Barking Mad
The first thing that struck me about New York was just the extraordinary number of people who owned dogs. Every kind of dog you could imagine, from Great Danes and Afghan Hounds right down to little yappy dogs that aren’t even deserving of the word Canis in their latin name. If you were to walk through the center of London, I doubt you would see even one dog but here it’s like there’s been an explosion in a dog factory.
I don’t know what it is. I can’t decide if it’s a city of genuine dog lovers or whether Metropolises can sometimes be such unfriendly places that there’s just a lot of lonely people. A lot of lonely people who get very attached to their pets.
My wife and I were out walking by the East River last weekend and passed the little puppy playground so we stopped and watched for a while. While we were there, we overheard two dog owners having a conversation. One of them turned to the other, and pointing to her rat-sized excuse of a yappy dog said, “This is my little girl.”
No. It’s a dog. At the very best case scenario it’s a bitch – but one thing it definitely is not is a little girl.
For starters I don’t understand why you would want a dog in the city. The apartments are small, there’s nowhere for them to really go and play and for a city full of people who rarely have enough time in the day for their own lives – when do you find time for a dog? Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot. That’s when you hire a dogwalker.
HUH??????
My wife and I have often discussed the possibility of getting a dog. There’s just something that really puts me off it. In Manhattan, if you’re out walking your dog and it leaves a little calling card on the pavement (sorry, sidewalk), you have to clear up after it. So there’s all these dog owners with their pockets bulging with plastic bags just in case Lassie has a call of nature (and let’s face it, the likelihood of that is pretty high considering the dog certainly doesn’t do it in the apartment) having to reach down with hands inside inverted plastic bags, picking up dog mess. That’s revolting.
I don’t even want to touch my own poop, let alone a steaming pile of excrement that has come out of some other creature’s backside.
Barking Mad.
I don’t know what it is. I can’t decide if it’s a city of genuine dog lovers or whether Metropolises can sometimes be such unfriendly places that there’s just a lot of lonely people. A lot of lonely people who get very attached to their pets.
My wife and I were out walking by the East River last weekend and passed the little puppy playground so we stopped and watched for a while. While we were there, we overheard two dog owners having a conversation. One of them turned to the other, and pointing to her rat-sized excuse of a yappy dog said, “This is my little girl.”
No. It’s a dog. At the very best case scenario it’s a bitch – but one thing it definitely is not is a little girl.
For starters I don’t understand why you would want a dog in the city. The apartments are small, there’s nowhere for them to really go and play and for a city full of people who rarely have enough time in the day for their own lives – when do you find time for a dog? Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot. That’s when you hire a dogwalker.
HUH??????
My wife and I have often discussed the possibility of getting a dog. There’s just something that really puts me off it. In Manhattan, if you’re out walking your dog and it leaves a little calling card on the pavement (sorry, sidewalk), you have to clear up after it. So there’s all these dog owners with their pockets bulging with plastic bags just in case Lassie has a call of nature (and let’s face it, the likelihood of that is pretty high considering the dog certainly doesn’t do it in the apartment) having to reach down with hands inside inverted plastic bags, picking up dog mess. That’s revolting.
I don’t even want to touch my own poop, let alone a steaming pile of excrement that has come out of some other creature’s backside.
Barking Mad.
posted by An Englishman in New York at 11:29 AM
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