Sunday, September 17, 2006
For many years, my grandpa was a breeder of Blue Tick Coon hounds. I looked up these dogs on wikipedia, and I was amazed by what a pureblood and old breed of dog this was. I think I mentioned all that in my post about my grandpa a couple months back.
What I didn't tell you then was that grandpa was fanatical about these dogs. Because one always strives for the perfect hunting dog, grandpa was super-picky about how these dogs were bred.
For those of you who've never been blessed (or cursed) to be in the company of male and female dogs when a female is in season, well, they can be very determined creatures, and they seem to have a demonic drive to hook up.
Once grandpa went in to town in the car with my dad (about 8 years old) in the back seat with a female dog, and my uncle in the front seat with a male. Grandpa had a way of walking up the high street and stopping and talking to all and sundry, and his kids still talk of what eternities they languished in the car while grandpa did his requisite chin-wagging with the locals.
[It is important here to note that in the South, only women are capable of gossip. Endless hours spent by men talking about other people's business is merely a frank exchange of information vital to the proper functioning of the community.]
On this particular occasion, the female dog was in heat, and grandpa admonished dad and my uncle that if these two dogs united--well--they were made to understand they'd get a be-all end-all whuppin,' an event not to be desired.
Dad was holding onto the female by the collar, and she was most determined, as Uncle Wayne barely managed to restrain the male. Dad said the male was "about to get the job done."
I don't know what verbiage exchanged between dad and my uncle, but I do know they were desperate not to get the whuppin', so Wayne had a stroke of genius that relieved them of the threat of raw backsides while cleverly incorporating a stripe of sadism for which he is known far and wide.
Holding onto the collar of the male in one hand, he reached over with the other and popped the cigarette lighter in on the dash and waited. When the lighter popped back out, Wayne pulled it out of the dash and applied the red-hot coils onto the dog's scrotum.
Ironically, a flaming set of balls instantly cooled the romantic ardor of the male dog, and he lost all interest in the bitch in the back seat. The dogs settled down, grandpa returned to the vehicle none the wiser, and dad and Wayne lived yet another day without being thrashed within an inch of their lives.
Dad said for the remainder of its days that dog had a perfectly burned circle on its nutsack. Grandpa never noticed.