Many women I know claim that all men are dogs. They say that there are a couple of generations of guys who don't know how to put down a toilet seat, can't take responsibility for any childish action and refuse to support the kids they've already got without making new ones. 

By Valerie Shaw, M.PR

Forgetting everything we learned in Biology 101, where we studied Darwin's Theory of Evolution, we seem to have the mistaken notion that dogs, unlike any species on the planet, can clone themselves.

Since there appears to be so many women who make this blanket accusation, I'm not going to take issue with their position, even though I don't agree. But I am going to ask a question that I hope someone can answer for me: I just wanna know, which came first, the dog or the bitch?

["Say what? Gu-r-r-rl, you are crazy!"]

You heard me! Which came first; the dog or the bitch?

Look, my momma taught me how to change my sheets and put dirty clothes in the hamper, not on the floor. It didn't take her but a hot minute to teach me that a washed dish was not one with food flakes on it, or that the bathroom was not cleaned if the tub had a big beige ring around it. I learned how to cook, take out the trash and even how to wash the car long before I was allowed to drive it.

In keeping with my good upbringing, adding a little common sense of my own, I am now rearing my 13-year-old son not to be my perpetual child. I am training him to be some womanÕs husband and some kid's father, not my perpetual BOY!

I don't want some sweet young sister, 12-years from now, coming back on me with the complaint that her husband--my son--doesn't know how to make up a bed or cook spaghetti. I don't want a string of grandkids by different mothers who don't know me from Aunt Jemima.

I don't want to visit my only child in the penitentiary after he holds up a convenience store in a failed heist with his homies. And I certainly don't want no lazy deep-voiced young man hanging around my house all day talkin' on the phone to his bitches or 'hos.

It would be my most dreadful nightmare come true if my young manchild grows up to be a childman-- goalless, jobless, with the only thing he has in abundance is sperm. Not if I have anything to say about it. And, believe me, I have plenty to say! [I ain't raisin' no dog! Do you hear me?]

Now, I've known my share of wolf-whffing mongrels, mind you. I even married one of them. But I'm sure not going to punish future generations of women for my own less than ideal experiences and stupid mistakes. It's my job to break the cycle, not to keep it going.

What could a mother be thinking, I wonder--even if she is a single parent--as she teaches her daughters to clean, cook and get a good education, but can't train her son how to say please or thank you?

Why is a mother surprised when her baby boy grows up to be a user, when she never taught him how to be a giver? And I have a big problem with mothers who say they are trying to instill a strong sense of self-esteem in their sons while they spend every waking moment bad-mouthing Junior's daddy.

[Is it just a coincidence that the women who insist that all men are dogs always seem to attract them? Hum-m-m]

From the number of twenty- and thirthy-something dysfunctional "boys" I know, I can trace most of their peculiarities back to a mother who either couldn't let go or was too busy playin' to pay any attention to her sacred responsibility. She either smothered or she strangled her male child's spirit. Her twisted rage against men shaped and twisted her own prodginy into the dog that he became. [Homeboy wasn't born bad, he was raised on dissin' women.]

Looks like we've come full circle here, boys and girls. Back to talkin' about dogs. But still, my question persists: If, as some women suggest, all men are dogs, which came first, the dog or the bitch?