The furnace guy shows up Tuesday.

Simple visit.

Check the heat.

In and out.

No drama.

That?s what I thought.

He crouches down beside the house, poking around with a wrench, humming to himself like he?s in a Disney movie.

And then my peaceful afternoon gets drop-kicked straight into the Twilight Zone.

Because here comes my dog around the corner like a horny meteor.

Eyes wild.

Tongue flapping.

Tail spinning so fast he could generate wind power for the whole fuckin town.

Before I can even blink, my dog launches himself onto the furnace guy?s back like he?s auditioning for the adult version of Cirque du Soleil.

Wraps both paws around the guy?s neck like he?s whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

Then the humping starts.

Not regular humping.

Oh no.

This was full-throttle diesel-powered jackhammering.

???

The kind of thrusts that could move tectonic plates.

I just stare, frozen, thinking, ?Holy fuck, my dog has entered his villain era.?

The poor furnace guy face-plants into the dirt.

He?s yelling, ?Help! Help!? but it comes out muffled because he?s basically making out with the lawn.

I yell, ?HEY! GET OFF HIM!?

Grab my dog by the collar.

Big mistake.

My sweet little cuddlebug, who usually cries when he drops a toy, whips his head at me and growls like I?m interrupting the greatest love story of his life.

I?ve never been cock-blocked by my own dog before.

It was humbling.

The furnace guy, meanwhile, screams, ?Just let him finish or he?s gonna bite me!?

And I?m thinking, ?Buddy, you?re negotiating with a dog that?s dry-humping your shoulder blades with the strength of a thousand suns.

I don?t think we?re in ?reasoning? territory anymore.?

Finally, after what felt like ten years but was probably fifteen seconds of pure trauma, my dog slows down, sighs dramatically like a man who just had a smoke after, and steps off.

Just strolls away.

Relaxed.

Satisfied.

A little proud.

Meanwhile, the furnace guy looks like he needs therapy, a chiropractor, and probably a priest.

He crawls under the house without a word.

Absolute silence.

You could?ve heard a mouse fart in that yard.

When he finally emerges, he hands me the bill without making eye contact.

I don?t know what to say.

?Thank you??

?Sorry about the assault??

?Next time I?ll put a condom on him??

Nothing sounded right.

So we just stared at each other like two men who experienced something they?ll never talk about again.

He drives off.

Doesn?t look back.

My dog sits in the yard like he just closed a business deal.

Chest out.

Head high.

King of the fuckin world.

?????????????...and that's callin' it like it is!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Canadian artist & digital troublemaker Colin John Cook shares his louder-than-life, awkward, and honest-as-hell stories. Packed with humour, real talk & creative insights in a no filter, digital comedy space that laughs at life & calls it like it is. He is also the Founder and President of

The Hidden Gallery - Art Studio & Micro Theatre

??