An artist’s impression of the amount of female attention a puppy generates
The other day I got home from work and felt like I needed to do some sort of exercise. Unfortunately I didn’t have martial arts that day, so I offered to take CJ for a walk around the block. Helen had been doing it for the last week, so as far as I was concerned she was used to walking on a leash and it wouldn’t be much of a hassle. In fact, she was more than used to it – she seemed to love it. She was investigating every shop we passed, smelt every tree and, much to my joy, seemed to attract young ladies like some sort of magnet.
Within 10 minutes of leaving the house, CJ had drawn the attention of what can only be described as an attractive older lady (or MILF if you want to be crude) and her rather lovely 20-something daughter. Oh, how they cooed and commented on how soft and cuddly she was. Naturally, I took all the credit and thanked them for their kind words.
Next to be snared by CJ’s innate cuteness was two female joggers. “Aww,” one of them said (a rather lovely blonde athlete). “She’s adorable – what breed is she?” I answered that she was a mixture of Old English Sheepdog, Newfoundland and poodle and noted my concerns about how big she might get in the future (the old sympathy ploy).
“I have a husky,” she said while her equally attractive friend cuddled CJ. “He’s a big dog. I’m sure she will be just as big – but she’s adorable. You’re a lucky man.”I thanked them very much and off they jogged.
For the rest of the walk, I noticed ladies craning their necks as they drove past and teenagers girls oohing and aahing from the other side of the street. Obviously most of this female attention was directed at me, but it’s fair to say that CJ was responsible for a noted increase.
But then the inevitable happened, we got attention from the opposite end of the spectrum. A rotund middle-aged balding man with more tattoos than teeth.
I was kneeling just outside a chip shop, trying to control CJ who had caught the scent of freshly battered fish. As I was trying to get her to sit with the promise of treats, a man resembling the Cave Troll from Lord of the Rings waddled out and headed straight over to us.
“Aw, she’s lovely,” he said in a voice as rough as his complexion. “How old is she?”
“12 weeks,” I answered, unable to take my eyes off his fading tattoos, one of which appeared to be a cross-eyed otter.
“Ah, she’s going to be a big ‘un,” he noted before vigorously rubbing CJ’s head as if he was polishing her. It was then that me and CJ shared a moment – a look where we both seemed to say to each other – ‘who the hell is this moron’?
Anyway, his royal Trollness was soon gone and we were soon home, but after the amount of female attention the two of us garnered in our 40 minute jaunt, I have a feeling that it won’t be the last time I take her for a walk in the evening. I should stress that I will ONLY walk her in the evening – I like lie-ins too much to do otherwise.