This morning I was off to Pilates class on my bike. Around 30 dogs were barking in the park, their people engaged in the Yoga child’s pose, which is supposed to be relaxing.
The sign said Doga Yoga. Yes, it’s all about the woof-woofs.
What the hell is going on, I wondered, passing by all the noisy creatures. Times have changed. I used to like dogs as much as the next person. When my kids were growing up we had two successive Samoyeds, 80-lb. fluffy white dogs with the Christmas spirit in their hearts, as the breed book announced. Once, our dog — whose name was Friend — was locked up in the Bar Harbor prison after an older woman reported seeing a polar bear on her front lawn.
These days, the police would probably haul a person in for questioning who doesn’t go ga-ga over dogs.
These days, people sometimes let their enormous dogs or their little yappy ones run free on hiking trails, while they smile and assure you that their dog (or pack of two or three) won’t hurt you, regardless of how uncomfortable you are.
Doggie psychologists, health insurance agents, dentists, pooper scooper merchants and even doggie spas cater to America’s top pets. Geez, why can’t we offer the same amenities to the homeless, mentally ill, poverty sticken, and maybe the children of dog owners? But let’s not get too wild and crazy.