Let’s visit a theme I don’t go for very often. Lettuce? Nah, too green. Porcupines? Nah. Too pointy. Latvia? Nah, too Baltic. I know! Dogs! I’ve never really owned one, but practically everyone I know does. Evidently cats aren’t good enough for some people. Some people want an animal that actually cares when they come home. Some people want an animal that can be trained to do things it doesn’t already want to do. And it isn’t just my friends. Dogs come off much better in media too. Look at comic strips, for instance. Snoopy? Flies his house like a Sopwith Camel and is an aspiring author. Garfield? Hates Mondays. No wonder I can’t turn on the TV without running into these pesky adoring animals.
Commercials, for instance. Not too long ago there was a commercial for… something. Frankly, I was too distracted to think about the product once the sordid pet history of the guy in the commercial came to light. See, his wife pointed out that he’d had eleven bulldogs named Steve… Wait, Eleven? That’s a lot of Steves! Even giving him the benefit of the doubt and assuming Steve Number 1 died the day our bulldog aficionado was born, that means he’d have to be 80 just for his dogs to have an average life span! He couldn’t have been over 65, so now we are down to 6.5 years on average for the Steves. So either this guy is practically burning through the Steves, or he has been doubling up on Steves. You really can’t have two dogs at the same time with the same name, though. Pretty soon the faster one is going to think his name is ?Not You!? The one clear point, though, is that that the man is unstable and shouldn’t even be allowed to have one Steve.
Then there’s science. Evidently a couple managed to get their dog cloned. That’s all well and good, but it turns out the family with the clone dog had something like nine other dogs, presumably named Steve, plus horses and rabbits. Heck, they probably had a pterodactyl. Once you have a dog clone, you officially cross the line into mad science. But, fine, you want a carbon copy of your pooch? Drop the cash and have one printed up in Korea (global leaders in dog duplication) if you can afford it. But what about the other dogs? All they know is that yesterday there was a dog, and then he was gone, and now he’s back. But he’s a puppy. That has GOT to screw with their heads. These animals don’t understand things like genetic engineering and in vitro fertilization. They are going to think that good ol’ Lancelot got reincarnated! They are going to inadvertently turn their dogs Buddhist! Either that, or they are going to convince their dogs that time is cyclical, and that all they have to do is wait and youth will come back! They will become listless and unmotivated, convinced of their own immortality, eagerly waiting a second puppyhood. In short, they are going to shatter their dogs’ current ethos, and that is wrong.
The most confounding place that dogs have managed to weasel their way into, though, is fashion. I speak, of course, of accessory dogs. Tinkerbell of Paris Hilton fame, for instance. They tend to be teensy little things that you toss in a bag so you can carry it around and use to irritate people with the loud noises they make. So basically we are talking about a cell phone with much worse reception and the bonus possibility of pooping in your mascara. Honestly, if you are going to use a living thing as a fashion item, I really think you can do better than a yappy dog. How about a parrot? They are more colorful, so you can coordinate, and they can even talk! I say, if it is good enough for pirates, it is good enough for movie stars… or whatever Paris Hilton is. Besides annoying, I mean… And skanky…
Screw Paris Hilton.
I guess that’s all I can muster up about man’s best friend for now. Maybe one day I’ll get one, and I can swap scooping poop out of a box of deodorizer in my house to scooping it off of the neighbor’s lawn. Until then I’ll just have to make due with hearing about ones that belong to the pathologically negligent commercial characters. Or the private zoo owners who like to play god. Or the vacuous blonde heiresses with exactly one facial expression and a complete miss understanding of the word hot. Frankly, I think that’ll be enough.