Bestiality is wrong. VERY, VERY WRONG. But when I heard about the Swiss man convicted of shagging his dog I nearly died of glee. My brain was lit up National Grid style with utterly shit puns about going dogging, doggy style, with the Swiss gentleman yelling “what’s my muthafucking name, ja?” Snoop Dogg style as he pounded his pet.
If I’m honest, I’m a tiny bit jealous of the dog. Blaessli (who I might start referring to as ‘the horny hound’) was ‘wooed’ with chocolate drops and candlelight. I can’t remember the last time I got wooed. On Valentine’s Day 2009, somewhere in Switzerland Blaessli and his buddy were probably romping in a bubble bath filled with rose petals and licking each other’s balls. At the time I was in a kebab shop in Chiswick paying for a lamb shish and chips as my boyfriend had forgotten his wallet.
But passionate love is always interwoven with suspicion and jealousy, and poor Blaessli had to contend with not one but two rivals for his owner’s affections. According to the Sun, not one but TWO other dogs were bedded during their courtship. My thirst for detail here is so great that I want to sign up for intensive French and German courses that I might better understand the court transcript.
Did his pet get hysterical, chewing up his shoes and barking long into the night? Was the man forced to sleep alone in the dog basket
We’ve established that Blaessli’s human lover is a romantic guy, right? I can’t picture him just finding a dog in a park, picking them up and going for it behind a bush. “Bedding” has connotations. I bet they did it in a hotel. There must have been stockings, dropped telephone calls, confusing scents. I’m guessing this guy had a Blackberry and an iPhone, and separate numbers for the different dogs. And one day he came home and Blaessli rushed to greet him, and, knocking him over with the enthusiasm of the embrace, discovered an unfamiliar flavour of Winalot in a can in his pocket.
But what about the other dogs? Were they fancy poodles, hated by other breeds for their fluffiness and false air of vulnerability? Did they spend all their time in grooming parlours and target attached men? Maybe one of them was a gorgeous exotic creature with a glossy coat and paws up to there – the Kelly Brook of dogs. Perhaps the man was so overwhelmed by his love for Blaessli, beautiful, perfect Blaessli, that he felt himself unworthy and just took some mongrel to a Premier Inn to boost his flagging self esteem.
I wonder how he got caught out. Well, I’m wondering how he got outed as a dog botherer, but also just how Blaessli felt about these indiscretions. Did his pet get hysterical, chewing up his shoes and barking long into the night? Was the man forced to sleep alone in the dog basket as Blaessli stretched out in the master bedroom, comfy but so alone.
Or was Blaessli’s attitude a little more continental? Maybe the guy came home one day with flowers and a bottle of pooch Perrier Jouet, quoting Ernest Dowson ("I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion) and everything was absolutely fine. Or maybe Blaessli spotted the hair on the jacket, witnessed an intimate look or heard an endearment meant for different ears, and like Emma Thompson in Love Actually, put on a brave face for the kids. Even though there are no kids as far as I’m aware.
Having anthropomorphized the fuck out of this story I feel for Blaessli. I hope the little fella had some good times, and can be paired with a new owner who shows their love in sweeter, less penetrative ways. Dogs may be man’s best friend – but sleeping with your best friend almost never ends well.
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