really did not inconvenience anyone.  My sister sure as hell did not want it back after witnessing what he did to it.  This went on for many years, and it really only had a minor impact our lives. A couple of times we would sitting on the couch entertaining friends and out of nowhere, Dudley would come strutting down the stairs dragging the blanket behind him.  Our friends would think how adorable it was that our cute little dog carried around a blanket, that is, until he achieved "red rocket" mode and attempted to "blast off" into it.

After a long self-gratifying dog life, Dudley passed on.  I was not around when it happened, so I am not sure about the funeral, or what was said at the eulogy, but I am positive that he was buried with his blanket.

Farewell Dudley.  We will miss you!!