When I was in my teens, my next door neighbor had this rundown looking house populated by mean looking dogs. The place was flat grey with a gravel driveway, a backyard that was mostly dirt and dark yellow curtains that always seemed to be closed. There were four gargantuan Bullmastiff purebreds that I used to play with through the fence. If you’re unfamiliar with the Bullmastiff, they were originally bred to guard large estates and cripple would-be poachers. I once watched one of them bite a hefty tree branch in half. Despite their appearance, I thought they acted completely hilarious and reveled at the chance to use my hand to test their jowls, which I affectionately called “dog-flaps.” Their owner was the classic Michigan shop rat. He possessed a shaven head accompanied by a substantial mustache, owned an immaculate Trans Am WS6 and took his Harley Davidson motorcycle to Sturgis every year. One year, he asked me to watch his dogs while he was away. I was surprised because, up until that point, I had never even spoken to the man. He told me, “You don’t seem to be scared of them and I don’t know anyone else since my daughter moved away.”
It turned out that they were prizewinning show dogs and he paid me handsomely to care for them. I loved doing it and would regularly use them to scare my friends. I often fantasized about building a dog powered wagon that they could pull me around in. After my first summer of dog sitting, he started taking more frequent trips and I found myself watching those dogs often until Pepper got pregnant. She was the sweetest dog and would dance when she got excited. After some months, I went over to visit and see if she had given birth. Her owner seemed glad to see me and asked me how I had been. I told him that I was doing well and jokingly asked, “Have the puppies hatched yet?”
There was a long pause as his face changed from confused, to concerned and, finally, a little scared. “Dogs don’t come from eggs.” he replied.
This was an intensely serious man and the chance that I could have been joking never crossed his mind. In the three years that I had known him, I had never once heard him crack a joke and knew that he took most things quite seriously. He had just found out that the person he had entrusted with his beloved dogs for the last two years, believed that dogs came from eggs. As he recoiled away from me in terror, I began to reassure him that I understood that mammals all give birth to live young and was attempting to be humorous. I then went on to elaborate about how that ties into nipples and milk but I could tell that I was just digging myself a deeper grave. He let me see the puppies and I got to watch the dogs a few more times but he moved away not long after the incident. I would tell myself that it had everything to do with his new girlfriend or the want for additional space for the large animals but I secretly worried that it was because he thought I was crazy.
Years later, he contacted me and told me how much he missed being neighbors and having me take care of the dogs. While that did a great deal to ease my anxiety, I still wonder if there is a part of him that remains unconvinced that I was only kidding. I sort of hope so because that would give him an equally good story to tell. I suppose it doesn’t seem all that outrageous for dogs to come from eggs either. I have certainly fantasized about what it might look like and, let me tell you, it’s pretty great.
Click here for further bizarre content on the subject of eggs.
You Monsters Are People. 
i love that u can carry something creative, playful and almost fragile like this the long distance from your thoughts, through your fingers and into script. that is an amazing skill that most of us take for granted when we read and never try out for ourselves. thank u for taking us out to play w u today. i needed that!
Thank you. I try to take people out to play with me as frequently as possible.
This made my day!
Great story. I want dog eggs.
Wonderful!
Thanks, Posky ~ you are a wild and C~R~A~Z~Y guy.
Thanks, just point me at the “hot American foxes.”
As always, a pure delight to read. Thank you.
I enjoy your blog too but always end up suffer fits of late night food frustrations when all I have a single can of lima beans.
congratulations, you have found a way to make easter weirder.
awesome.
Agreed. Truly awesome.
I so miss my small yellow lab from long, long ago. If I can have only two people in the afterlife with me it would be that dog and my granddaughter. My dog did not come from and egg, but she was sure hatched in heaven.
No worries, Carl. There is an animated film that covers this issue entitled “All Dogs go to Heaven.” If there is such a place, I hope you end up there with your dog. It sounds like a nice place to be and you are a nice person to know.
It’s a good fit, if you ask me.
The first thing I thought of was canine omelets. I don’t know why.
Me too. Well, first thing I thought was Bacon and Bulldog Eggs on Rye.
You two were quickly becoming some of my favorite internet persons and you had to put all of that in jeopardy by suggesting that I would want to eat baby dogs.
No way. I don’t care how delicious they probably are.
Dog eggs are so much more convenient when you’re traveling to the stars.
This blew my mind.
So, apparently I have nothing better to do than tell bad jokes this morning.
What would you get if you crossed a chicken with a dog? A hen that lays pooched eggs. …
Oh, and read your great blog. How is it that your neighbor looked you up so many years later? What a thrill :)
This is the best joke that anyone has ever told. If someone used their mouth to tell me that joke in person, I’d probably go into a seizure and then start making out with them.
This was an early post I made but I think you’ll get a kick out of it:
https://mattposky.wordpress.com/2010/08/19/extraordinarily-execrable-jokes-terribly-good-humor/
That is a great post. Believe or not I remember it… are our Grandpas somehow related? Great comments too, especially when the ‘audience’ started getting the hang of it. Telling jokes that is.
Great story … and I admit to be one of those who loves to say something ridiculous in a serious tone. BTW, thanks for stopping by to see the frog.
I just thought of a better caption for that photo of that thinking frog:
“He’s just waiting for a croak of genius.”
That’s a good one Posky… and I haven’t even seen the photo.
I’m very tempted to follow up on the joke above and make a smart alec remark about breakfasts in Korea, but I rise above such things!
Not all that successfully, it turns out…
That’s okay. There is always next time.
…another reason not to eat eggs, your visual will stick with me, thanks! (not being snarky, actually blogged a bit about eggs today). Enjoyed!
They are totally delicious but sort of gross at the same time.
what would you rather eat, frog legs or dog eggs?
Frog legs… but I suppose dog eggs would be less murderous to consume if they were unfertilized. I haven’t quite worked out the logistics yet.
Aces.
You’re kind of hilarious. (That is a compliment).
Thanks for stopping by my blog – I hope you’ll come back!
Ditto.
The story is well told. A good read spiked with childhood innocence. It sounds real, perhaps I have lost my sense of humour.
It’s real. Most of my stories are.
That totally reminds me of a Family Guy episode where at the end, Peter says to Brian, “You know, I learned something today. I always thought… that dogs laid eggs.”
Cute story Posky :-)
Well, who wouldn’t want a dog-powered wagon?
So funny, Posky. I had to share this with my work friends to explain this morning’s sudden burst of laughter.
You should have lied. Now they probably think you’re a weirdo.
My first time on the blog, and all was going great until someone had to go and ruin it by suggesting a dog omelet. What kind of sick is that? Anyway, love the story and will be back again! I’m almost over it. : ))
I though it was sick too. What a bunch of monsters.
I always wondered why the saying wasn’t “What came first? The dog or the egg?” It all makes perfect sense now.
Better not tell him that Lakota enjoy puppy soup–because that’s NOT a joke. According to a “Matron’s Report” from around 1900, puppies make darn good soup. Note: Matrons were White women hired to teach Indian women how to cook, sew and be good “housekeepers.” No small order when your home is a split rail one room cabin w/o windows and infested with bugs consuming the rotting wood walls.
I remember a couple of times when I made a joke, and the people I was telling the joke to thought I was serious, so I just ended up looking stupid. So yup, I know how that feels. And I know how it feels to want to convince them so much that you’re just funny, not dumb.
But you are funny! ;) And this story is, even though the idea of eating dog eggs just grosses me out.
I need a dog right about now – from an egg or otherwise! I was hoping to see a picture of that dog-powered wagon though!
I think it is really sweet that they guy tracked you down to tell you that he missed having you babysit his dogs. Even though I like to say I am wary of people with no sense of humor, I think this shows that he’s a good guy.
The DOG EGGS are a brilliant idea. And you sir proved yourself not only a great artist but a very gifted writer too!