In 2010 I was a nine ye.ar old little fireball. I had already made a name for myself on social media. Every dog knew Foley Monster.
I began to think of myself as above the rules. When I saw an unknown cat entering a neighboring house, I stopped him from going inside and accused him of being a cat burglar. Unfortunately, I was wrong. I had blocked a cat from going in his own home The next morning the news reported that I was an anti-catdite. Kitties picketed my house. You can read the original recounting here.
Fearing a permanent schism between dogs and cats President Obama invited the cat and me to meet at the White House and resolve the issue. You can read about that historic meeting here.
There was an encounter during my White House visit that I thought best left untold. But now, amid many terrible stories about powerful men humiliating women by treating them as sexual objects I am compelled to come forward with my tale.
After meeting with the President and the kitty, I excused myself and went into the bathroom. While I was checking my hair in the mirror, I heard the door open and shut. I was not concerned. This was a public bathroom. But then I felt something all lollipops dread.
There was a cold nose pressed against my anal sack. Then I heard the sound of deep breathing. I spun around. “Who's there?” I commanded.
It was the President’s dog Beau, a Portuguese Water Dog. He had a sloppy smile on his face. “Did you just sniff my butt?” I asked.
“Yes,” the slobbering Duffus said. “That is how we dogs say hello.”
“Not polite dogs. Who trained you, Joe Biden?”
He stood between me and the door. “Will you play with me?” Beau asked. “I'm a show dog. I am only here to be shown.”
I told Beau that I sympathized with him, but I was here for an important meeting. I would be happy to play with him at some other time. But Beau didn't want to hear no.
When I tried to get past, he playfully pawed at me. I was able to sneak past him and get to the door. I opened it, but Beau’s big paws slammed it shut.
“Come on just play with me a little bit I'm lonely,” Beau insisted.
“No means no Beau’ I snapped at him.
He bit me on the back of the neck and tried to flip me over. My teeth sunk into his foreleg. He yelped and momentarily backed off. I tried to run through the doggie door. After a mad dash, Beau decided to do the unthinkable. He grabbed my back end with his strong paws and began to hump me. I pulled forward with my front legs and got out. I ran from him and ended up in Mrs. Obama's bedroom.
At first, she was surprised to see me and then she saw Beau running in after me. “Beau did you try humping this girl?” she asked disgustedly. She got her answer when Beau looked down ashamed.
“That's it,” the first lady said. “I don't care what they did in the jungle Barak comes from you're getting neutered.’
“You mean Africa?” I asked her hoping I had a big scoop.
“No the southside of Chicago. Its a zoo don't ever go there.”
She leashed Beau and informed the secret service that they would be going to the vet. “You look like a nice dog,” she said to me, “nice dogs don't last too long in this town. The men are all dogs, and the dogs aren't neutered.”
But on that day, thanks to the First Lady and me, a prominent Washington male dog was neutered. And I have a message for all the big male dogs still in Washington. The lollipops are coming. Prepare to be neutered.