So here I am in sunny San Francisco, where it is not raining at all, I’m sorry to have to tell you, pals of mine on the Right Coast. To make you even more jealous, I’m with my very weird family. Also, my sister’s dog Luke, who is quite charming, but very odd, if you didn’t grow up with dogs. Which I didn’t.
Luke has absolutely no concept of himself as an entity. He can walk past his reflection without noticing it. He has no modesty: He spends a good part of his day cleaning his personal area. Mrs. P thinks this is hilarious, and is wont to point out to him that “shake it once fine. Shake it twice, OK. Shake it three times, Luke, and you’re playing with yourself.”
His favorite thing to do, though, is to lie on the sofa on his back, exposing his gentleman parts, and stare at you. And when I say “you,” I really mean “me.”
Me: Meg! Can you make your dog stop showing me his penis?
Mrs. P: (Shaking his legs from side to side, to improve my view of her dog’s bits.) Woo hoo hoo! Look at my penis, Auntie Jennie!
Mrs. P: I want you to see! Take a look!
Ma Smash: Oh take a look, honey. It will make her feel better.