I am a magnet for doggy love. I do not own a dog myself, and I have nothing against them in general, but man do they love me. Specifically, golden retrievers love me, and (since we’re talking frankly here) even more specifically, uncut male golden retrievers.

There’s a lot of gosh darn nice dogs on the face of this planet (hi Harry!) but if there’s one thing I cannot stand, besides camel toe and mullethawks, it’s golden retrievers.

I first realized I was going to be a ‘special lady’ for retrievers everywhere when I was about eight. One of the neighbor kid’s parents had just gotten a golden retriever since their house had been knocked over about six times in the past three years.

I was an average-sized kid when I was about eight, so I was a pretty small, skinny little bug. Well, I met this dog and it was love at first sight on his part. He saw me and came running- wham! Knocked me down on the ground and began going at it right there. I screeched and swatted him as his mistress attempted to pull him off me, but nothing short of a well-aimed bullet can stop a good-sized dog once he really decides to go to town. Plus, if there’s one thing I’ve noticed over the years, it’s that golden retrievers tend to like it rough anyway.

“No, no!” she yelled, totally ineffectually. “Bad dog! Bad Sparky!”

Finally, I think I gave up resisting until two more people came to pull Sparky away. I remember watching him heaving and straining at his leash, standing on two legs and clawing at the air in an attempt to get back over to where I was laying on the ground, defeated and slightly sticky.

There were various run-ins with other dogs for a few years after that, but none so dramatic as the first one. Until I started babysitting for some people down the street, that is.

I babysat a lot when I was fifteen and sixteen; it was a good way to keep my gas tank full and to keep me in cigarettes. I liked most of the kids I watched, and was good with them for the four hours or so their parents would go out for. I even did dishes; I was really in demand for a while.

Parents talk about this stuff- word-of-mouth was how I got most of my new jobs. One weekend a new family called me to come over; as I was walking in their house I saw a sign I had come to dread- a chew toy. A BIG chewtoy. One of those comically large bones that you see in the store, and you say to yourself, “why would anyone want a dog that big or that chewy?”

After shaking hands with the parents and sitting down to meet the kiddies, I looked up on the wall. A deer head hung between two racks of antlers. Shit. A sportsman with a big dog. I heard a booming “WOOF” and looked up to see a golden retriever gallooping into the living room to greet me. As he spun around in circles of ecstasy at being let into the house I could see his boy dog parts flopping around all over in their uncut hunting dog glory. Ugggh, this was going to be a long night.

You may think I am being melodramtic, but those of you who have never been sexually assaulted by a dog need to understand that when dogs set their puny little pieces of dried-up cotton candy that passes for a brain to it, 1.) they will go after you until they die of dehydration, and 2.) all of this persuit really makes a mess. Pardon my graphicness here, but I wish they had one big…er…eruption like human men do, so you’d have a chance of not getting hit, but your typical dog is just going to leak on you slowly until your pant legs are evenly soaked and you wish you were never born, whichever comes first.

As soon as the parents pulled out of the driveway, “Thor” immediately made it known that he was interested in me. The house had a fenced in backyard and sliding glass doors; I took him by the collar (which I am convinced only made him friskier) and chucked him outdoors.

This worked for me most of the time- I was completely immune to the sad looks Thor cast towards me everytime I walked by him indoors. The two older kids tacitly understood that me and the dag weren’t mixing well, and left him to whine. The only hitch in the plan was the youngest boy, who I believe was about three. He took great delight in letting the dog in everytime I wasn’t around to stop him.

This nonsense went on everytime I came over for about a month or so, until one night when the parents were out late playing bridge with some people in the next neighborhood. I was stuck in the house with the dog because it was late and he would bark and whine if I put him out. I had the kids in bed for about an hour and was curled up in an armchair trying to read a magazine while Thor tried to get at me from all sides. At one point he got so desperate he begain humping the side of the chair. I kept swatting at him with a rolled up Ladies’ Home Journal that I found on the sidetable, and after a while he began nipping at me.

Finally, I gave up trying to read and went into the kitchen for a glass of water. Thor followed me all the way, with his nose up my ass, quivering with desperation. I was fed up! I put him outside and went to the sink.

Well, I must not have latched the door all of the way, because a few minutes later Thor pawed the sliding door and came barrelling back into the house. He was making a beeline for me and I flattened myself against the counter as he approached. I heard him emitting a weird low growl; I imagined it was the sound doggy lovers make when they have been spurned one time too many. I remember briefly wondering if there was a crisis hotline for doggy sexual assault when he leapt into the air full-force as if to knock me down. Instinctually, I raised my fist to protect myself… and he slammed straight into it. Thor gave a sharp little yelp and fell onto the ground at my feet; he was motionless.

After I recovered a little bit I gave him a joggle with my foot. He was still breathing, fortunately- he was just out cold.

Then a new thought occurred to me- what if the parents come home and saw their precious pet on the floor in a heap??? I could kiss my career in this neighborhood goodbye. Just then, the phone rang. It was the kids’ mummy.

“Ooooh, helloooo.” She was a little tipsy. “Is everything alright there?”

“Uh…ha ha, yes, everything’s fine. The kids are alseep.” I eyed Thor carefully and watched his sides go up and down, slowly and peacefully. It was the first time he’d relaxed all night.

“Ooookay, well we are just having sooo much fun here, we’ll probably be a bit later than twelve.”

“Oh, no hurry. Stay out as long as you want. I don’t have school tomorrow.”

“Great, see you around twoish, Bye-bye.”

I poked Thor with a yardstick I found on the kitchen counter. I poured water on his head as I had seen in so many bad movies. After a while, I gave up and let him sleep it off.

About a half hour later, I heard dog nails scrabbling on the kitchen tile and his collar jingling as he shook his head. He walked slowly into the living room and saw me curled up in a chair which made him start a little. He gave me a hard, sad look and huddled in the corner for the rest of the night. I guess I was “the one who got away.”

After that, Thor kept his distance, and almost seemed to treat me with a level of respect that is pretty rare in big, dumb, horny dogs.