If Pluto were human, he would be the most popular kid in school. Blonde. Charming, Slightly goofy with an easy smile. BFFs with everyone he meets. He would have the student body, most of the teachers, the lunch ladies, and the attendance recording secretary all wrapped around his paw, charmed into overlooking his many transgressions. Whether it’s a pool party, the homecoming parade, or trip to the mall, you’re going to have a good time if Pluto’s there. He’s a veritable Ferris Bueller. “The sportos, the motorheads, geeks, sluts, bloods, wastoids, deweebies, dickheads – they all adore him. They think he’s a righteous dude.”
But here’s the thing. While you’re in the backyard doing cannonballs or feeling someone up in the pool house, Pluto’s inside, eating warm chocolate chip cookies with your mom. She baked them especially for him. He appreciates your mom’s cooking, unlike you and your ungrateful siblings. But that’s not all he appreciates, Pluto wants to get with your mom.
Pluto has been dubbed mayor of the fire road. He greets and lavishes with kisses every dog he meets. Bull mastiff or Chihuahua, they’re all good. But while he’s busy politicking and sniffing butts, he always has an eye out for ladies – the human ladies. I can only blame myself. As an adorable puppy with over sized ears and a seemingly too long cat-like tail, every woman we encountered wanted to pet him. He was more than happy to oblige them. That was his first taste. I should have nipped it in the bud. Now he’s like a junky, addicted to the petting, always keeping his eye out for his next fix. His puppy encounters had him convinced every blond woman would like nothing better than to lavish him with affection. Time has proven this untrue, and he’s become more discriminating. He has widened his parameters to include brunettes, but tightened them to a specific personality type. The uptight and stuck up need not apply. Pluto’s type; healthy and active, she’s warm, nurturing, and free with her affection. She is not afraid to praise him, or gently admonish him when he’s gone too far. She’s the mom we all convinced ourselves we were born to, though through no fault of our own were tragically separated from at birth.
I don’t take it personally. He is compelled to charm, and being that there are only so many hours a day I can devote to petting and stroking, I have enabled him. I don’t feel it’s time to call in Dr. Drew. Not yet, anyway. Through bribery and judicious leash work I hope to avoid all that, though it takes only a couple episodes of Sober House to realize this may be a pipe dream. I will allow him a single indulgence – the woman who shrieks “Pluto!” every time we see her, no matter the location, whether she’s with or without her dog, Stella. They love each other up, and then go on their respective ways. Sorry, Stella. Your mom’s got it going on.
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