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Today, I looked out the hall window, which overlooks Snoopy's yard. My dogs were inside, but Snoopy, Nora and Pogo were in his yard, lying in the sun. For some reason I was moved to go outside and deliver some affection to my perpetual yard guests. When I walked into the backyard, Pogo did her usual: she sprinted full speed ahead, fueled by pure terror, back to her yard, where she stood on the felled tree and barked at me. Stupid, I tell you. Stupid.

Snoopy and Nora remained in the same spot, curled up, looking in my direction. Cute. They're friends. Having been neighbors for four years, it's only been in the past few weeks that they've made each other's acquaintence. How cute. They're making up for lost time. I continued calling.

Finally, Snoopy stood and took a few tentative steps in my direction. Nora stood and stepped in perfect unison. Cute.

Wait.

There's a weinerdog hanging off that dog's weiner.

It seems that, while in the act of doing what unspayed and unneutered dogs do best, Nora and Snoppy had become entangled. They weren't too concerned about it; they were just hanging out. Or in, as it were. Snoopy seemed rather happy to have found a cozy place to store his weiner on a chilly day.

At first I didn't think it was possible. I mean, I could see Snoopy's balls, and Nora was considerably to the side of them. It looked like she had her butt stuck to his back leg. For a brief moment, it seemed more plausible that Snoopy's 9-year-old owner, Boy, had maybe tied their legs together. That, I can fix. Unfortunately, that wasn't what happened.

Nope. There was definitely a weiner stuck in a weinerdog. A rather large weiner, judging from how far away the weinerdog was from the usual location of the weiner. And I felt responsible, because I'm the one with the tree and the fence that's propegated this damn free love doggie commune. Nevermind that my pets are all spayed and it's not my responsibility to sterilize my neighbors' pets, which would have prevented this problem in the first place.

I came inside and told B. to call Nora's people. They didn't answer, even though they were home. Snoopy's people weren't home, either. So, Farmer B. headed outside to unporn the dog porn occuring in our neighbors' yard.

B. had some help. Chloe and Murphy went flying out the door in a manner that suggested they'd been eavesdropping and were just dying to see this "dog sex" we'd been discussing, seeing as they've never experienced it themselves.

For a moment, I thought Murphy was going to gnaw them apart with her fucked-up little overbite.

When B. approached the dogs, Nora went into submissive pose. Unfortunately, when a weiner dog rolls onto her back with the penis of a much taller dog stuck in her vagina, the weiner dog winds up standing on her head. I couldn't watch anymore. I went inside and did what any good farm wife would do in this situation: I Googled "how to seperate two dogs having sex". Which wasn't helpful. Not even a little.

A few minutes later B. came inside to tell me that the dogs had been succuessfully seperated and I could stop Googling and crying. Instead, I called my mom and requested the use of her chainsaw. At this point I wasn't seeing the humor in the situation. I was simply fed the hell up with having at least one tree-related weirdo fire to put out every single day of my damn life. So fed up that I couldn't find the words to describe the grossness that had transpired in the yard and all I could say was, "Snoopy had a wiener dog stuck on his wiener," to which she laughed so hard that only the dogs could hear her.

And no, I'm not going to use the chainsaw to seperate the dogs the next time it happens - and you know it'll happen again. B.'s taking a day off work to remove the last of the tree. We were hoping it wouldn't come to that. We were also hoping that we wouldn't have a dachshund and a sheltle (or beatie) stuck together at the genitals. God knows I never, ever hoped for the existance of sheltie/beagle/dachshund puppies (Shelbehunds? Dachstiles? Beahundties?). I certainly don't want to spend the rest of my life chasing them out of my yard. And that's why Robert Frost was right. Fences are the best neighbors in the world.