Read Online Giant George by Dave Nasser and Lynne Barrett-Lee - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dave Nasser and Lynne Barrett-Lee
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concerned was about to become a
big
concern for Georgie…
CHAPTER 6
The Birds and the Bees
They say size isn’t everything, and they’re wrong. In some areas of life, it’s all about size, and let me tell you, when one hundred and fifty pounds of dog gets a twinkle in his eye, size absolutely does matter.
Not having had experience with teenagers, except for being them ourselves (and we were bothgood as gold, obviously), we were kind of unprepared for the sudden change in George. Yes, we’d known it would be coming, and we’d known we’d have to deal with it, but the reality, now that our canine friend weighed nearly as much as I did, was a zillion times more challenging than we’d anticipated.
It was August 2006 when we first realized our boy had hit doggie puberty. It seemed almost likean overnight transformation in many ways—one minute he was a puppy, full of joie de vivre and energy, finding happiness in the simple act of grabbing hold of life; the next, he was rambunctious, moody and almost psycho. Mostly, instead of grabbing life by the lapels, he was grabbing onto legs—table legs, chair legs, human legs, hewasn’t picky. Our puppy, like any archetypal pimply adolescentkid, had discovered how life came to be. In short, our gentle George had discovered his manhood.
He would hump anything—absolutely anything. And being the sort of size he was made for a wealth of possibilities. If he couldn’t find anything vertical to hump, he would simply lie on the floor and hump that instead. And if he was in bed with us, which he still was whenever we let him, he would sitastride a leg—either of our legs, he didn’t care which—and while away his time happily humping that. This was just fine for him—like most teenagers, he had a lot of hours to fill, and being a dog, he couldn’t fill them by playing Xbox or writing poetry—but it was definitely becoming something of an issue for my wife.
Christie, being, I guess, a normal human female, had a particular passion forwatching movies in which the women all wore bustles and had bosoms that routinely heaved from their corsets. These women also regularly swooned, caught their breath or got the vapors (sometimes all three at once) in the presence of any of those other period costume drama staples: brooding, magnificent and mostly taciturn men. If she could have dressed me up as Mr. Darcy in
Pride and Prejudice—
particularly as played by Colin Firth—I think she might have.
As it was, she would content herself with watching him on TV, and the place she most liked to do that was curled up in bed, late at night, with a glass of wine. It was on one such occasion—I was puttering around the house, doing jobs at the time—that it became clear that George’s attachment to lower legs was becoming a little bit distractingfor her.
“Dave!” she yelled. “Honey, you just
have
to come see this!”
Naturally, being a dutiful and loving husband, I would always respond immediately to such requests from my wife.
“What’s up?” I asked her as I entered the bedroom.
Christie gestured with her glass of wine, which along with the rest of her, was subject to a small but persistent tremor. George was there too—a great hairy moundsprawled right across her, oblivious to my coming in, oblivious to our conversation, oblivious to just about
everything
.
“Will you take a look at this animal!” she said, shaking her head. “Honestly, Dave, it’s like he’s possessed!”
I noticed then that she seemed to have a tear on her cheek. I gestured toward it. “You okay, honey?”
She laughed. “You know what?” she said, waving a hand towardthe TV. “I was just sitting here thinking how crazy this is. There’s me sitting here, massive lump in my throat, trying not to cry, totally in the
zone
, and all the while this mutt—” She slapped his rump. “
Georg-eee! Will you quit that!
This mutt has been going at it like a steam train! It’s like the whole bed is in
big
concern for Georgie…
CHAPTER 6
The Birds and the Bees
They say size isn’t everything, and they’re wrong. In some areas of life, it’s all about size, and let me tell you, when one hundred and fifty pounds of dog gets a twinkle in his eye, size absolutely does matter.
Not having had experience with teenagers, except for being them ourselves (and we were bothgood as gold, obviously), we were kind of unprepared for the sudden change in George. Yes, we’d known it would be coming, and we’d known we’d have to deal with it, but the reality, now that our canine friend weighed nearly as much as I did, was a zillion times more challenging than we’d anticipated.
It was August 2006 when we first realized our boy had hit doggie puberty. It seemed almost likean overnight transformation in many ways—one minute he was a puppy, full of joie de vivre and energy, finding happiness in the simple act of grabbing hold of life; the next, he was rambunctious, moody and almost psycho. Mostly, instead of grabbing life by the lapels, he was grabbing onto legs—table legs, chair legs, human legs, hewasn’t picky. Our puppy, like any archetypal pimply adolescentkid, had discovered how life came to be. In short, our gentle George had discovered his manhood.
He would hump anything—absolutely anything. And being the sort of size he was made for a wealth of possibilities. If he couldn’t find anything vertical to hump, he would simply lie on the floor and hump that instead. And if he was in bed with us, which he still was whenever we let him, he would sitastride a leg—either of our legs, he didn’t care which—and while away his time happily humping that. This was just fine for him—like most teenagers, he had a lot of hours to fill, and being a dog, he couldn’t fill them by playing Xbox or writing poetry—but it was definitely becoming something of an issue for my wife.
Christie, being, I guess, a normal human female, had a particular passion forwatching movies in which the women all wore bustles and had bosoms that routinely heaved from their corsets. These women also regularly swooned, caught their breath or got the vapors (sometimes all three at once) in the presence of any of those other period costume drama staples: brooding, magnificent and mostly taciturn men. If she could have dressed me up as Mr. Darcy in
Pride and Prejudice—
particularly as played by Colin Firth—I think she might have.
As it was, she would content herself with watching him on TV, and the place she most liked to do that was curled up in bed, late at night, with a glass of wine. It was on one such occasion—I was puttering around the house, doing jobs at the time—that it became clear that George’s attachment to lower legs was becoming a little bit distractingfor her.
“Dave!” she yelled. “Honey, you just
have
to come see this!”
Naturally, being a dutiful and loving husband, I would always respond immediately to such requests from my wife.
“What’s up?” I asked her as I entered the bedroom.
Christie gestured with her glass of wine, which along with the rest of her, was subject to a small but persistent tremor. George was there too—a great hairy moundsprawled right across her, oblivious to my coming in, oblivious to our conversation, oblivious to just about
everything
.
“Will you take a look at this animal!” she said, shaking her head. “Honestly, Dave, it’s like he’s possessed!”
I noticed then that she seemed to have a tear on her cheek. I gestured toward it. “You okay, honey?”
She laughed. “You know what?” she said, waving a hand towardthe TV. “I was just sitting here thinking how crazy this is. There’s me sitting here, massive lump in my throat, trying not to cry, totally in the
zone
, and all the while this mutt—” She slapped his rump. “
Georg-eee! Will you quit that!
This mutt has been going at it like a steam train! It’s like the whole bed is in
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