Everybody has that weird thing they wanted to be when they grew up: Cowboy, Astronaut, Ballerina, Superhero, Taxi Driver, Stripper, or whatever. Mine was dog breeder. I mean who doesn't want a job that involves tons and tons of puppies? Only the devil, that's who.
When I was two years old my dog had twelve puppies, and I thought I was one of them. I napped with them, I drank my bottle while they drank from my dog's tits, I rode them around like little ponies (okay, some of this sounds a little f-ed up, but it was cute, I swear). So at 13 I convinced my parents it was time for more puppies.
I bought a book on dog breeding, I bought a little notebook and made a checklist of everything I would need.
Obviously the first step was to get my dog, Coco (named after Coca Cola, with which I had a weird obsession), to bang another dog. This seems like the easiest part BUT IT IS NOT. First we paid $50 for a male dog to be dropped off at our house so they could mate. Basically they ran around our back yard for hours while the male dog tried to hump Coco and she tried to tell him "No means no". Then they somehow got into the house while I had friends over and ran around the house humping each other. This is how my friend Pete found out that he is allergic to dog sperm. I shit you not. (I have a feeling you would like me to go into more details about how he learned this, but I will leave it up to your imagination. Hint: Pete did not have sex with a dog.)
But after all that, Coco still wasn't pregnant. So we paid $250 to drop her off with a professional breeder. The breeder's dog was named Pepsi, which is just clearly fate, and voila... tummy full of puppies. Like a good little girl, I waited patiently for the puppies to come out of her vagina. And one day I received a call at school that one had. My mother told me to come home right away and witness the miracle of birth.
But that didn't happen because by the time I got home she'd already given birth to two puppies and it looked like that might be all she wrote. Finally, after an hour and a half, I went out to get something to eat. When I came back there were still no more puppies, so that was that. The smallest litter ever. We kept one of the puppies, and sold the other one to our neighbors for $50, leaving me like $400 in the hole. Our seemingly nice neighbors turned that poor puppy into a crazed nightmare of a dog and I've always felt guilty for that.
But that's not really all. Years later I found out that when I went out to get something to eat my dog had given birth to a third puppy. This is some soap opera shit, right? What happened, you wonder, did the puppy come back as a full grown dog and challenge the other puppy's claim to the family ranch? No. That didn't happen. Here's what happened:
I had a dream that my mom had octuplets and that Coco ate one of them. I told my mom.
Mom: Oh, probably because Coco ate one of her puppies.
Me: Say WHAT?!
Mom: Did I never tell you that?
That's right, Coco ATE that puppy. She ATE HIM. And probably by accident. My mom said Coco was licking the amniotic sac off the puppy and then suddenly it was gone. Coco looked at my mom with sad doggy eyes that seemed to say "Ooops. My bad."
That is when I learned I definitely could not be a professional dog breeder. I set my sights on something a little more realistic: Vampire Hunter.
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