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About Just out. (Portland, OR) 1983-2013 | View Entire Issue (March 7, 2003)
46 » march Z. 2003 HUMOR Puppy love E very dog has its gay At C.C. Slaughters there is Something happening every day of the week Monday - Movie Madness Tuesday • Karaoke Wednesday - Country Music Thursday • Quarters Night Friday - Dance Party Saturday - High Energy Dance :» . •'' . : V /'S . ju « J 8 ’ Check out ou r up coming events at www.ccslaughterspdx.com G r e a t D a n c e F lo o r D J M a t t ’ s H o t S o u n d s T h r e e S ister s T a v e r n T ues -S at (T ues -T hurs : N o C over ) 1125 SW S tark 503.228.0486 W dec M 1ÌC r c > UPCOMING CABARET MARCH I lie ( >riKT on xM .227.5SS? Sr.irk »St SW I I rh 50Î.224.5I4I FREE HIV TESTING 4lh 6a 25lh Variety Show “Best o f ’ Show l l ,h & 18,h Wendy Martel-Vilken Every Thursday Hours 5:00-6:30 om % Harm Reduction Center 3701 E. FourtF Ran Vancouver, APRIL l*1 6a 8th Jerry Stuart 15,h, 22nd, 29,h Susan Overcast Need e Fri All shows 7:30 pm Call for reservations 503 223 0070 Union Station NW 6th 6a Irving en are dogs. I must confess I’ve never understood this expression, although I’ve know n lots of gay guys who are real hitches. N o t to m en tion a good num ber who like to sniff each o th e r’s butts. But to liken men to dogs is, well, kind of insulting to dogs, I think. Sure, dogs drool, they smell, they eat cat ptxip if you let them, hut nowhere else will you find the kind of un conditional devotion they can give you. Full disclosure: 1 am a canine lover. Dog hair is a food group in my house. But what you don’t know is that my dog is a superhero. You w ouldn’t know it to lcxik at him. Despite ^¡Jur***** being nam ed after a tank, Sherm an is actually just a 10- pound, black and white Pekingese, about the size of a well- fed cat. W hen h e ’s asleep in a co m er he could easily he m istak en for an electric shoe polisher. You see, my partner and I aren ’t like those outdoorsy gay guys who try to hutch it up by owning dogs usually associated with les bians— dogs like black Labs and golden retrievers. N o, my friends, Floyd and 1 are of that vanishing breed of queens who will never own a large dog because its wagging tail might knock over the Steuben. Pekingese are classified as “toy” dogs, and I understand why. Sherman is less a dog in the “sit/stay/heel” sense of the word and more like a stuffed animal with a cir culatory system. W ith his big, round eyes and shmushed-in face, he reminds me of Gizmo in Gremlins. But he’s a superhero, all right. H e’s Sher man, the Amazing Vomiting Dog. H e’s less likely to “go fetch" than “go retch,” and his barf is definitely worse than his bite. W hat’s more, the very moment he’s emp tied the contents of his stomach, the first thing he does is run to his dish for more. “He’s just excitable,” Floyd says. "No, he’s just bulimic,” I say. 1 blame myself, of course. If I weren’t so weight-obsessed, I’m sure Sherman would real ize he’s just fine the way he is. But my dog is not a likely candidate for superherodom. Not only did he flunk obedi ence school, hut he was rejected as a stud puppy because his legs were too long. (Only in the bizarre world of dog shows would 4 inches he considered too long.) Sherman does pull his weight, however—all 10 pounds of it. For the five years that Floyd and I had our business, Sherman came to work with us. His job was to greet customers and he adorable— a task for which he is infinitely well qualified. W hile most custom ers loved him , we did discover th at very observant Muslims would refuse to step in the door until Sherm an had been locked in hack. A pparently in Islam dogs are considered unclean, and com ing THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO MARC b y M a r c A c ito into the slightest c o n tact w ith them means you must re-perform your ablutions. W ith the current state of heightened alert, I say forget about arming airline pilots; let’s just park a Pekingese in front of the cockpit dexir and call it done. ompared to your typical bomb-sniffing rescue dog (or even my friend’s mutt who can fetch a beer from the fridge), Sherman doesn’t appear to he gixxl for much. But he did save Floyd’s life. Floyd was infected with HIV in 1984 and for more than a decade remained asymptomatic. But in 1995 his health began to deteriorate rapidly. A t the time AZT was the primary drug available, hut its toxicity only made him more ill, so we were faced with the grim prospect of a long, debilitating gixxlbye. Floyd slept through most of what we’ve come to refer to as the “W inter of our Dis content”— sometimes as much as 16 hours a day— partly out of depression, hut mostly because he was frail and weak. But then the Sherm inator came to his res cue. T he moment that hall of fluff came rolling into our lives, Floyd’s health immediate improved; despite utter fatigue, he wanted to get out of bed in the morning just so he could know what the little puppy was doing. He wanted to hold him and brush him and play with him. I’m not exaggerating when I say it gave him the will to live. A nd he’s not alone. In a study of 150 car diac patients, for instance, 7 percent of those who did not own a dog died within the first year, compared with only 1 percent of those who did. O f course, the triple cocktail became avail able that spring and as the earth awoke from its winter slumber so did Floyd— returning to new life and blossoming again. But we both know that he was rescued by that little dog. I told you he was a superhero. And that, my friends, is T he Gospel According to Marc. J H M a r c A c it o would like to hear about your canine superheroes. Write him at marcadto@cutbi.com.
