The Hottest Bitch on the Block.

She’s slim, sleek and blonde, with dreamy chocolate eyes. She shakes her booty with carefully calculated charm, and flicks her golden mane provocatively at any males within spitting distance. Her raw, animal whimper reduces them to quivering, libidinous heaps of testosterone. Her ears prick up and her snout trembles at the mere mention of the unmentionable. Meet Smelly Dog, the hottest bitch on the block.

People usually congratulate us on Smelly Dog’s behaviour. She walks at our heel without a lead, and politely sits and waits until we tell her it’s safe to cross the road. She gives her paw, rolls on demand, and doesn’t rip your fingers off if you offer her a morsel of cheese. But when Herr Hormone gets in on the act, Smelly Dog transforms into a she-wolf. A diabolical dervish with her butt on fire. Nymphodog.

Smelly Dog, the hottest bitch on the block. Forget the wining and dining, kiddo. This girl means business.

Smelly Dog, the hottest bitch on the block. Forget the wining and dining, kiddo. This girl means business.

As Lily Allen sang recently, it’s hard out here for a bitch. For ten days now, poor Smelly Dog has been glued to the front door. She has been possessed by a sudden gnawing desire to reproduce, and spends her day whining and making eyes at the line-up of drooling suitors waiting impatiently on the other side of the window. Instinct motivates her every move, and when she hears the door handle creak she will make a break for the door with a determination I would only show if there was a crate of beer and barrel of peanuts waiting for me on the other side.

Although I can’t smell a thing except the usual eau de mongrel, Smelly Dog’s presence  appears to be a glaringly obvious blip on the olfactory radar of the entire canine population within a 10km radius. They have all homed in on my dog’s pheromones and found their way to our home. The neighbour’s overgrown piece of land now has so many highways stampeded through it that I’m almost expecting toll booths manned by poodles to spring up soon. The day is punctuated by angry voices shouting at male dogs who insist on lifting their legs against the neighbours’ cars, garden furniture and pee-drenched gnomes in a bid to leave an olfactory visiting card for the fair maiden.

This situation makes the usually anodyne occupation of walking the dog a highly dangerous activity. It’s akin to walking a fig leaf-clad Scarlett Johansson through a high security prison, with the added complication of being tied to Ms J by a rope. She is driven by the combined hormonal force of 500 sex-deprived nuns, has no intention whatsoever to escape, and drags you into the fray with all the enthusiasm of a shopoholic crossing the threshold of Harvey Nichols on the first day of the summer sales.

Within five minutes of leaving the house, we are surrounded by mutts of all shapes, sizes, colours and race. This appreciative audience drools silently as Smelly Dog squats to do what a girl’s gotta do.  She pulls me at speed down the lane towards a four-legged lone-ranger, and I slalom between piles of dog poo as the gang of admirers behind us inhale the smell of her offerings with all the melancholy lovesickness of spotty teenagers sniffing a rock star’s sweaty T-shirt.

Remember the romantic Lady and the Tramp scene when two dogs share a plate of spaghetti? Well, forget it. It’s all lies. Smelly Dog is a modern girl: she homes in on her man, then calls the shots with remarkable audacity. Last year, we fixed up a few dates with Eros, the real hunk of a Golden Retriever up the road. The poor lad was soon completely overtaken by events – although Smelly Dog didn’t dress up in black leather and whip out (ar hum) a pair of handcuffs, she wasn’t far from it. She was outrageously flirtatious, and the poor beast was laid out flat on the ground like a spent Goliath every evening. But did she finally let him get his evil way? No way, José. Motherhood was not her cup of tea, and nor was arranged marriage. But teasing her suitor was right up her street. Bitch by name, bitch by nature.

When I took her out for her late-night wee yesterday, duly equipped with large stick and my best menacing voice, the amourous sheepdog was still hiding in a bush. He crept out and shyly flicked his ear out of his eye. It was all Smelly Dog needed as a come-on, and she belted up to him, stuffed her snout in his face as a perfunctory greeting, then did a neat 180. To his surprise, she flicked her tail sideways, niftily reversed and stuck her rump in his face. Shocking. No spaghetti dinner, no Italian music. She didn’t even ask what his parents did for a living. NADA. He couldn’t believe his luck. She turned her head, and I swear she winked at him. He jumped at the chance, only to be shooed away by a furious and determined MM.

Life’s a bitch. Ten more days to go.

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65 thoughts on “The Hottest Bitch on the Block.

  1. Well it looks like Smelly’s doing better than the rest of us at choosing her potential suitor. She’s gone for the shy guy, the one who doesn’t parade around in front of her strutting his stuff. The not as attractive, but has a certain somethin’ somethin’ guy. The dependable one, who watches from a distance and waits for her to come to him. Got to give her credit MM, she’s chosen wisely 😉 xx

  2. That had me hooting with laughter…she’s the Princess Diana of the canine world!

    The hat in the photograph is most apt too…it reminded me that I had seen hats like that on my last couple of trips to Europe, always worn by girls who managed to give an impression of availability which was standing them in good stead in bars and cafes….

    Good luck for the next ten days…walking softly and carrying a big stick…

    • Maybe you should lend me Monty. (There’s only a “u” between “Monty” and “Mounty”, after all.) How are you getting on with your ménagerie’s hormones?
      Smelly Dog is a real tart – if she was a woman, she’d be gyrating down the street in a bra, mini-skirt and high heels. Oh, and her ultra sexy hat, too (taken out of the dressing-up box).

  3. Ha ha. This reminds me of my sister. She had cats and as she passed Dr Mc Donalds house she always remarked, “I’m suing him for maintenance as I know he is the father of those kittens”

    • It’s Tric! How are you doing? Ronald McDonald rapes kitty cats. Or his cat does. Quel horreur. I’m sure that she could have tried – we live in a world where you can sue McDonalds because the coffee is too hot.

  4. This is so funny! I always have had male dogs. I just watched a Sex and the City the other night when Charlottes Caviler was in heat and it was very funny too! Hold onto that stick!!

  5. Haha oooh my gosh. Are you going to spay her? This is terrifying. I remember keeping my dog under lock and key the first time this happened! I wasn’t about to have some neighborhood prowler jumping the fence to get a piece of that expensive, well bred ass.

    • Oh, the spaying story. Now that’s a very long story that requires settling down with a bottle of wine and some pizza, Aussa. MM wanted to get her spayed,but PF had visions of lovely little GR puppies galloping around the house. When we finally had a house with a garden, Smelly Dog went on heat strike for two years, no doubt to pay us back for moving house and thwarting her evil plan to go all the way with the grotty poodle she’d had her eye on 800 km away. Now it’s too late because spaying them later in life makes them more prone to breast tumors. So we’ll hang on in there.

      • Oh gosh, so much I didn’t know about spaying! And she really went on strike? She’s a feisty one, that Smelly Dog, and so very amorous.

    • Hello, Mike, and welcome to the madhouse! I am a very brave woman, believe me. And I have to be, or she’ll leave me offerings on the carpet, and that’s even worse than fighting off mongrels with my bare hands 🙂 Imagine a Roman arena full of baying hounds, and MM dressed in full Joan of Arc attire stepping out in their midst with her dumb blonde on the end of a lead.

      • My mind is racing trying to keep up with that picture, but I like it! Taking our cat to get that issue sorted out today, actually. Good luck fighting off the mongrels.

  6. How cruel are you… you allow her the chance to get up close and personal with a dog and bang you drag her away… she is going to get a reputation in the area as a tease, and it will be all your fault… let her just have one night of pleasure, how would you feel in her paws… wonder what she called you in doggie language…
    Loved this post, you do have me laughing out loud literally…

    • Yoh, Bulldog 🙂 I don’t feel guilty at all – it’s not my fault if she only needs seconds to get “close up and personal”:) Any other female needs phone calls, flowers, wining, dining and “will you be mine” flash mobs outside the office window. The idea of puppies all over my home makes me shiver – we have been painting, and paid a fortune to get 180 year-old doors repaired after the previous owner’s dog chewed them to pieces. I am NOT starting again. I would send you the puppies, but you’re a bit too far away 😀

    • So he’s the poodle! Tell you daughter to check he’s still around and hasn’t trotted off across France to visit the Bitch From Hell. You’re right about the similarity with humans. However, male dogs seem to be more polite amongst themselves – an atmosphere of male solidarity reigns in the group, none of them are drunk and they don’t have “mine’s bigger than yours” fights in public.

  7. A friend of mine has a male and a female dog. I’m sure you can imagine the fun in their house when the bitch is in heat? (They have to be locked in separate rooms… pretty sure there are scratches on the door between said rooms!).

  8. Oh dear MM – how do you cope?? We have a male labrador, crossed with, according to its previous owners, a big black dog from the village. He has a huge kennel and an enclosed field to run around in so doesn’t stray far but…..the neighbouring farmer has recently got himself the equivalent of Smelly Dog. She turns up here several times a day, nicking my shoes, terrorising the cats and howling outside Laphroaig’s ( yes, got to hang on to my Scottish roots!) kennel then swans off with a “I dare you to chase me” glint in her eye….she is driving me mad…..any good suggestions????

    • Oh dear. It sounds like she’s the new kid on the block telling everyone else what is her territory and what isn’t theirs, although I’m no dog psychologist. The only real way to stop it is to suss out how she gets in, and cut her off. But I don’t think you can as if I remember correctly you have open land around your place…
      Otherwise, they work out very quickly that being welcomed by a hosepipe isn’t a nice experience. Bigfoot took to chucking anything he could get his hands on at a neighbor’s dog because it used to swan into our garden and use it as its private toilet. We haven’t seen it since – it’s either dead or it’s learnt its lesson:)
      Last solution: train your cat up. My cat is convinced that it is a dog, and is very territorial. I remember him attacking a doberman and escorting it off the premises – very funny.

    • I wouldn’t dare, although I’d love to – I’m sure someone would rat on me and she’d come and stuff organic leeks up my nostrils.
      I’m glad I made you smile. Hope you’re alright, sweetie. Big nuggs!

  9. ha, sounds just like my two girls

    they both come into season at the same time every year and turn into a right pair of tarts – hounding poor old Rab. They lick his face, stand on their hind legs with their front paws on his neck, then turn and thrust their lady bits in his face. By the time they’ve finished their sex-fest, the poor lad is all shagged out (fortunately he’s been ‘done’ so he can have all the fun without me worrying about new members to the ‘pack’ appearing in due course !)

    • Cripes, must make for some entertaining viewing 🙂 Both at the same time? Hmmm. That thing about females living together ending up on the same timetable is right, then. I do like the term “in season” – it makes them sound like exotic fruit 🙂

  10. Hahaha know exactly what you’re going through! Mutley’s the same… loves to tempt them all, she goes racing up to all the males in the woods, gives them a whiff and then the run around, runs back to me with some poor sap chasing behind her and his owner yelling at the top of his lungs and being studiously ignored! Mutley and Smelly dog… pair of tart bag teasers! 😀

    • Hang on a minute. Your dog does it. So does mine. Duncan’s do, too. Can so many bitches be wrong? Hmm. Maybe I should review my attitude to life. Excuse me, Smelly Dog, can I borrow your Britney Spears hat?

  11. I hope things are all back to normal now, but SD on heat does make for a marvellously funny post! What a shame it’s too late for the ol’ snip snip!

    • Sorry it took so long to get back to you – my potter refused to link up to the wifi, and I’m not good at typing on Gizmo. Herr Hormone has left the premises, leaving a very sleepy dog to get over her emotions. Peace at last!

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