Many girls my age - OK, probably older - are coming to realize the lengths their maternal instincts will go to achieve their ultimate goal: offspring. Whether it be prostituting themselves for a night of unprotected fun in exchange for child support, or just studying the ins and outs of the security systems at nearby day care centers, women who want babies won't stop until there's a kicking fetus in their tummies or they're on their way to Arizona in a stolen car with 500 bucks in cash and a future milk-carton child.
Although I'm only 21, my maternal clock has pretty much kicked in. But I think there were some mutations along the way, though, because I prefer my babies a lot hairier, with a lot less potential for literacy.
I want a puppy. More than want, I need a puppy. In fact, my entire existence pretty much revolves around my financial and residential potential for owning one. But with a college salary, ambitions in the least lucrative field next to being employed as Sarah Palin's daughter's abortion doctor, and a roommate who flat out hates dogs, I don't have high hopes for mothering a furry little friend any time soon.
So, I've resorted to other means of assuring I get enough puppy-wuppy cuddle time in that I can function on a day-to-day basis. YouTube videos of those little cuties singing, jumping, sleeping and chewing is usually only enough to keep me kicking during inclement weather.
Most of the time, I roam State Street looking for cute puppies to ambush and owners to annoy. The first step is asking permission to pet them. That's when I go in for the kill by plopping my ass right on the sidewalk next to these dogs and pulling them onto my lap for some kisses.
If the owner is a male under 25, I can usually get an extra few minutes in by perking up the girls and sweetly inquiring if he and his K-9 wouldn't mind helping me look for my panties, which, silly me, I seemed to have misplaced somewhere between Lake and Gilman.
While he either scours the street looking for crotchless black lace or quickly checks Channel 3000 for news of an escaped mental patient on his BlackBerry (depending on when he last got laid), the last thing he's usually thinking about is his dog, who is usually about halfway back to my apartment before he realizes he's been played.
But some days my needs are just too great to be met by singling out one or two dogs on State. I need a space where the ratio of dogs to square feet is much higher. So I go to the dog park.
Some people probably think it's creepy to hang around the dog park without actually owning a dog. In fact, if I were lurking around a playground with a bunch of little kids, I'd probably be arrested.
My intentions are purely maternal and not at all sexual, I assure you, but I still wonder what some of those owners must think when I stroll in leash-free and throw myself at their dogs.
On my better days, I actually make an effort to socialize with some of the other people around. We make small talk about the weather or college life, but the conversation quickly turns awkward when they ask which one is mine and I have to reply, I'm just looking.""
Other times, I couldn't give a crap about the people there and I just need to get my puppy fix before I die of loneliness. So, either I'm out in the field jumping and licking along with the other furry beasts, or I'm standing suspiciously near the entrance with my hood up and an expression of pure desire plastered on my face.
Unfortunately, I doubt any of my needs will be satiated until I'm the proud mother of my own four-legged cutie patootie. But until then, dog owners, lock your doors and hold onto your pets. I'm on the prowl.
If you have a dog and don't feel violated or afraid, please, please, please e-mail Kiera at wiatrak@wisc.edu.
