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I was standing in line at the bookstore when I spied this months Washingtonian magazine. A sweet, hopefully un-airbrushed golden retriever puppy carrying a stick looked like it could run right off the cover and into my waiting arms, which would have really broken up the monotony of another dull DC winter day, let me tell you. The cover announced that "The Ultimate Guide to Pets" lay in the pages therein, so what kind of pets editor would I be if I didn't pick up a copy? The research, friends, it never ends.
After getting a little sidetracked by the "Pick Washington's Cutest Dog and Cat" contest, I was ultimately sucked into a piece by staff writer Cindy Rich, called "Bailey and Me: Do I Love Him Too Much?"
Bailey is Rich's dog, a three-year-old mix she and her husband adopted from a shelter as a puppy. It's safe to say that in the past few years, they've bonded. She says she talks to him, calls him her "son" and gives him kisses when she leaves the house. When she gets home, she asks about his day. She and her husband think and talk about him constantly when they're on vacation.
They are so not alone. The other pet lovers she quotes in her article call their pets when they're away (at the "bone booth", oh my word), spend large sums on medical bills for pets in trouble, and are loath to move them out of their spot on the bed. One Maryland man even had a "Bark Mitzvah" for his dog's 13th birthday.
I do it too - or something much like it. My dog turned 13 on January 10th, and he had his annual pizza party. He doesn't eat pizza (sensitive stomach, of course, needy little thing that he is) but he does get a special treat or two from the gourmet dog bakery. This year it was a peanut butter "cupcake" that he tore to shreds on his special treat carpet, which is only so-called because he just won't eat them anywhere else, I swear. He also gets a couple of new toys - this year the Air Kong football was a huge hit - and special use of the family "happy birthday" plate.
Okay, this is sounding a little weird. But it's NOT. Really, no matter what my friends say. Even PETA has gotten into the dog (or cat or ferret or bird - who cares?) party act too, with no less than President Ingrid Newkirk authoring a book called "Let's Have a Dog Party" and setting up space on the organization's website for creating invitations.
And I thought I was the only one reading "Go Dog Go" on a regular basis.
A dog party!
A big dog party!
Big dogs, little dogs,
red dogs, blue dogs,
yellow dogs, green dogs,
black dogs, and white dogs
are all at a dog party!
What a dog party!
I don't know about "too much", but we just really love our dog. The pizza party is a way to mark another year that he's been with our family, a group he is very much a part of even if he doesn't speak our language or share our species. I raised him from a puppy, and since returning to the East Coast, my parents have taken over the bulk of his care and feeding. Some might say their interest is a little extreme, hey, some days I say it, because they are truly bananas about this little dog. It's been unhelpfully suggested (not by them, thankfully) that it's all because I haven't provided a grandchild as a repository for their love and affection, selfish adult child that I am.
I disagree. I think it's just because he's a good dog, and an uncomplicated, unconditional source of happiness. It's that simple. It's not like he's getting unnecessary material things, or anything too expensive, because trust me, he wears Target clearance clothes just like Mom (um, Me.) His shirt just says "Got Biscuits?" whereas mine, thankfully, does not. He won't be receiving diamonds from Gothic Dog, or even a Chatterbowl, on which I could record a message to "soothe" him, which just sounds redundant to me because food is his primary soothing agent and my chatter would only serve to distract him from the task at hand. He also gets great medical care (love Dr. Hoffman. LOVE HER.) and yes, I do consider what channel is on the television before I leave the house because
