Don’t get me wrong—I like dogs, and they like me. The first book I ever read on my own was Go, Dog. Go! by P.D. Eastman. For years afterward, I would ask my grandmother, “Do you like my hat?” even when I wasn’t wearing one. It also gave me an early experience of racial harmony: black dogs, white dogs, red dogs, blue dogs, big dogs, and little dogs. All dogs were equal in a republican kind of way—even the fluffy ones.
So I’m not complaining when I tell you about a curious development I’ve noticed in people’s attitude toward dogs. To wit: people now take their dogs into the big-box retailer where I work part-time. It used to be a rarity, but now it’s a common sight. I’m not talking about seeing-eye dogs or other service animals—though there are some of those in the mix, too. I mean family pets.
During my lifetime, pets have gone from the doghouse to the kitchen, bedroom, car, baby carriage, and shopping cart—as their owners browse the latest in copper tubing and antibacterial cleansers, which you can find on Aisle 4, Bay 20, thank you very much.
The other day, a cheerful young woman came up to me and introduced herself, her wife, and their dog—who was being pushed along in a blanket laid out in the extended seat of the shopping cart. I wasn’t thrown by her having a wife, but by the dog—a fluffy bundle with a pinched face. I forgot its name as soon as I heard it. It became the center of attention, gazing down the outdoor bug repellent section of the nursery with an air of ennui. I did what I always do when I sense that someone—or something—is jockeying for my attention: I ignored the animal, smiled courteously, and helped the pair find a big bag of orchid bark.
I’m not sure how I feel about this elevation of dogs to membership in the family. It’s probably a good thing, but I’d caution against using an animal to compensate for unmet needs or to fill an emotional or psychological void. The same goes for children: let them live their own lives, and get involved directly only when absolutely necessary.
Of course, what’s necessary varies from person to person. But if you’re dressing your dog up as a knife-wielding Chucky doll for Halloween, that might be a bit much. Lest you think I’m dating myself, I just saw that on YouTube the other day. You can find pretty much anything on YouTube—it’s become the modern-day Macy’s catalogue. But that’s another story.
Treating an animal like a human being strikes me as intrinsically unfair. It places a heavy load on the dog, whose role isn’t to complete its owner à la Jerry Maguire, but to serve as a loyal companion and aide. You should be able to live without the dog; your life shouldn’t hinge on your relationship with it. I exclude law enforcement and the military for obvious reasons—maybe circus acts, too.
You may think this is harsh or insensitive. It certainly cuts against the grain of how most Americans view their pets. But I’m not drawing any line in the sand—I just think you should be able to shop or go to a restaurant without your pet.
“Ah,” you say, “but you don’t have a pet.” It’s true—I don’t, not right now. My kids keep trying to foist theirs on me, but I resist. Over the years, I’ve owned cats, dogs, birds, fish, turtles, rabbits—and a rock (it was the seventies). The reason I don’t have a dog now isn’t that I don’t like them, but because I’m not up to the responsibility. I’m at that point in life where I’m jettisoning responsibilities as if I were in a hot air balloon.
I figure the best time to own a dog is when you don’t need one. That’s when it works best—for both of you. This comes from someone who has tremendous respect for cats. They’re so fast they can swat venomous snakes without even thinking about it. That’s good advice for relationships, too.
By the way, my grandmother always loved my hat.
Image credits: Chewy, Anthony Fomin, Mushvig Niftaliyev, Daisy D, Kevin Charit. Want more? Click on “Amazon” for other publications or go to Robert Brancatelli. Visit other blog readers under “Who You Are.” Comment by clicking on “Leave a Reply” below, or contact us through the Contact tab above. RIP teacher, colleague, friend, Fred Parrella (1943-2025).
