Dawgs

I'm not thinking of getting married any time soon. Nonetheless, I have a friend who is, and as such, have been giving some thought to this "cat person" - "dog person" stuff you always hear about. I'm definitely a dog person. I've no great love for cats, but they're generally quiet and they keep themselves well groomed. I could marry a gal with one cat. What I could not do, however, is marry a small dog lover. It seems to me the real schism that folks should consider is that between folks who like normal dogs and those who like other K9 type stuff.

With the variety of dogs out there these days you can be sure plenty of people have fucked-up worthless dogs; what does that say about these people? First, let's talk about what constitutes a normal dog. One simple rule separates the noble from the ridiculous--if your K9 has four legs and is bigger than a bread box, you've got a dog. If on the other hand you have something smaller than a bread box which you have until this point been referring to as a dog, realize what you, in fact, have is a big cat with matty hair. For the purposes of this paper we'll refer to these smaller than a bread box, worthless, almost K9's as "little yippers," "yippers," or "yippy things." This in no way means I acknowledge that Chihuahuas, Poodles, and other glorified rats are real dogs--they aren't. Anything that's smaller than a bread box, but still bigger than a hamster should be spade or neutered, then taught to shit in a box. The only redeeming characteristic of a cat type dog, or dog type cat, is that it is small enough to crap in a litter pan making for easy clean up.

Of course, normal dogs, big dogs, have brains--a feature alien to the little yippers. My grandpa taught his sheep dog (not high on the list of intelligent dogs, but nonetheless as big as four or five bread boxes) how to shit on the compost pile in the back yard. Hence, reaping the best of both worlds with a big dog and still minimal clean-up. The man never had to scrape a single hard white turd off his frozen lawn in over eight winters.

So normal dogs, hereafter referred to mostly as "dogs," have four legs and are bigger than a bread box. (I guess it's possible to have a K9 of larger mass than a bread box, but of fewer than four legs: still not a dog though. If the thing has three or fewer legs as a result of a birth anomaly you should probably sell it to a circus and refer to it as a side-show. If, on the other hand, the dog once had four legs, but now only has three, you have first and foremost a tragedy, not a dog.) So within our framework there are thousands of varieties of normal dogs from Golden Retrievers, to St. Bernards, to German Shepherds.

I thought about adding further criteria to the list of dog characteristics to make some accounting of the dog's worth. For instance, Retrievers and Labs should fetch game, or at least should retrieve the paper. Other dogs provide protection from theft or assault. Still other dogs guide blind folks around, while a few are trained to tell deaf people when their door bell or fire alarm is ringing. I decided not to demand such high criteria out of respect for Ben my grandpa's sheep dog. In reflection, that squatting on the compost pile thing was really the height of Ben's ability, and yet he was surely a dog. So, dogs that do worthwhile things should be referred to as cool dogs. (A note of caution, the fact that your dog may, on occasion, indulge in a scrumptious turd from the cat's litter box is in no way an indication that your beast has talent--only that it has bad breath.) (Further, owners of yippy things should not try to sneak their yippy thing into the realm of dogs by training it to jump through hoops. Yippy things just aren't dogs.)

Of those who share my disdain for yippy things some take occasion to give the little rodents a slight kick in the ass. I do not condone such behavior, as it is unsporting, unless in fact the yippy thing is attempting to bite or mate with one's leg. I also think if this small dog punting were more sporting it would perhaps be acceptable. For instance if one did not simply kick the little yipper in the butt, but instead attempted to launch the beast through uprights or through a ring of fire, that would be all right. Hell, they stab bulls with knives in Spain, you'd think Americans could at least embrace the rodent-dog catapult, or the little yipper hammer toss.

Small dog people can be as annoying as small dogs. Just a couple summers ago my mom's old college roommate, Kit, and her new husband stopped by the house while taking a tour of the West in their new mobile home. Kit's first husband was normal, the new one, however, was a small dog aficionado, and to my family's horror he had turned Kit to the dark side. They had not one but two little yippy things, and not just yippy things but poodles, among the worst yippers. Kit's husband kept referring to the yippers as "the pups," despite the fact that they were both three years old. I thought about pointing out that the little fuckers were half way through their miserable lives and that they just weren't going to get any bigger, but I resisted wanting to be a good host. Kit and her husband allowed these creatures into our house and the things just went ape-shit, jumping up on the couches, scurrying around in deranged circles, their little nails cutting into the hard wood floors. All the while Kit and her husband sat their smiling and drooling, watching their little terrors while making comments like "I just love my little babies" and "they're so full of life," and "I could just watch these cuties for hours," and "Oh look how sweet dooks just took a wee wee on the floor by the sliding glass door, we've almost got him potty trained dear." I glanced over at my mom. With a look of horror on her face, she motioned for me to retrieve my twelve gauge and some steel shot from the gun cabinet. I refused her as I wasn't sure she'd refrain from putting Kit out of her misery after she got done massacring the yippers.

In fairness to the yippers there are other types of large dogs, that are about as bad. Those tall, skinny, dogs with long hair, that rich people often own, come to mind. I used to think that rich people, with these odd, lanky, show type dogs were in fact bastards--willing to pay thirty grand for a Beamer but not willing to shell out two bucks a day for Kal-Can. Turns out those dogs are supposed to be that skinny, and that they're quite expensive as well. I'll admit I just don't appreciate all this high society fashion stuff. Seems to me if you put one of those skinny dogs on a leash and had Kate Hoss walk through a dump in El Salvador with it, the locals would hardly notice. I could never marry into a family with dogs like that.

Bulldogs are another one of these questionable dogs. When fully grown they're bigger than a bread box. They do, however, have one glaring problem. Because their shoulders are so big they can't get around to tend to the sanitary needs of their butt. Hence, these dogs (whose respiratory system is also poor) go around sniffing and snorting with shit residue on their butts. It's often up to an owner to use a paper towel to finish the job for the dog. Now it seems to me if anything could knock a dog out of the dog category the inability to clean its own rump would be it. And although I hesitate to bring it up, I'll just tell ya that the things can't lick their genitals either. It's not a necessary ability or anything (I can't do it), but the fact that dogs can do a sort of solo 69 generally makes up for the fact that they eat dinner from a can every night. Poor bulldog doesn't even have the option.

Then there's the Basset hound. How is one to classify the Basset Hound. Basset Hound's are cool, but they don't often get as tall as a good sized bread box. Just the same, they get pretty big what with their length. So because Basset Hounds are of sufficient mass so that one could not actually shove the dog into a large bread box, I'm gonna go ahead and call them dogs. They also bellow as opposed to yipping which bodes well for them.

Although I like Bassets and Sheep Dogs and German Shepherds I prize Golden Retrievers the most. What does that say about me? It says I appreciate a vibrant loving companion; a smart dog that behaves well enough inside, but still loves to spend time outdoors hunting, fishing, and camping. I suspect in the end, however, that I like my dog for the same reason that everyone else likes their dog; because she's always happy to see me. If I found a wife with such enduring qualities as these I suppose it might not matter what kind of dog she liked...then again?

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