are dogs, tough and terrific, roaming the plains. In New York, maybe in all metropolitan areas, most doggies are wimps, cute, cuddly, and coddled.
In fact, animal coddling is elevated to an art form. In the Big Apple, it is everywhere. There is doggie day care, a booming business serving privileged corporate canine clients that cannot bear to be alone during the day. These beasts luxuriate in splendor. I often spot vehicles marked with “Pet Limousine” signs being met by doormen on Park Avenue. What is wrong with this picture?
A new online service draws a distinction between a dog owner and a dog parent. A dog parent is someone who really,
really
loves their animal. They are people who cannot do enough for da’ darling dog. So now there is Bark Box (or Barf Box, as I like to say), an online product full of things like dog-bone-shaped ice cube trays that make dog treats or a dog massager. I think I need a Barf Box.
I believe the pet culture is over the top. Books help define any culture, and America devours loony literature that celebrates mass anthropomorphism by the ton. This goofy animal culture has seized America by the throat.
Doggie lit travels with warp speed from the sublime to the ridiculous. From talking to teaching, reality has no place here. Still, these books frequently land on bestseller lists. Go figure.
This fine literature actually seems to speak to people. Do dogs really have some mystical superhuman power to guide mere mortals through difficult lives? People sure seem to think so.
Take Garth Stein’s novel,
The Art of Racing
in the Rain.
In fact, take it as far from me as you can. “Enzo knows he is different from other dogs: a philosopher with a nearly human soul.” You’re kidding. Right?
“He has educated himself by watching television extensively, and by listening very closely to the words of his master, Denny Swift, an up-and-coming race car driver.” Stop right there.
Denny cannot be so swift if he drives souped-up cars around in circles and defies death for hours as he works out a teaching plan for his dog. It must be hard to teach a dog to be a person. The book, of course, is one of those runaway bestsellers.
Then there are Cesar Millan’s books about training your dog while being its friend. Important stuff. The author shares secrets about improving your relationship with your dog. If you stepped in
that,
you would be cleaning your shoes off for a month.
Don’t take my word for it. “Being able to set and communicate boundaries is one of the most important roles that you play as your puppy’s pack leader.” I am definitely
not
my puppy’s pack leader. I am readying my application to be his executioner. And this: “Communication, to me, is first intent, then energy, then body language, and lastly, sound.” What is this guy talking about?
And do not overlook
Puppy Diaries: Raising a Dog Named Scout
, an estrogen-drenched animal love story between a golden retriever and the editor of
The New York Times
. So much in common. No staff reviewer is going to scream to Jill Abramson, “Hold the syrup. You’re drowning the pancake.”
I can assure you, the mutt that lives in my house is ordinary at best, pathological at worst. Let’s settle on maladjusted. Jasper flunked philosophy and was kicked out of charm school. And I just can’t bring myself to sign the ungrateful animal up for canine corrective camp in the Catskills. Attitude adjustment can be expensive. So is psychotherapy on the East Side of Manhattan.
So I will have to live with our psychotic dog and his screaming, screeching bark. Jasper will continue going for my neck when I go near my lovely lady, who the dopey dog thinks is his trophy wife and, coincidentally, happens to feed him twice a day.
So far, we are surviving, but something has to give.
The following is a true story.
I Want to Kill the Dog
F irst of all, Jasper is not my dog, just the family animal, a mutt, to be precise. Jasper is nothing but
In fact, animal coddling is elevated to an art form. In the Big Apple, it is everywhere. There is doggie day care, a booming business serving privileged corporate canine clients that cannot bear to be alone during the day. These beasts luxuriate in splendor. I often spot vehicles marked with “Pet Limousine” signs being met by doormen on Park Avenue. What is wrong with this picture?
A new online service draws a distinction between a dog owner and a dog parent. A dog parent is someone who really,
really
loves their animal. They are people who cannot do enough for da’ darling dog. So now there is Bark Box (or Barf Box, as I like to say), an online product full of things like dog-bone-shaped ice cube trays that make dog treats or a dog massager. I think I need a Barf Box.
I believe the pet culture is over the top. Books help define any culture, and America devours loony literature that celebrates mass anthropomorphism by the ton. This goofy animal culture has seized America by the throat.
Doggie lit travels with warp speed from the sublime to the ridiculous. From talking to teaching, reality has no place here. Still, these books frequently land on bestseller lists. Go figure.
This fine literature actually seems to speak to people. Do dogs really have some mystical superhuman power to guide mere mortals through difficult lives? People sure seem to think so.
Take Garth Stein’s novel,
The Art of Racing
in the Rain.
In fact, take it as far from me as you can. “Enzo knows he is different from other dogs: a philosopher with a nearly human soul.” You’re kidding. Right?
“He has educated himself by watching television extensively, and by listening very closely to the words of his master, Denny Swift, an up-and-coming race car driver.” Stop right there.
Denny cannot be so swift if he drives souped-up cars around in circles and defies death for hours as he works out a teaching plan for his dog. It must be hard to teach a dog to be a person. The book, of course, is one of those runaway bestsellers.
Then there are Cesar Millan’s books about training your dog while being its friend. Important stuff. The author shares secrets about improving your relationship with your dog. If you stepped in
that,
you would be cleaning your shoes off for a month.
Don’t take my word for it. “Being able to set and communicate boundaries is one of the most important roles that you play as your puppy’s pack leader.” I am definitely
not
my puppy’s pack leader. I am readying my application to be his executioner. And this: “Communication, to me, is first intent, then energy, then body language, and lastly, sound.” What is this guy talking about?
And do not overlook
Puppy Diaries: Raising a Dog Named Scout
, an estrogen-drenched animal love story between a golden retriever and the editor of
The New York Times
. So much in common. No staff reviewer is going to scream to Jill Abramson, “Hold the syrup. You’re drowning the pancake.”
I can assure you, the mutt that lives in my house is ordinary at best, pathological at worst. Let’s settle on maladjusted. Jasper flunked philosophy and was kicked out of charm school. And I just can’t bring myself to sign the ungrateful animal up for canine corrective camp in the Catskills. Attitude adjustment can be expensive. So is psychotherapy on the East Side of Manhattan.
So I will have to live with our psychotic dog and his screaming, screeching bark. Jasper will continue going for my neck when I go near my lovely lady, who the dopey dog thinks is his trophy wife and, coincidentally, happens to feed him twice a day.
So far, we are surviving, but something has to give.
The following is a true story.
I Want to Kill the Dog
F irst of all, Jasper is not my dog, just the family animal, a mutt, to be precise. Jasper is nothing but
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