“My dog is smarter than your honor student.” What is your immediate reaction to this bumper sticker proclamation? Are you surprised, insulted, confused, or are you, at this very moment laughing and nodding your head in agreement? If you are doing the latter, then it is my guess that you, dear reader, are part of the new breed of dog lover.
A new breed, you ask? Allow me to explain. A fresh generation of people are cropping up who think of their dogs as more than just pets. These lucky “companion animals” are treated as members of the family, fed special diets, have their own outfits, receive state of the art medical attention (my friend’s mother put their dog on dialysis) and are often shopped for at special dog boutiques. They are being treated more like people than ever before.
Even the names are different. Think back to the “Leave it to Beaver” era and you’ll most likely be reminded of names like Spot, Lady, Duke, King, Princess, Fido and the like. In contrast, today’s dogs are more frequently assigned traditionally people names like Jenny, Mr. Anderson, Frannie, and Madison.
My beagle, Roscoe, eats an almost entirely organic diet, has scented baths from the oh so fabulous dog boutique “Bark n’ Roll” on Free Street, owns coordinating belongings (his color scheme is plaid), will soon be attending doggie day care and has a safety-harness for the car. What could be the potential downside? Well, just keep reading.
“So your dog has a therapist?” my friend Eva giggled over the phone.
“No,” I replied. “She’s a behavioral specialist.”
“Ok, so you pay her by the hour and have phone consultations. I’m pretty sure your dog has a therapist.”
“The vet recommended her, you know.” My ruffled defense only prompted more laughter.
For the record, it wasn’t as though I had simply decided that Roscoe would benefit from unearthing subconscious puppy-hood trauma. We had been having a bit of a bathroom issue with him. It wasn’t that he could not or would not go, but that he could not or would not go outside and had taken instead to waiting until we had left for work/school to, um, “do his business.” A lot of business, let me tell you, especially when you take his size into consideration. It got to the point that he would hold it in, hoard it, I tell you, until we left so that he could make his point. And we received the message, loud and clear (well, not loud so much as rank and not clear so much as…well, you get the picture).
The specialist (not therapist, thankyouverymuch) suggested that we, or me actually, were violating the pack hierarchy that dogs instinctually follow. Apparently, by constantly getting down to his level (and by level I mean laying on the floor cuddling and singing to him, the latter of which I’m sure was the most damaging), allowing him on all of our furniture with us and being shamefully inconsistent with commands, I was making him insecure, therefore creating attachment issues that were, uh, expressed when we left.
It became abundantly clear that I was, as my fianc? Matt liked to point out, treating Roscoe the way I would want to be treated if I were a dog. No argument there. It seemed completely logical to me that if I were to provide the best atmosphere for my beloved pooch, I would have to put myself in his, er, paws. This was the fundamental flaw in my plan. Certainly the scented baths, color coordination, attention and love were within healthy, (possibly obsessive) bounds, my inability to recognize my Dog as a dog wasn’t. So, based on the specialist’s suggestions, Roscoe is now only allowed on one chair, I no longer get down to his eye level and if I tell him to stay, I stick with it. As for the singing part, I plead the fifth.
In the spirit of celebrating the new breed that is gaining momentum in the mainstream, I formulated a checklist of behaviors that is consistent with this new group.
1. Do you celebrate your dog’s birthday?
2. Do your dog’s belongings have a color scheme?
3. Do you take your dog to doggie daycare?
4. Do you alter/add things to your dog’s food because “they like it better this way?”
5. Do you refer to yourself as “mommy” or “daddy?”
6. Is your dog’s bed a closer replica of the Westin ‘Heavenly Bed’ than your own?
If you answered yes to any of these questions, then your dog is one lucky, ah, dog.