Testosterone is an anabolic steroid hormone regulated by the hypothalamus and pituitary gland in the brain.
My wife tells me that people look and act like their dogs - something I considered when watching our two Doberman Pinschers. Luna is the attractive, well built, small female who is full of energy. Rocco is the big, lazy male, who, when you throw a ball for him to fetch, looks at you as if to say: "Are you serious?"
Rocco was lying comfortably on his warm, dry bed when Luna came inside from the rainy cold and just plopped her cold, wet body on Rocco. Even though Luna has her own bed right next to his, Rocco didn't protest. It was easier not to argue so they cuddled together.
It wasn't long before Luna wanted more space, so she snarled viciously at Rocco, snapped and bit him on the snout. Rocco just compliantly moved over until he was half on the hard floor. He could have gotten upset about it, snapped back, but in his doggy calculations, he probably figured that if he, the bigger dog, took issue and kicked Luna out of his bed, he would have ruined his perfectly good nap altogether and it would eventually come around to bite him in the rear anyway.
I suddenly was amazed at how a dog could have learned something so easily-something which took me 25 years of marriage to almost learn, and I'm still not very good at. And then I remembered that Rocco had his testicles removed surgically. No testicles and no testosterone.
Testosterone makes men do all sorts of things. My son Greg is in a Marine ROTC program and is going to officer candidate school this summer in Quantico. Testosterone has a little to do with that I think.
My nephew Giorgio just graduated from Norwich University, a military academy in Vermont, and his father came from Italy to see him graduate. Giorgio is an Italian citizen who desperately wants to join the United States military, a lifelong dream of his. Unfortunately, Giorgio is ineligible because unless he has a green card or somehow becomes a citizen, he can't join the U.S. armed forces.
So at dinner at The Oyster Club in Mystic last night, we went through all the possibilities while eating delicious soft shell crab and drinking Ommegang beer. After a few of the Belgian beers, I decided to ask the pretty waitress if she'd mind marrying Giorgio, a handsome young man of 21. Unfortunately, the waitress said she wasn't single. I next asked about the other available women who worked as waitresses, hostesses, etc. No takers. Giorgio wasn't too supportive of my plan to get him citizenship via marriage.
Blinded by the Ommegang, I just couldn't see what the problem was.
"But they're hot," I said.
I'm not sure if it was the beers or testosterone that blinded me more. My wife kicked me and moved my wonderful Ommegang away from me. I wanted it back and was about to argue, but then I thought better of it. Better to just let her win.
I thought to myself: "What would Rocco do?"