My sister’s boxer, Bubba, is a 6-year-old fella who has an unwaivering attachment to her three children, ages 4, 2, and 8 months.
He also has the same hair-less undercarriage dilemma that my dog has.
My sister and I often jokingly exchange stories about our dogs’ cold weather antics, and she told me one recently that was really amusing.
Like most boxers, her dog was born with a docked tail — a wagging and wiggling little thing that’s only a few inches long. He is very sensitive about his tail, which my sister refers to as “Bubba’s stub.” Touch it and he tucks it, then turns around and gives his offender a pouty glance.
When it’s down, it lays flat against his rear and covers his — yes, I’m going to write it — butthole.
We humans can only try to imagine what it must be like to have that sort of open exposure to the elements.
Bubba has little control over his stub. Whenever he walks, the stub stands straight up and waves from side to side.
“So he was outside with us when we were playing in the snow with the kids, and he wanted to run around with them,” my sister said. “But every time he moved, his stub went up and the cold air was apparently bothering his butt.”
My sister reported that her dog tried to keep his stub down for some protection from the elements, but it wasn’t working well for him.
The stub would go upright with each step.
He’d stop, lower the stub and try walking slowly again. This went on and on, she said.
“We couldn’t stop laughing, even the kids,” she said.
After I hung up the phone with her, I walked over to my dog and gave him a pat.
“At least you’ve got a tail to cover your rear, pal,” I said.