SCAM DOGS...
Another fine
Sunday morn here in blistering hot Palm Springs... perfect time for another
unhinged rant, so let’s have at it, shall we?
I am not a dog person. From earliest onset of
awareness, I have been a cat fanatic. (Actually, thanks to gender transition, I
can now proudly claim to be a Crazy Old Cat Lady, which pleases me to no end.) Now,
I don’t mean to re-ignite the eternal Cat vs. Dog debate (the conclusion is
obvious, anyway) and I hasten to point out that I am, and always have been, an
all-around animal lover. In my view, ALL the beasties are fabulous creatures
and more-or-less preferable to homo
sapiens: Aardvarks, kinkajous, macaques, lemurs, iguanas, flying squirrels,
cats, tigers, lions, leopards, panthers, black widow spiders (whose habit of
devouring their male counterparts after mating is extremely cool), and yes, dogs
too; especially wolves, who are indescribably magnificent.
But having
said which, I repeat: NOT a dog person. To me, dogs’ servile adoration of
humans, aside from being wholly unwarranted, isn’t an appealing character
trait. Neither is their happy willingness to chase sticks, bite at tires, bark
incessantly, and leave steaming piles anywhere, any time. I just don’t see the
attraction, y’know? I mean, if your kid did these things, how long would you
stick around??
But there is
one dog-related issue that chaps my butt more than any other: the whole
“service dog” thing.
Now mind
you, there is no question that so-called “Service Dogs” do exist; absolutely
they do, and what’s more, they are extraordinarily brave and devoted animals,
deserving the highest admiration. My parents owned a retired service dog once,
a Golden Retriever named Newman, and by gosh that pooch was a hell of a lot
smarter than 98% of the people currently serving in Congress, to say nothing of
more honest. Newman passed away years ago, and I honor his memory to this day.
But what
drives me hopping mad is the way so many undeservedly-entitled dog-owners
assign the respected “Service Dog” designation to any old undistinguished cur,
just so they can take it places where ordinary dogs aren’t customarily allowed.
Seriously, where do they get off?? Just because it’s easy to buy some cutesy red
dog vest online that says “Service”, that doesn’t mean you can bring your
hideous Patagonian Poop-Yap into a restaurant where I’m eating! Bloody outrageous,
I say. Especially repugnant are these teacup-sized little horrors who are lovingly
referred to as “Therapy Dogs”... gimme an effin’ break. Their owners need
therapy, all right, LOTS of it, but they ain’t gettin’ it from some misbegotten
mutt.
The worst
part of all this is that by co-opting a title that rightfully belongs to the highly-trained
GENUINE service dogs , these canine frauds diminish the respect level that the
others have rightfully earned... and I think that’s just plain wrong.
Nonetheless,
it bears pointing out that, as is always the case, the fault here lies entirely
with the humans, not the animals. Whatever else they may be, like them or not, dogs
–and all other animals– are permanently, unassailably innocent.
Uh-oh, I
better shut up now. My Therapy Cat, Xena, is fixing me with a baleful glare that
says, “Dammit, are you scribbling away in that idiotic blog again??)
Until next
time, take care, have a good’un.
Lannie Woulff
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