Confessions of a homosexual canine


Damn I’m fine..

My secret is out.  Something I’ve known for a very long time.  Since birth as a matter of fact.  I have accepted who I am, made easier with the loving support from my adopted family.  But let’s face it, being born a French poodle is basically like falling out of the closet at birth.

There was no hope of becoming something butch like those Rottweiler or German shepherd types.  The white fluff and my perky brown nose also didn’t do me any favours.  Look at me?  Cuteness personified, destined to become the greatest male bitch the world has ever seen.

I remember the day my family adopted me.  The male patriarch of the family was acting like the Godfather himself, at the prospect of getting a pet.  Fortunately two elated young humans were enthusiastically picking up my brethren, whom I’ve not seen since that fateful day.  I told those idiots to keep calm and chive on, but there was no way in hell they were going to listen to me.  So while they were sucking up to the humans, I kept my cool and stayed in my corner.

Then the young female picked me.  Wow?  I heard humans dream about winning the lotto, so that must have been what if feels like.  Life lesson one:  Don’t suck up.  There is no need to kiss ass and lapdance your way into the hearts of anyone, just be yourself.  Those barking brothers of mine were still stuck in the cage when I was lifted high and carried to a monstrosity with wheels.  They call it a c-a-r.  I didn’t even feel sad.

Then I got my name.  Pippa.  One might imagine humiliation and disgrace if this name was given to a Pit bull terrier, but I simply loved it.  I embraced my true nature. ( It did come as a slight shock to find that I was named after a FEMALE television character from a popular South African show.)  I lived up to my reputation, I became THE Drama Queen.

The only low point in my life was when I took up dancing.  Technically it wasn’t really dancing, more like an itch.  Princess called it dancing.  At some point in the development of male canines; we get the urge to dry hump everything and anything.  I don’t know why, we just do.  We use legs, soft toys, pillows, anything.  If we can wrap our paws around it and it’s motionless, it’s on.

This one time Princess and I was alone in the lounge.  (Not my best moment, I must admit.)  She was playing with blocks, innocently minding her own business.  I took my chance and stealthily made a move.  And she was loving it, giggling, even laughing, whilst I was giving my best.  Princess called her parents. “Mom, dad come look.  Pippa is dancing with me, Pippa is dancing with me.”

I knew instinctively that I had to get out of there.  But I couldn’t.  I was still gunning at it when the parents walked into the room.  Something about the mood of the room changed.  I saw the Godfather burst out laughing and turning his back trying to stuffle the sound, whilst Mom turned blood-red.  My humping partner was promptly lifted and then she said something like “Pippa no, bad dog.”  I was ashamed, but didn’t realise that pain would replace embarrassment very soon.

I don’t know what was discussed but the next day I was loaded in the same monstrosity I arrived in.  (Which has an excellent entertainment tool, aka open window.  Try it.)  I was taken to the vet.  It’s a painful memory so I’ll cut to the chase.  I got my nuts removed.  I tried to be brave, even cried a little, and I caught a glimpse of Godfather looking very sad, with his hands covering his own crown jewels.  I woke up later that morning having learned two more things:

1. The place where my nuts used to be hurts like hell, and 2. I lost my urge to dry hump air.


This photo was taken unexpectedly, so forgive my flustered look. It’s me and my humping partner, but we were not doing anything at the time of the photo.

I am turning 8 this year, and had many more great times, compared to bad ones, so I have forgiven them for turning me into a eunuch.  I have other fetishes now, staying true to my drag queen status.  I love soft toys, and my owners buy me a new one every month.  Godfather always try and get some “manly” toys like a rhino or elephant, but I prefer fluffy pink teddy bears or those adorable floppy-eared bunnies.  I just looovvvve them.  I’m addicted to stealing and burying socks/underwear.  Don’t know why, just replaced my desire for humping I suppose.  I am a bit of a freak.

As a fashionista, I own a sparkling blue collar with a jingly name tag.  I love my bling and I like showing it off to the other animals in the street. If only you could see it my darlings, it’s fabulous.  My very own bitch/butch alarm.

I’m the canine RuPaul getting a scheduled monthly trim and wash.  I obviously live indoors, what did you think?  Just to appease Godfather, I sometimes act like a dog and then chase birds who dare put themselves down on my turf.

I’m popular, and still disgruntled (and surprised) that Godfather have not yet created my own twitter account.  Everyone adores me, even the other human folk who frequently visit the house.  (Godfather calls it his house, but I’m no fool, I know who really owns this place.)

The one thing I don’t get about humans is why they don’t just sniff each other’s asses.  Don’t they care where other humans have been?  Don’t they know how easy it is?  Sniffing would eliminate obvious questions like: How are you?  or Are you feeling better? and then the obvious  Where have you been?  Just let them turn around, bend over and sniff, for goodness sake.

Sometimes, when I really like the visitors, I show my appreciation by sprinkling my precious urine against the wheels of their cars.  It’s my way of saying thank you, but bring food next time.  A small gesture of goodwill.

I’m living the high life, super proud to be the cute, nutless, white fluffed, brown nosed, blinged-up, monthly trimmed, very camp French poodle, I am.

So there you have it, my darlings, my confessions, as a happy, gay dog.

20 thoughts on “Confessions of a homosexual canine

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