Gender Mishmash in My House

I won’t express myself on gay marriage because someone might disagree with me. (Nobody would disagree with me on Janet Jackson’s tsitskeh display. Back to that later.)

I’m aware it says at the bottom of this column I’m a retired psychotherapist. And that implies psychological intactness. But although I’m 53, I haven’t mastered the ability to handle conflict. When I do, I’ll let you know, that is if you don’t get angry at me.

So marriage, sexual identity and breasts have been floating around my brain, so to speak. And I’d like to tell you how this has affected my little life in Marstons Mills.

First is the duck mating issue. When our pet duck Spike was alive, he and Grant mated a lot. (Grant is a female. You can’t tell the sex of a duckling until they grow up and strike passionate poses.) Duck mating is brutal. The male holds the female’s head either under water or smushed against the ground. This had deadly consequences with past ducks we’ve had, so when Spike died from old age, I declared, “No more mating!” Of course Bob didn’t know the context in which I shouted that and wouldn’t talk to me for a week.

So to keep Grant company and prevent mating, we got a female duck named Becky. Here’s the weirdest thing: since Becky’s been around, Grant has developed male characteristics. For example, only male mallards, which resemble Grant’s breed, have shiny iridescent green necks and curly tails. Grant never did, but she does now. And we’re mating again. And I don’t mean just Bob and me.

Grant now tackles Becky like a male duck would. There was a recent letter to the editor about the animal kingdom being cut and dried concerning males, females and mating. But that isn’t so clear around my house. Especially after dinner, when my female dog Gracie trots to her toy box and picks out Mr. Giant Bear and gives it more than a bear hug, if you get my drift, just like a male dog would do. This, as all pet owners know, is particularly hard to ignore when company is around and especially when a human leg is used instead of Mr. Giant Bear.

Bob took our male cat, Eddie, to be neutered. The odd thing, though, is all he thinks about now is sex (Eddie, not Bob  . . .  well). He attacks our other male cat ferociously to mate. Poor Murphy cries when Eddie does this, so I spend all day stopping him (Eddie, not  . . .  ) from having sex.

So, I’ve seen my pets mating in violent ways that would be shameful for humans to duplicate - in the same manner that sexuality, in many disgraceful ways, was displayed at the Superbowl. (FYI: if anyone ever pulled off my top, my breast would drop to somewhere below my knees.)

Gender doesn’t count here, when it comes to mating. It also doesn’t count here when it comes to love. Although our ducks are females, they stay near one another like love birds. Grant would be lost without Becky.

Eddie cries when his pal’s at the vet. He’d be lost without Murphy.

I would be lost without Bob.

And Gracie, of course, would be lost without Mr. Giant Bear.