Marked by a poodle for the glory of gay gods

Tuesday, February 27th, 2007

I was remembering this day back in 1967–or rather, the things I was told by my parents about that specific day, given that it was the day I was born—and something very funny presented itself once again, making me laugh out loud. So I thought I would share the story with you…

I was born in the house I was to grow up in, a home birth, as they say. I was the last of five children, the next one up from me fifteen years older, and my mother had been advised I should be born in hospital. She refused the idea, for her own reasons, and in the process managed to royally upset the moody family doctor, who felt she should do as he said at all times and in relation to all things.

Anyway, the night I was born—forty years ago today—my mother had been in labour for a very, very long time. I eventually made a fashionably late appearance at 6pm exactly. The midwife delivered me, the family doctor having refused to attend when my father had gone to the phone box to call him. My mother found time to cuss him in between contractions.

Eventually, the family doctor must have decided he’d better show up, and show up he did—a few hours after my entrance into the world. I was in my mother’s arms, the family dog—a white toy poodle called Mitzi—curled up at the end of the bed, on the bed.

The midwife scolded the doctor, but my mother looked up and scowled.

“What the hell have you turned up for?” she asked. “It’s all over now.”

“Let me see the child,” said the doctor, stepping forward.

The poodle bit him. He withdrew his hand quickly, shaking it and swearing.

“Serves you bloody right,” said my mother. “She knows a bad fit when she sees one.”

It was some months later when the family doctor asked my mother if she would ever forgive him.

“No,” she said. “But as long as you do your job in future, you’ll be fine.”

So you see, dear readers, I was born to be gay. Any boy child born under the protection of a poodle is pretty much guaranteed to grow up gay.

If it’s a baby girl, however, and the dog involved is a Rottweiler or a Boxer, then the story might turn out differently…

My boyfriend tells me I am truly insane but he loves me. Two things I have known for a very long time.

Happy 40th birthday to me!

categories: rattle bag