Americans love football, a commentator on the Michael Vick case saidtoday on CNN, but they love dogs even more. All Americans but me, I guess. I hate football. But I hate dogs even more.
Yes, okay, I said it. Come on, burn a big doggie biscuiton my lawn. Stone me the way you might a baby killer or a gay basher.I realize that coming out as a dog-hater puts me among the lowest ofthe low.
Abhor kids? Reasonable. Despise men? Makes sense. Butdon't you dare say a word against Fido. Let me pause right here and say that I'm notpro-dogfighting or dog torture or any of the other hideous things Vickis accused of and that undoubtedly go on.
On the other hand, America's dog worship has gotten wayout of hand. One of the few reliable ways to sell a book these daysis to make dogs your subject: witness Jon Katz's oeuvre, Cesar's Way,and of course Marley & Me. There's doggie chick lit (JacquelineSheehan's Lost & Found) and doggie lit lit (Mark Haddon's The CuriousIncident of the Dog at Night Time).
Will Ferrell is reportedly set to star in CarolynParkhurst's Dogs of Babel, a bestselling and totally absurd tale abouta professor who tries to communicate the only witness to his wife'sdeath - you guessed it: his dog. Right this very minute, I'm suremarket-savvy television producer is planning an update of Mr. Ed, onlywith a talking dog instead of horse.
Celebrities have fueled the dog craze by carrying theirYorkies - or whatever other brand of small dog is in right now -around as devotedly as they do their designer bags and iPhones andskinny sugar-free vanilla lattes. Unlike their babies, stars neverseem to fumble or drop their dogs. Dogs seem to offer celebrities notonly unconditional love but truly enduring relationships.
It's not that everybody in the world except me loves dogs,I think, so much that those people who do love them feel so very verystrongly about it. Dog lovers are kind of like Jesus Freaks, or yogamasters, except their irrational yet single-minded devotion is to abarking, biting, shedding four-legged creature.
Some of these people are even my friends - or at leastthey were, before they read this piece. These friends try to persuademe how wonderful their dogs are, yet all my experience only hardens meagainst dog worship. When I visit, the dog starts yapping before Ieven ring the bell, and won't stop through all attempts atconversation. The dog lunges at me and bares its terrifying fangs.If we stay in the house, the dog inevitably and deliberately sheds itshair all over me, and if we go out, the dog insists on coming along,whereupon we're forced to pick up and carry its poop with us.
Excuse me but, I'm out. And it's hard for me to find a down side toliving without a dog. My house is quiet, hair-free, and doesn't smellfunny. When I take a roast out of the oven and set it on the counter,I'm pretty sure five minutes later it's still going to be there. Inthe middle of the night, I never hear those little doggie nails clickclick clicking across the wooden floor or wake up to find a blacktongue probing my nose.
I guess on Sundays when the Raiders are playing the Jetsand all your friends are busy, if you're dogless there's no one to lieon your chest and watch the game with you.
But that's a price I'm willing to pay.