Once I had a friend. We met at the workplace and though he was considerably younger than me, we hit it off. He was gay and struggling with his homosexual leanings, and I was willing to listen. I could not begin to list the many ways in which he was kind to me and my sizable family at a time when I really needed some kindness. He took us on many road trips and even drove me to Montreal when my daughter had her first baby there. It is unlikely that he will ever read what I write here, but I am still so grateful.

I was disturbed when my friend began to enter more fully into a homosexual lifestyle. It became apparent to me that once homosexual actions were accepted as normal we would enter onto a slippery slope in which any kind of sexual activity, with man or beast, with many or none, with kids or corpses, would be defended. Once you abandon God’s and Nature’s norms, where would you draw the line. And why?

I lost my friend when I wrote the following:

A FABLE

I once had a friend who had grown up different-–queer, if you will. He was not turned on by women. He was not turned on by men. What really turned him on was his Saint Bernard. He knew, of course, that there are lots of dog lovers in the world, but they didn’t love their dogs like he did. For a long time he cursed the fate that had made him different, and pretended to be “one of the boys.” But he felt alone, and dishonest, and misunderstood.

One day, quite by accident, he chanced upon someone else with similar sexual preferences, and this someone introduced him to another person, and soon there was a tightly knit little group who got together for understanding and support, had parties, told inside jokes, even swapped dogs. With them, everything could be “up front.” They did not like the ring of “bestiality” so they decided to call themselves the Happys.

The Happys discovered there were many advantages to being Happy and even came out with a book, The Joy of Happy Sex. A Happy did not have to worry about the problem of jealousy. His dog was always there, never out cruising for other masters. It was certainly economical. Dog food was cheap and a motel room for one was quite adequate. No conflicting personalities; no arguments as to whose career came first or who was going to do the dishes. And, of course, no children. And no puppies. It was the perfect answer to the population explosion.

Since the Happys only had sex with female dogs (perhaps the fact that the males wouldn’t stand for it is relevant), they considered themselves superior to the Gays. To them it was perfectly obvious that males and females were complementary and that males were designed to have sex with females.

Now it so happens that at that time there was a Gay crooner who did orange juice commercials and had adopted some children of whom he was very fond. He considered Happy an abnormal sexual orientation. To him it was quite obvious that human beings were intended intended to have sex with other human beings. He wanted for his children a more mature and fulfilling sexuality.

So he said to the Happys, “What you do in the privacy of your own home is your own business. You are hurting no one but yourselves. But please do not teach my children that Happy is a perfectly acceptable alternative lifestyle. I cannot blame you for your sexual proclivities but neither can I approve of your actions as good and moral. I don’t want you telling my children about the so-called advantages of being Happy or trying to persuade them that Happy is good. If you are going to do that, I would rather you did not live next door or be in a position where you can influence my children.”

Of course, the Happys were considerably upset about this and raised the cry that they were an oppressed minority, and being persecuted by the Gays. They said they were being discriminated against because of their sexual preferences which was quite as bad a being discriminated against because of race, sex, or national origin.

Now oppression, persecution, and discrimination are ugly words in America, the land of the free, and many folks felt sorry for the Happys and championed their cause. People began to boycott orange juice and the crooner lost his job. What is more, the children listened carefully to what the Happys preached and, being children, it made sense to them. As soon as they were old enough to have a sexual itch they went out looking for a dog to scratch it with. Sure enough, it was fun. Some never looked further.

And that is the story of how our nation began to go to the dogs.

MORAL: As the twig is bent, so is the tree inclined.

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NB: I do not regret that I wrote this and showed it to my friend, but the loss of the friendship was painful.