Bestiality -- it's just not natural! by Matt Hayden I've always thought I was a pretty open-minded guy. But I've started to think that maybe I'm comparatively prudish. See I've done a lot of adult cyber-surfing of late, and I've realized that "sexual ethics" really is a relative term. There are lots of people who've done more exploring than I'd ever do. When some people have wild sex -- well, it really is wild. For them the term "doggy position" is not figurative.  Yep, I'm talking about zoophilia. Now, I know I might just offend some people -- and their pets -- by saying this, but I do think it's taking things just a tad too far. I know the arguments for it: we eat dead animals anyway so why can’t we, er, "eat" live ones as well. And men who marry horses have very stable relationships.  But there are very strong arguments against it, too, notably Freud’s belief that the main job of civilization is to keep nature at bay. It’s taken us eons to get out of the jungle, so now we shouldn’t start venturing back in.  Nature may not always be brutal. But even at its best it’s usually pretty dumb. If we start shagging shags, well, we really are lowering our sights.  And if we say sex with animals is morally okay, then surely the rape of animals is not. So, how do you get a beast's consent? Do you say, "Fancy a frolic Fido? Bark once for yes, twice for no, and three times for, 'I'd love to but I've got a headache'."?  And just think of the damage it could do to relationships. It’s devastating enough for a bloke to discover that his wife has been unfaithful with another bloke. More so when it’s with another chick. But with a chicken? You’d never recover, would you?  Imagine the scene: Poor hubby’s been at work all day, busting his gut for The Man. He decides to knock off early. He drives home and enters unannounced. Suddenly he hears his wife moaning in the bedroom. Thinking she’s masturbating he bursts in, ready to join in the fun. But what does he see? His darling wife in flagrant delicto with a bloody rooster!  The wife screams! The rooster squawks! The hubby reels!  The wife composes herself. The rooster preens his ruffled feathers. Hubby collapses into a chair. The wife lights a cigarette. So does the chook.  The wife says to her husband, “Okay babe. You sprung me. I’ll 'fess up: You leave me cold. Louie the leghorn here definitely does not. He's a cock who can truly satisfy me." Hubby struggles to make sense of it all. “So, how did all this begin? Where did you meet?”   “At a hen’s night. Louie was the stripper.”   Then, trying to salvage some kind of dignity, he says, “Well, at least no one else knows!”   “Sorry babe.”  She points behind him. He turns around. There’s a sheep wearing a beret and dark glasses, leaning against a digital camera on a tripod.   “Too late,” she adds. “It’s all over the Internet.”  Poor bastard. How could you counsel someone like that? What could you say to him? You couldn’t make him feel better. All you could do is say, “Here’s a gun, pal. Shoot yourself!”  No, we must do all we can to prevent this kind of thing happening.  My advice: Let sleeping dogs lie. © 2002 Matt Hayden do not copy without permission