separates me from them? Where does one draw the line between Normal, Paranormal, and Crazy Dog Person?
I mean, before I got a dog, I had a definitive, admirable style. I knew how to pair vintage sweaters with the latest Tuleh sundress. I wore platforms from the seventies a year before they came back into style. And the extra-long-hem-over-stiletto-shoes-and-jeans trend? That was me who started it. The tank tops under mesh? Me again. A real downtown chick.
But now look at me. Open my closet and you’ll find all the feather boas and leather skirts pushed neglectfully to the far reaches. And front and center are mom jeans. With pleats. To accommodate all the liver treats and poopie bags in my pockets. And then there are T-shirts (which say things like LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG or, of course, DOG IS MY CO-PILOT ) covered with paw prints and drool. I never bother to wash these T-shirts, because why bother? There’s a Sisyphean quality to having a dog that says, for every hair you brush off your black velveteen jacket, twenty more will appear. And speaking of hair, mine, which I never have time to style anymore, is always pulled back in a hurried “the dog has to go to the bathroom” ponytail, and I barely bother to color it any more (or “enhance” it, as we say here in New York), because who sees me but the dog? And a bunch of other Crazy Dog People?
My one comfort is that I suspect I am not alone. Oh, you know who you are. You have two, three dogs, and you volunteer at the animal shelter. You like dogs more than people. And you are no longer loath to admit it. Come on, ’fess up. And don’t be ashamed.
There are loads of us out there. And it seems that no matter how educated you are, no matter where you stand on the corporate ladder, no matter how intelligent or savvy or well-read—if you have a dog, you are at risk of contracting this degenerative disease.
And how do
you
know when you have contracted Crazy Dog Lady Syndrome? Perhaps this little quiz I devised will help. So put down your bull pizzle, pour yourself a gin and tonic, and grab a pen. The pen that says “ICockapoos” on it. Or the one with your vet’s address.
The following seven questions will help you determine where you stand.
----
When asked a simple question, such as “How are you?” do you:
1) Say, “Fine, thank you, and you?”
2) Say, “Fine, thank you,” and then tell the person who inquired how your dog is?
3) Immediately launch into an extended monologue in which you prattle on about the consistency of your dog’s stool?
Does the term “heavy petting” conjure up images of:
1) Being groped in the backseat of an Impala by your first high school boyfriend?
2) Worrisome images of the kind of thing your prepubescent son is viewing online? Right now, as you read this!
3) Your dog?
Where do you store your liver treats?
1) In your pockets.
2) In your mouth.
3) I don’t carry treats! My dog loves me for me, not my freeze-dried animal products.
You’ve set some money aside for your children’s college education. You:
1) Actually send your children to college.
2) Donate most of it to your local animal shelter.
3) Blow it all on cosmetic dentistry for Willy the Weimaraner when he chips his incisor on a bone.
Your children complain that you love your dog more than them. Do you:
1) Say, “That’s not true”?
2) Say, “That’s not true.” And then, “Come here my little Muffy Wuffy and give Mummy a kiss” (and your child is not named “Muffy”)?
3) Say, “And your point is?”
Your husband leans toward the nape of your neck to kiss you. Does he smell:
1) J’adore by Christian Dior?
2) Notes of dog breath and liver (from being licked on the ear)?
3) Urine breath (from you-know-what)?
And finally,
At the movie theaters, when they get to that part where the heroine finally finds her One True Love, do you:
1) Grab your date’s hand and thank your lucky stars?
2) Scoff at the idea of a One True Love?
3)
I mean, before I got a dog, I had a definitive, admirable style. I knew how to pair vintage sweaters with the latest Tuleh sundress. I wore platforms from the seventies a year before they came back into style. And the extra-long-hem-over-stiletto-shoes-and-jeans trend? That was me who started it. The tank tops under mesh? Me again. A real downtown chick.
But now look at me. Open my closet and you’ll find all the feather boas and leather skirts pushed neglectfully to the far reaches. And front and center are mom jeans. With pleats. To accommodate all the liver treats and poopie bags in my pockets. And then there are T-shirts (which say things like LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG or, of course, DOG IS MY CO-PILOT ) covered with paw prints and drool. I never bother to wash these T-shirts, because why bother? There’s a Sisyphean quality to having a dog that says, for every hair you brush off your black velveteen jacket, twenty more will appear. And speaking of hair, mine, which I never have time to style anymore, is always pulled back in a hurried “the dog has to go to the bathroom” ponytail, and I barely bother to color it any more (or “enhance” it, as we say here in New York), because who sees me but the dog? And a bunch of other Crazy Dog People?
My one comfort is that I suspect I am not alone. Oh, you know who you are. You have two, three dogs, and you volunteer at the animal shelter. You like dogs more than people. And you are no longer loath to admit it. Come on, ’fess up. And don’t be ashamed.
There are loads of us out there. And it seems that no matter how educated you are, no matter where you stand on the corporate ladder, no matter how intelligent or savvy or well-read—if you have a dog, you are at risk of contracting this degenerative disease.
And how do
you
know when you have contracted Crazy Dog Lady Syndrome? Perhaps this little quiz I devised will help. So put down your bull pizzle, pour yourself a gin and tonic, and grab a pen. The pen that says “ICockapoos” on it. Or the one with your vet’s address.
The following seven questions will help you determine where you stand.
----
When asked a simple question, such as “How are you?” do you:
1) Say, “Fine, thank you, and you?”
2) Say, “Fine, thank you,” and then tell the person who inquired how your dog is?
3) Immediately launch into an extended monologue in which you prattle on about the consistency of your dog’s stool?
Does the term “heavy petting” conjure up images of:
1) Being groped in the backseat of an Impala by your first high school boyfriend?
2) Worrisome images of the kind of thing your prepubescent son is viewing online? Right now, as you read this!
3) Your dog?
Where do you store your liver treats?
1) In your pockets.
2) In your mouth.
3) I don’t carry treats! My dog loves me for me, not my freeze-dried animal products.
You’ve set some money aside for your children’s college education. You:
1) Actually send your children to college.
2) Donate most of it to your local animal shelter.
3) Blow it all on cosmetic dentistry for Willy the Weimaraner when he chips his incisor on a bone.
Your children complain that you love your dog more than them. Do you:
1) Say, “That’s not true”?
2) Say, “That’s not true.” And then, “Come here my little Muffy Wuffy and give Mummy a kiss” (and your child is not named “Muffy”)?
3) Say, “And your point is?”
Your husband leans toward the nape of your neck to kiss you. Does he smell:
1) J’adore by Christian Dior?
2) Notes of dog breath and liver (from being licked on the ear)?
3) Urine breath (from you-know-what)?
And finally,
At the movie theaters, when they get to that part where the heroine finally finds her One True Love, do you:
1) Grab your date’s hand and thank your lucky stars?
2) Scoff at the idea of a One True Love?
3)
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