‘I want to talk about balls’ — Jenna Martin on the nip’n’tuck causing a furore

WHEN it comes to balls, men are obsessed. So when I raised the issue of a nip’n’tuck, the usually feminist-loving men of my family went into an uproar.

Ray Martin with Jed in happier times.

OPINION

I want to talk about balls.

Like most dogs, my Border Collie, Jed, loves balls.

Tennis balls, soccer balls, meatballs … He’ll chase them, catch them, eat them, hoard them. He’s so obsessed, he’d spend all day- if he could- engaged in the endless pursuit of a round bouncy object.

What he doesn’t particularly love are his own balls — his ‘man’ balls — which is a good thing, because the other day, he lost them.

This simple act, this little nip’n’tuck, nearly caused a coup in the Martin household.

I was called, among other things, a “witch”, a “sadist” and a “mean motherf***er”.

By members of my own family.

Not by my mother. She was thrilled. “Maybe now he’ll stop humping things”, she said.

Mum and I knew this little ‘procedure’ would bring only change for good: A lack of aggression towards us, other dogs and the poor, stuffed elephant that copped the brunt of his carnal urges; less chance he’d roam the streets in search of his very own ‘Lady and the Tramp’ spaghetti moment, AND it would mean he could go to a kennel if I went away. Most places won’t take ‘entire’ dogs.

Ray Martin with Jed in happier times.

The men in my family, however? That was an entirely different sack of … sorry, an entirely different story.

“Not my fault, Jed! I wouldn’t do that to you, buddy!” That was Dad.

My brother went a step further.

“You’re taking away his manhood!”

I rolled my eyes. What the hell is it with blokes and balls? Why do these bulbous, hairy nodules of hormones hold so much damn significance?!

Dad went on. “I mean, I’d understand if Jed was a girl…”

“Excuse me?” I said.

“Well, girls have to carry the puppies so it’s just responsible.”

I didn’t bother to ask him how he thought the puppies got there in the first place.

He was adamant: Boys roam. Be they man or beast, that’s what they do — it’s nature.

There we were, two women and two progressive, feminist-loving men, sitting in a living room in Sydney Australia in 2015, discussing whether birth control remained a female responsibility. In dogs.

Jed: Lover of balls.

I tried to look at it from their perspective: From the time you’re a young boy your balls are just there, hanging around. First they’re a curiosity, then perhaps a minor annoyance when you’re learning how to zip up your fly, and then they become a mind-blowing source of arousal and — within society — a symbolism of masculinity, of integrity.

The uterus? Not so much. Little girls can’t get curious and play with their uterus. It’s just there, quietly staying out of trouble and occasionally growing another actual living person. But its invisibility doesn’t mean it’s any less a valuable a piece of machinery.

I get it. Balls, to a bloke, are special. But Jed’s not a bloke. He’s a dog. He has no idea what his balls are for and what glorious wonderment they’re capable of.

Furthermore, on a practical level, I knew that my inner city apartment wasn’t the ideal place to undertake a Border Collie breeding program.

Undeterred, I maintained my position: The family jewels were going.

The big day arrived. Dad called on the way to the vet. “I’ll take him for a beer afterwards,” he joked, “Poor bastard.”

I said nothing. I signed all the forms, handed over my credit card, gave Jed a pat and sent him off, tail wagging, to his scrotum-less destiny.

Sad, ball-less Jed.

The next morning? Good as new. He bounded up on my bed, tail still wagging, tongue still licking and doggie breath just as hot and eager as ever. Your typical crazy, lovable, energetic- albeit ball-less- wonder.

Besides, I bought him two new ones from the pet shop on the way home. They’re bright yellow and super bouncy and he loves them already.

He can tug them, paw them, roll them around on the floor, put them in his mouth and suck on them (what bloke honestly hasn’t ever tried to do that?) and when he wants to, he can have other people play with them too.

In other words, life for the male species continues as normal.

Jenna Martin is the Author of Driving Under the Influence. You can follow her on Twitter @MsJennaMartin