Quondam

Sucker dog

When I was a kid, there was a woman who lived down the street who had a small white fluffy dog.

It wasn’t actually a street so much as a dirt road, but if I say, “there was a woman who lived down the dirt road,” it sounds all trashy.

Hmmmmm.

When I was a kid, there was a woman who lived down the dirt road who had a small white fluffy dog.

Let’s call her Mrs. Johnson.  I mean the woman, not the dog . . . I have no idea what the dog’s name was.

I am pretty sure that Mrs. Johnson is dead by now.  And even if she is not, I am pretty sure that the intervening years have not made her smarter than I remember her being.  Which means that while she is probably still able to plug in and work a toaster, she is unlikely to have internet service.

But just in case, I have given her an alias.

Because her children were horrid cruel little brats, and there may be internet service in whatever prison in which they are currently housed.

If you start seeing white-trash misspellings threatening to “sooo yur ass fer tawking shit abowt my mamma,” in the comment section, you’ll know what’s up.

Anyway.

Mrs. Johnson had a dog.  A special dog.  A dog that was going to make her a millionaire if she could just find a way to market the dog’s abilities properly.

Her dog was an asthma sucker.

I am so not kidding.

For a fee, Mrs. Johnson would lend you her small white fluffy dog.  You would go to sleep at night with the dog beside you, and in the night?  It would suck the asthma right out of you.  All the wheezing and choking and coughing and misery?  Sucked right out of you.

By a dog.

I was terrified of this dog.  I envisioned the dog sneaking into my house and attaching itself to my mouth in the night.  Like a white furry lamprey eel, with its gross sucker mouth sealed against mine, breathing for me and stealing my breath, all at once.

Nightmarish.

Plus?  I never saw the dog walking around like a normal dog.  Mrs. Johnson was always carrying it in her arms.  She would walk up and down the dirt road on which we lived, stopping to talk to anyone who was sick (because the dog might also be useful in times of flu or pneumonia) and generally lording her miracle dog over the rest of us.  Because all of our dogs were of the tied-up-in-the-backyard barking-their-fool-heads-off sort.

Some of the kids would go up to pet the asthma sucker, which Mrs. Johnson would allow if your hands were clean.

My hands were never clean, and I wouldn’t have petted that dog for a million dollars.

I thought it was creepy that she carried the dog everywhere.  The regular dogs I knew did not need carrying.  I assumed that she needed to carry her dog in order to restrain it.  If she didn’t hold it back, it might leap up and suck the asthma out of people who hadn’t yet paid the asthma sucking fees.  I tried to maintain a great distance between me and the dog at all times.  I was terrified it would sense asthma that I didn’t even know I had and suddenly spring and seal to my face.

And then I would be running crazily down the dirt road with a small sucking white dog hanging determinedly from my mouth.  Unable to scream.  Unable to pull it off.

Shudder.

Can it get more white-trashy than believing that your fortune lies in the sucking ability of a small white dog?

And Mrs. Johnson had never had asthma.  So how did she even know that her dog has these special sucking skills, anyway?

That part, I eventually figured out.

There was a lot of pornography in our house when I was a kid.  LOTS. And our house on that nasty dirt road?  It was tiny.

So porn was easy to find and easy to borrow in our house.  I borrowed it all the time.

And that is where I found my answer.

I found this book.  I am not going to try to find it for you and link to it here, although it was a fascinating read.  I read this book about ten times.

It was about a bunch of friends who had rented a house for the summer.  And one of the friends had brought his dog.  This dog had special skills, let me tell you.  Again and again and again, what started out as a lovely picnic or a BBQ or a swim in the lake would dissolve into . . . dog love.

And this dog?  It had amazing sucking power.

Hmmmm . . . Had I perhaps misunderstood how the asthma sucking dog worked?  Did it not attach to your face at all?  The book offered no further clues.  None of the women in the book seemed to be sick, but perhaps that was because they were so regularly being tended to by this magical caregiver dog.

Hmmmmm.

There was no one to whom I could pose my questions without getting in HUGE trouble.

We moved soon after that.  Not so far away, but far enough that I never saw Mrs. Johnson or her demonic sucking dog again.  What a relief.

But today, all these many years later?

If I see you carrying a teeny dog in your arms or in a purse?  Holding it close?  Kissing it all smoochily and chucking it under the chin and calling it lovey names?

I am going to assume that you have got yourself an asthma sucker.

They’re quite popular.

    66 comments to Sucker dog

    • Jen

      ….great. You did it again. I totally choked on my coffee reading this. Even had one person ask if I needed the Heimlich maneuver….no no I’m fine. Just reading funny as hell stories that have no relation to the work I’m suppose to be doing.

      I too have a magic dog. Shes big and white and if you have a cat poop problem it’ll disappear when shes around. Don’t let her lick you. ever.

      • Yes, that’s the kind of magic dogs I have here as well.

        Poop-eating, barf-eating, slug-tasting, garbage-snacking nasty dogs.

        Ewwwwwww.

    • Okay, I am a little slow this afternoon……the book you are talking about, did they use that dog for weirdo/sick porn fetishes?!?!?! And….is that the same thing Mrs. Johnson used her dog for? Or am I totally not getting it (because my husband gave me his stupid fake cold).

      • Yes.
        Yes.

        And sorry you are sick! That sucks! (But not in same way the dog in my story sucked).

        Because that would be way weird.

    • You continue to fascinate me every day.

      And sometimes weird me out.

      • Yay me!

        Weird and fascinating are my two career goals!

        Sadly, both are not-for-profit adjectives so far.

        Love you!

    • Axel

      Ah iz sow gunna sooo yur ass fer tawkin sheee-ot abowt mah mama… ~~LOL~~

      I have no comment (for once) and from this day on I will stop carrying my dog for any reason. Even if all four of his legs are broken, I’m gonna drag him on his ass for a mile before I carry him. Thanks for the demonic dog image that makes me think of the face sucker from the 1979 movie “Alien” that latches on to a victim’s face and plants an egg into the stomach and said egg eventually hatches a snake-thing will chew it’s way out of the victim’s guts. Lovely.

      And I see you’re expanding on your random perv search hits with words like “porn”, “dog love”, “sucking” and “shit”. If you want random fetish perv search hits, I could suggest a few that I’m sure would likely offend or disgust a good percentage of your actual target audience. Let me know…

      Well, Debby… er…”Barbara” (since Debby doesn’t want me mentioning her by name) is running around all nuts since this week is the catch up week for softball where they play all the games that were cancelled because of rain. Chaos.

      Laters! <3 mustache-boobs always to the family.

      • Happy sighs.

        I love you.

        You know what? I did not tag this post as offensively as I do some, because it ACTUALLY discusses pornography. I’m not going to help the crazy porn-seekers that much. Also? Mark was again absent this morning, and left to my own devices, I get all trouble-making.

        Private email for the truly disgusting words, please. Although I feel fairly confident that your suggestions are already in my arsenal. But even I have my limits where this blog is concerned. For example, wherever you see my dad speaking? I have generally cleaned that up for public consumption.

        Seriously.

        Say hi to Barbara! And love to your family as well (of the G-rated sort)

    • Wow. Just, Wow. I am now scared to ever hold my little dogs in public again for fear someone is gonna think I too have an “asthma sucker!” lol.

      • Well, before today, it would have been just me passing judgment.

        After today? All my readers will be giving knowing glances. And my readers are everywhere!

        I like to share my insanity.

    • CDG

      Boy howdy.

      And I thought my Mom leaving her paperback romances around was borderline pornographic. Heaving bosoms and impressive erections are *nothing* compared to … sucker dogs. Ew.

      • I know! When I was about 12, a friend lent me a Harlequin romance book, and I was all excited!

        And then after I read it, I was all, “Are you kidding me? This is way lame.”

    • Oh, now this is just peachy. I’ve been searching Petfinders and the rescue website for the last two months because I wanted a miniature pinscher. I’ve wasted all that time because I’ll never be able to look at a tiny dog, much less carry it around, without thinking about asthma sucking and doggy porn.

      Oh well, the laugh was worth it and now I can snicker to myself when I see others carrying them around.

      • I caught you in the nick of time! Whew! It is much much better to be a taunter than a tauntee.

        Especially on this particular subject.

        Any small dog lovers care to disagree?

        Snort.

        • Tennessee Mom

          Small poo is just so much easier to clean up than big poo.

          • That is very very true.

            But there is the taunting.

            Your call.

            If you get the tiny dog and carry him around? Send me a photo so we can all giggle!

        • CDG

          Well… I *do* have a Pug, but I don’t carry his disgusting ass around. He’s already a fetishist without my assistance.

          • As long as you don’t carry him around, it’s all good.

            I have a smallish badly behaved dog here at our house, but he gets carried nowhere. He gets thrown a lot of places, but not carried.

    • You. Slay. Me.

      And Axel? Hysterical.

      I so want to hear more stories from your dirt road days. ;)

      • Yes, Axel is awesome!

        I would so like him to start a blog, but his wife Barbara would KILL him.

        You being “slayed” by me? Figurative. Axel’s slaying? Literal and bloody.

        Love you, Barbara!

        More news from dirt road days to come. I have endless supply of stories!

    • Amy

      Thanks a lot. I just had to explain to my father why I was laughing so hard. Can you imagine THAT conversation?

    • Aw man, Phoebe is going to be so confused as to why I won’t carry her around in public anymore. Thanks for the laugh, hilarious.

      • My apologies to Phoebe. Sorry, Phoebe.

        But it’s for the best. Because the rest of us are so making fun of you if you carry Phoebe around.

        Hee hee!

    • Humph. Dirt roads aren’t always indicative of white trash.

      A sucking dog. Will wonders never cease? There was this girl I went to high school with that used to slather her nether region with peanut butter and…well, I’m sure you get the picture. Shudder. I get creeped out when dogs lick my hand.

      You, my dear, are a vulgar inspiration.

      • OK, I was going to agree, because . . . hello? I was on that dirt road, and I do not consider myself trash of any color.

        But then you had to go and get all friendly with the peanut-buttery girl. And seriously? Whatever road that girl was living on?

        White-trash-ville.

        Vulgar inspiration! LOVE that!

    • You are one sick woman! Did you by any chance grow up in West Virginia? Really, I need to keep up appearances and stick with my wholesome friends. By the way, I thought it was CATS that sucked the breath out of you…

      • That’s what Mark said! That the only true asthma suckers were cats!

        Not according to Mrs. Johnson. And she really did seem to be an expert in such matters.

        And . . . what???? You have friends who are more wholesome than I am? How is that possible?

    • I h8 yew. My little dawg h8′s yew 2.

      My dawg <3's me & I don have ashma u bich!

    • OMG. OMG?!?! OMG?????!!!!! I am seriously speechless. I think I can only type “OMG”. Talk about some great reading for a young girl. LMAO.

      • Ok, I have had a couple of beers now? And you people and your comments are making me giggle hysterically.

        I LOVE you guys!

        OMG!!!

        I never say OMG.

        LOVE you!

    • That.was.good.stuff! Especially the white trash misspelled letter from prison. I even made my husband read it because I was laughing so much and couldn’t explain it. Well played, my friend…well played.