Morgan Organ
He was meant to be a bird dog until he started acting like Harry Reems.
Morgan Organ was a mighty fine dog
A mighty fine dog was he
Till he caught his balls on the garden wall
And nearly became a she
For the uninitiated, Harry Reems did over 140 porn films, including Deep Throat and The Devil In Miss Jones. These films reached such notoriety, he became the first American actor to be prosecuted solely for performing in a film (and trying to distribute across state lines).
He later wrote a book, describing how he fell into obscurity, becoming “a low-bottom drunk,” before finding religion and real estate (he went straight, in other words, if you can call either straight).
He had a fine set of balls (as did Harry).
Anyway, that’s Harry—no relation to Morgan who is, after all, a dog. They do share similarities, though. You see, while Harry tapped into his ability to satisfy women, Morgan tapped into his ability to satisfy himself. From an early age, Morgan was a notorious ball-licker, and for good reason.
He had a fine set of balls (as did Harry).
Morgan was a Labrador retriever. Black Labs were once known as St. John’s dogs before being given the moniker of “Labrador” by the Earl of Malmesbury. As long as you’re in the same general area, I guess it’s okay.
All of which is neither here nor there, since Morgan’s pedigree isn’t in question here. He was just a happy-go-lucky pup with a habit of ball-licking, which wouldn’t have attracted notice if he hadn’t been so well-endowed (like Harry).
Dan, his owner, had seen a late night showing of Deep Throat at a stag, and thought nicknaming Morgan “Harry Reems” was justified, since they both walked around with their balls dangling like the Bells of St. Vincent.
Fortunately, Dan’s wife, Deidre, wasn’t familiar with either Deep Throat or the Bells of St. Vincent. She thought Harry Reems was a favourite uncle.
He also had a soft mouth which he demonstrated by dragging Dan and Diedre’s one-year-old, Huey, across the living room rug by his arm.
Time would pass, anyway, and Morgan grew into a fine dog. His “biddability,” meaning he did your bidding, caught the attention of Dan’s hunter friends. They said, “Dan, you’ve got a natural bird dog there.” Well, Morgan was, in fact, looking at a bird at the time, so it made sense. He also had a soft mouth which he demonstrated by dragging Dan and Diedre’s one-year-old, Baby Huey, across the living room rug by his arm.
It should be noted here that Labrador retrievers are at the highest level of Sporting Group Breeds. They don’t have full color vision, but they are extremely sensitive to movement. Morgan could spot a squirrel at a hundred yards. With split-second timing, he’d be off in hot pursuit, enjoying the chase in a rather chaotic puppy-like way.
Training was necessary, of course. To be a good flusher and retriever, Morgan needed to follow commands, the most important being “leave it,” which was often deployed when his ball-licking became overtly obsessive.
That would be cured with strict training at the Bird Dog Academy, a well-credited institution where the finest of purebreds were taught their stock and trade. Morgan, needless to say, had one advantage. He’d been told to “leave it” so often, he already had that command down pat.
He loved water, loved ducks, loved being told to fetch (the actual command word is “find”).
He was a natural in many other ways, too. He loved water, loved ducks, loved being told to fetch (the actual command word is “find”). If the academy had stuck to that, Morgan might’ve passed his trials with no problem whatsoever.
But, like Harry Reems, disaster was waiting around the corner for Morgan. On his fourth day of training, he was about to learn the exercise called “Flyball.” This is where dogs catch tennis balls while jumping over hurdles.
Well, Morgan loved tennis balls, (possibly as much as his own), and his first jumps were done with such skill and flourish, the trainer was suitably impressed — not to mention Dan who couldn’t jump over a beer case.
Morgan was “feeling his oats,” as they say, until his third pass when he caught his salient balls on the upper beam. Between the pain and embarrassment, I guess Morgan somehow knew his days of shot-gunning birds were over. After that, he became a low-bottom drinker, retreating to his water bowl the way Harry retreated to his bottle of Jim Beam.
And while Harry took to religion, Morgan took to staring out the window, his legs splayed out, defiantly displaying his balls. He remained a good protector of Baby Huey, though, who defiantly showed his balls, too (not much for a one-year-old child, but he gave it his best).
They’d drive past, the wives going “What a good dog,” and the husbands would say, “That’s Morgan Organ.”
On any given day, especially during duck season, Morgan could be found in the front yard, standing watch over Baby Huey on his blanket. His (Morgan’s) strident appearance caught the attention of many. They’d drive past, the wives going “What a good dog,” and the husbands would say, “That’s Morgan Organ.”
The story would be told with many variations, but essentially it all came to the same ending: Morgan had caught his balls on a hurdle.
“The poor dog,” the wives would say. “And he never got over it? He never became a — ” “Please don’t,” the husbands would interrupt. “It hurts just saying the word. No, Morgan didn’t become a — well, you know, a great bird dog because of his, well, you know, balls. He shamed his heritage.”
There was no going back for Morgan. He’d darkened the name of Labrador retrievers, and sullied his forefathers, all high level bird dogs.
Morgan was happy enough, though, especially walking with Dan and Deidre and Baby Huey. People would comment, saying he looked just like his father (they might have been talking about Baby Huey).
But, as they passed, they’d look back, seeing what Morgan caught on the hurdles that day, and no doubt saying to each other—as people might’ve about Harry— “Those things were bound to get him in trouble eventually.”
He’d changed his life, leaving porn behind him, just as Morgan left hurdles behind him. They realized they could live ordinary lives and still be happy.
Well, they did and they didn’t. Morgan lived to be sixteen, and Harry left us back in 2013 at the age of sixty-seven. Harry changed his life, leaving porn behind him, just as Morgan left hurdles behind him. They realized they could live ordinary lives and still be happy, or reasonably happy depending on what you consider the bell curve of happiness.
I guess that’s the moral of the story. When someone tells you, “It takes balls to succeed,” it’s not always courage they’re talking about. Sometimes it’s the pain of defeat and learning from it. As Harry once said, “I was sort of the Shirley Temple of porn.” No idea what that could possibly mean, but it took balls saying it—at least, I think it does. Shirley Temple of porn? Would that make Traci Lords the Mickey Rooney of porn? Just asking.
