Regarding the previous post, if you think I'm just guessing about what 'nads look like, then you are wrong. I had this dog named Goober. As a puppy, he looked for all the world like a possum. A cute possum, of course. I found him beside a neighbor's mailbox when he was maybe 8 or 9 weeks old and he followed me home. The fact that I stopped every three feet, calling, "Come on, puppy. Come on." had nothing to do with it, I'm sure.
I did not realize I had brought destructo-dog into my home. That pup would chew up anything. He chewed the arms of the sofa, the coffee table legs, and half a rocker off a chair I got from my grandma. Which means I am truly off my rocker. (groan - bad pun). For some reason, Goober was particularly attracted to the heels of shoes...countless pairs of shoes. He sealed his fate when he destroyed my favorite lizard and patent leather pumps (this was 1991, the shoes were cool then, I swear!).
Thinking this puppy was just a bit to enthusiastic, I dragged Goober to the vet to have his love lumps removed. Being the curious type (remember that A in biology?) I told the vet I wanted to see Goober's goobers after they were removed. When I picked him up, the vet had the nuggets (How many different words will she use in one post to describe manparts? Stay tuned.) in a jar of formalin. She was very considerate and took time to explain to me what each bit was and how it worked. Yummy. I took the jar of cocktail onions home.
And then what? What do you do with pickled dog oysters? Thinking I might have a daughter some day, I kept them. How great would that be? My daughter starts dating and a real winner shows up to take her to the Sonic for a #1 meal with tater tots and a lime slush. Mom puts the jar on the coffee table. Without any explanation, the boy knows exactly what he is looking at. He feels an involuntary clenching in his boxers. Mom says, "About the last boy who dated my daughter..."
Alas I had no daughter. Somewhere in a move, the Goober seed pods went in the trash. But Goober himself lives on. He is deaf, nearly blind, and can hardly walk. He just stumbles around in his quiet, dark world, looking for his walnuts. Or some shoes.
(I lost custody of Goober in a divorce, hence the use of the past tense early in the story.)