By Stephanie Block
San Francisco isn’t going to the dogs; it’s gone. Doggone. I’m sitting outside the Grove on Fillmore Street. I’m outnumbered 40 to one by canines. Poodles in chairs pooh-pooh the concrete at their owners’ feet. That’s understandable because the dogs are nicely groomed, but then a bulldog waddles toward me on a long bench. It inches closer, snout-safety off, face cocked at maximum ooze. I glance at its owner in a WTF kind of way; she looks back with the pride of an honors-student’s mama, panting in elation about her breeder in Petaluma.
Like a Twilight Zone character waking up amid the ruins of the Statue of Liberty, I realize that I’m not in the world of California Health and Safety Code anymore. She expects me to pet it. Like that guy who tried to weasel his way up to my place after a glass of Merlot. He wanted me to pet it too.
She expects me to pet it. Like that guy who tried to weasel his way up to my place after a glass of Merlot. He wanted me to pet it too.
Oh hell no.
Can’t pop out without leashing up? Are you afraid your dog will break up with you? If so, you may have issues with canine codependency. You may even have border-collie personality disorder. Do you own your pet, or does your pet own you? It’s not the dog that needs to shed the attitude; it’s the codependent human. It’s time for some obedience classes. You don’t always need to be packing pup. There are tons of loyal and adorable people out there to snuggle with at all hours. Codependents, try leaving your mutty-me at home and experiencing your fellow humans. Let your furry blanket of codependency go! Or go to a Furry party.
Having a ruff time saying good-bye to Ruffus Wainwright in the morning?
And what’s the deal with your long-ass leash? I don’t know if you were good at geometry in school, but if the width of the sidewalk is six feet, and you let your retractable leash out seven feet — while you’re browsing the Green Apple Books bins and Ruffus sniffs the parking-meter pole — where does that leave humans? (Speaking of sidewalks, for the love of Louboutins, you really need to clean up after your g-d d-o-g.) Maybe a leash is too separating. If you’re feeling that insecure about your relationship with your pet, perhaps you should get a Boxer Bjorn. It would be liberating for the rest of us, who are currently picking our way through a Mission Impossible-like laser grid of your collective inconsiderate leashes.
Spoiler alert: as I write this, my cat is sitting in my lap ignoring me. This is an animal far more suited to the urban experience. I don’t take Mika everywhere I go because a) I don’t want my face scratched off; b) he needs his 16-hour-a-day nap; c) he doesn’t have a compelling wardrobe of spring sweaters; d) we’re not codependent.
Honestly, I bet even your dog is, like, “Hey, it’s cool. You go out and run those errands in your claustrophobic Smart Car. I’ll stay home. Especially if you’re going to that yoga lifestyle store where the air is choked with essential oils. You forget that my nose is more evolved than yours. Oh, the horror of that store. The horror!”
Don’t worry, codependent dog owners. I have a three-paw program. The first thing is to admit that you have a problem. Your Chihuahua is no more of a service dog than I am. So take that fake bib off his back, kiss him good-bye, and catch an Uber to SFO sans chien. That’s how we keep Terminal Two gorgeous. Second, let’s explore whether your pet is a conversational crutch. You’re walking through the Mission without Ruffus, who’s at doggie acupuncture. I’ve been waiting for 45 minutes outside of Mission Beach Cafe for brunch. I would welcome literally anything you have to say. Plus, I’ve had a few mimosas. What comes out of your mouth? Tails of Ruffus in absentia with an iPhone photo slideshow. Egads. Suddenly, I find this composting bin really interesting.
Finally, try empathy. What if pygmy rhinos were the city’s most popular pet? Would you want them galloping toward you at full speed off-leash in a park where you’re picnicking? Would you want them jumping all over you at Real Foods while you’re buying real food? Doggie codependents, I see you marking your ever-widening territory. You used to be shyly compliant. But you’re getting brash. Now you waltz right into eateries. It’s California state law, Alan DerShih Tzu: your Chow Chow should absolutely be nowhere near my chow.
What if pygmy rhinos were the city’s most popular pet? Would you want them galloping toward you at full speed off-leash in a park where you’re picnicking?
Look, dogs are great. Well, wolves are great. Dogs are pretty cool, though. They fetch and wag and lick and bark. Dogs need homes. I have PTSD from watching all those Sarah McLachlan commercials. But the operative word here is “home.” It’s when you try to breed daily life with doggie life that mutation happens. I’m just saying, please cur your enthusiasm.
Illustrations and design by Andy Stattmiller
