Dear Dog Fancy

Dogs, like everything else, have magazines dedicated to them. There is one called Dog Fancy and it even has a centrefold of a dog; I kid you not. I was reading it in the vet clinic waiting room and it did make me think of a dog writing in to the editor……..

Dear Dog Fancy,

Let me tell you about the new man in my life; he’s a real terrier. I met him at obedience school on a cold, Sunday morning. He had a name tag around his neck and his name was Bob. He was wearing a little tartan coat and looked just like a thermos flask. He trotted over to me and said “What’s that perfume you are wearing? It’s lovely.”

I said thank you, I rolled in it this morning.

He was quite forward and asked me back to his place the following day. I trotted around to his house it wasn’t long before we were standing in Bob’s basket, sniffing each other. He then asked me before we go any further, what precautions had I taken. I told him that I had an IUD: An internal uterine deficiency; I had been spayed. He said that he had year round protection as well, as he was wearing a long life flea collar. Then things got really hot and we made love; doggy style. We did it everywhere: in his basket, in the lounge room and in the kitchen, with our nails making that little tippy-toe sound on the ceramic tile floor. We did it in the park and in the shopping centre. We did it at the local primary school, at the morning general assembly; in front of the preps and the grade ones. It wasn’t until the principal threw a bucket of cold water over us, did it put an end to our erotic frenzy. I just lay there exhausted, while Bob licked his bits. Then all his mates came over, sniffed his genitals and asked him what I was like. He said I was a real bitch.

What shall I do? I love him so much.

Lucy.

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