Brockle the Perv

I'll wrestle you for it.

I have a new vet. She's a DVM who changed paths, or should I say opened new ones. Her practice covers holistic health, acupuncture, behavioral medicine, herbal medicine and massage as alternatives to traditional medicine. Go ahead, check her out, (http://healingpathvet.com/).

I met her when Snocone received an end-of-the-road sentence from my traditional vet. I asked about acupuncture, I was put in contact with Dr. Pearson, and Snocone is alive and extremely well.

That's another story for another day.

Dr. Pearson has met Brockle. I was worried about his teeth. He is weird about food, among many other things, and being  the practical person I am I took him to have his teeth checked. Dr. Pearson got to meet Brockle, who has a perfectly healthy set of chompers. After our consultation, she pointed out he is OCD as can be. Again, another story, another day.

Dr. Pearson has urged me to write about his odd behaviors, his wicked high intelligence, his anxieties, and the different things I try to help him cope. She thinks he is a fascinating dog.

As you know, so do I, but now I have back up. If I'm going to catalog my dog, what better place than here?

There's your background, and here's the side of my bouncing boy I'd like to share today.

Brockle is a perv.

I am completely anthropomorphizing here. If I'm going to stay politically correct and within the proper world of dog behavior, it's more like this. Brockle has a strong attraction to concentrated areas of human odor. It is a strong plus in his scent work. His big, damp, intrusive, sensitive, nose can hone in on every scent loaded area of the human body from across a room. If I was willing, he would trade a good snuffle as a reward for treats, his ball, the world.

It's hard to stay PC with Brockle and his nose. I'm telling you, the dog is a creeper. He wants to bury his nose, not just in every crotch he meets, but in arm pits, elbow pits, knee pits and behind the ear. I'm not talking a gentle whiff here. I'm talking getting stabbed by that giant proboscis, then having him roll it around while he snorts and snuffles.

Getting a good knee pit fix isn't enough. If he's allowed that first snuffle, then he begins to lick. His pupils get big. He licks harder. He drapes his head over your arm, leg, whatever fits and push hard. Then, he'll hook a front leg over and he'll head for oh, a belly button, or traces of boob sweat. Nose, snuffle, lick, move on. The front legs get a better grip, then BANG! Brockle's humping.

Brockle landed at the  pound three times. Once after he was picked up as a three-month-old stray, again at 10 months, after the adopter returned him for eating a couch and an apartment wall, and again after only twelve hours, and  those adopters wouldn't give any reason beyond, "He's a  horrible, horrible dog!"

I'm pretty sure I understand why he didn't last even a day with that last family. He systematically tried to hump every member of my household during his first twelve hours with us. Repeatedly. Brockle really had no concept of boundaries.

I straightened that one out quickly, but he is very much on the make most of the time. His drive by lick my sticky spots is pretty stinking gross.

I also warn people adamantly, to not let him lean or push against them, and for God's sake, don't let him start sniffing. Or give him an enthusiastic body scratch, or believe it when he says, "C'mon, let's wrestle."

I met a friend at a local horse show last weekend. The dogs were by my feet and a pleasant little boy stopped by to pet them. He was really into Brockle. They got on well, my dog was being polite and having fun, and the kid seemed to know his dogs.

When he asked if he could play with him on the grass, I said "Sure." They would be right in front of me and Brockle was wanting to play with this kid in a bad way. Since I have a tough time getting him peeled off my side for even a second, I was happy to see him want to play with someone new.

The local club was sponsoring an extreme cowboy event. It's a sport I don't know much about, but is very interesting, so I was into the action.

I heard a muffled, "Urgh."

Then Brockle panting.

Then, "Oof.'

I turned and there, to my horrified amazement, was that poor little kid, flat on his back, with my wildly humping dog wrapped around him like a mummy sleeping bag.

"Brockle, leave it." I shouted.

He did, but the smirk on his smarmy face made it hard to give him a "Good boy."

The dazed kid got up, swaying slightly, but on his feet.

"Boy, is he strong," he said.

"I am really sorry, I should have kept a better eye on him," I said.

Brockle's tail waved gently, he cocked his head and watched as his new little friend walked out of his life forever. His tail drooped , he sighed. I leaned down to give him a scratch. His head whipped around and he licked my elbow pit. My dog is a perv.