I paid a mighty high price for my prize Cajun cowdog, Phideaux. But a few years before that we got a new cowdog the same way we used to get all of our dogs here on the ranch: he wandered in one day. He was hungry and we fed him and he stayed. So I don't know whether to say that we chose him or he chose us. But it has worked out mostly okay.
I say "mostly" because there has been one trouble spot. It started by trying to come up with a name for this new cowdog, a medium-sized black shepherd-type dog. We have given out names over the years like Queenie, Killer, Pudge, Judy, Kai and Lulu. There was even one dog that was with us for about two years that we never officially named; we just called her "dog" and that was it.
Finally, though, I thought I had come up with a name that would be short and simple and catch everyone's attention. Against my wife's sage advice, I named this new dog "Sex". Frankly, being around breeding stock on ranches like ours everyone learns about sex pretty quick. And we accept sexual reproduction as a normal fact of life. I never had been embarrassed about sex before. But when I named that border collie "Sex," things quickly changed.
In fact, Sex has been embarrassing to me on a number of occasions lately. Just after we got that dog I down to the City Hall to get him a dog license. I told Bertha Gilbeerty, the clerk, that I would like to have a license for Sex. She smiled, leaned over and said in a seductive whisper, "Honey, I would like one, too."
"No, Bertha," I replied, you don't understand. This is a real dog." She nodded and said she didn't have the slightest interest in what my significant other looked like and that she had better things to do than to stand around discussing sex with a married man. I gave up and left City Hall, and to this day I still don't have a license for Sex. So, as you might expect, that has increased my anxiety level.
In September of 1993 my wife and I took our cowdog, Sex, with us when we went to the National Cowboy Symposium at Lubbock, Texas. When I went into the Motel 6 to get a room, I told the young clerk that I wanted a room for my wife and me, and a special room for Sex. He said that I didn't have to worry, that every room in the motel was okay for sex. This kind of thing was pushing me out of shape. So I grabbed the clerk by his shirt collar and said, "Listen, fellah, you don't understand. Sex keeps me wide-awake at night. All that barking, don't you know?."
The clerk said, "Yes, sir. Sex keeps me awake at night, too. But I assure you, the motel walls are thick enough that you or your lady friend can bark all you want to, if that's what turns you on."
I could tell that I wasn't going to get anywhere with that clerk, so my wife and I and Sex all slept in the same room. And, just as I had said, Sex kept me awake all night, barking.
Now, one of the traditions at the National Cowboy Symposium is to have a parade right by the Civic Center on the first day of the event. So, being right proud of my new dog, I found where you registered for participating in the parade and tried to enter him. However, I nearly caused a riot when the registrar asked me what I wanted to do in the parade and I said I just want to have Sex in the parade. The registrar was having a bad hair day, I guess, because something ticked her off real bad. She even threatened to call security if I didn't leave, so I went on back to the motel. I was terribly disappointed about not getting to have Sex in the parade.
Well, late that night Sex woke me up at 3 a.m. He needed to go outside and do his thing, so I opened the motel door and let him out. I shut the door and sat on the edge of the bed for a few minutes, trying to figure out how Sex could make my life so complicated. I opened the motel door and figured I could just whistle and get Sex back in my motel room. I whistled, but he didn't come. Sex had run off.
So there was nothing I could do but slip on my jeans and go looking for that dadgummed dog. So, barefoot and shirtless, I spent nearly an hour looking up one street and down another, and still I had no Sex. I had just started down a dark alley when a police car turned in and stopped me. He asked me for identification and, of course, I didn't have any. Then he growled, "What are you doing in this alley, half-naked, at 4:00 in the morning?"
Without thinking it through real clear, I said: "Officer, to tell you the gospel truth, I am just out here looking for Sex."
The next thing I knew this policeman was booking me into the city jail. My wife came down about 9 a.m. and bailed me out. We decided to leave Lubbock right then, without Sex. So we packed up and left Sex behind.
Well, boys, that ol' dog may be long gone but he is definitely not forgotten. After all, for the most part, my wife and I had a lot of good experiences with Sex. The fact is that my wife and I still think about Sex almost every day, but we are learning to get along without it. But we did agree when we lost Sex out of our lives that the next dog that we got we were gonna name it...Rover...or Bubba...or Shakespear...or Beelzebub. Anything but Sex!
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