For details on Meadow and Bentley’s love story and background, click here.
Meadow sulked for a few days after Bentley left. She spent an inordinate amount of time at my feet or roaming the fence line in the backyard. Her spark, the one that Bentley’s adoration ignited, had definitely dulled.
It’s amazing how much things dulled for everyone here at the Farnival since Bentley left for Alaska. In some ways I love the subdued energy and in other ways I miss the challenge of “taming” Bentley. That wild beast never ceased to push my limits. Even when he cuddled, he cuddled hard, jostling until he got as close as possible.
But, a few days after Bentley left, Benny Fazio a.k.a. Big Ben arrived at the Farnival and distracted us from our reflective state. Like every other male dog living in our pack, Big Ben fell in love with Meadow. And although she has perked up since his arrival, she isn’t nearly as fond of Ben as she was of Bentley. The problem is that his coon dog genes can’t even compare to Bentley’s lab-like athleticism. Bentley sprinted while Ben lumbers. Bentley jumped over fences while Ben face-plants it in the dirt.
Another problem is that before Ben got neutered, he tried to hump Meadow constantly. Eight-month-old neutered Bentley pretty much ignored Meadow’s gender, but her femininity matters (in the extreme) to two-year-old Ben, mainly because when he got here, he still had his testicles, which had been allowed to flower into the ugliest gonads I’ve ever seen, black bulges covered with white hair that squished between his legs like bloated parasites in a defunct pond. I wouldn’t allow those things near (let alone on) any furniture until they got chopped, which thankfully happened a few days ago.
Poor Ben. Even without his balls, he sometimes longs for Meadow, happily trying to keep up with her graceful swiftness as his big paws clomp over dirt, long ears flapping like loose banners. She stops and waits for him to catch up, wearing a hopeful look. When he catches her, he grips her waist and tries to hump her, thrusting wildly, all while doing these little weird leaps in between pushes, which look like a forward twerk. It’s the most unusual doggie-style I’ve ever seen. Meadow, with her flowing blond hair and elegant demeanor, looks up at my window, cocks her head with an irritated expression, then easily breaks Ben’s grip. He’s no match for her.
Meadow springs away, finds a red plastic Kong that her and Bentley had chewed and wrestled over before he left, and settles under a chestnut tree to gnaw on it. Ben glances at her with his mopey long snout and starts digging in a hole, as though unfazed by her rebuff. Meadow pauses, unused to being ignored, and then seems to shrug her shoulders and goes back to licking the Kong.