K, I know the title promises some sort of solution to the issue, but the truth is that I don't actually know how to maintain one's manhood while walking two yippy three-pound Yorkshire Terriers. I wish I did; it would make me feel a lot less gay. At least twice a day, I strap Max and Minnie into their lavender-hued designer harnesses and take them prancing down the sidewalk. When I pass people coming the other way, the best response I can hope for is a polite "Aren't they cute?" smile, but more often than not, I get an "Is it Halloween in WeHo already?" sideways glance out of the corner of their eye. They don't say anything out loud, but I can sense them silently judging me. It's as emasculating an experience as a man can have with his pants on. I wear my wedding ring as conspicuously as possible, as if to exclaim, "You see? I'm married! They came as a package deal!" But alas, neither that nor a summer squash in the trousers makes me feel any more macho during "walkies." It probably doesn't help that I'm carrying a sandwich bag ever so foppishly between my thumb and index finger to pick up their leavings. They're not the big, forearm-sized poops you get from a Mastiff or Irish Wolf Hound, either -- ones you could use to maim someone who looks at you cockeyed.
No, these are cute little pinky poops that fit three to a baggie and can be scattered by a slight breeze. Max at least hikes up his leg when he pees; Minnie squats like a bitch. I’ve tried the clandestine approach, but a low-key walk is out of the question because they bark insanely at anything they perceive to be another dog—whether it be actual dogs, horses (big dogs), birds (flying dogs) or brown paper bags (dead, crunchy dogs). Ultimately, though, the key to maintaining your manhood is quite simple: never get married.
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