Man's Only Friend

LOST BULLDOG - "OSCAR"
REWARD - $1000 the sign says. NO QUESTIONS ASKED!


The flyer has been posted in my parking garage for a few days now, but I just recently got around to reading it.

"Wow," I said to my neighbor, "one thousand dollars is a lot of money to pay for a dog."

"Those dogs are expensive," he explained. "And how much would you pay for a member of your family..."

My neighbor rambled on and on about the probable monetary and sentimental values of this bulldog, but I tuned him out immediately after he mentioned "dog" and "family" in the same sentence. So, neighbor, in case you are reading, let me finish our conversation:

News Flash: It's a dog.

My corner of Dallas is heavily populated by the Young Urban Professional, a demographic with whom the pooch is very popular. Man's best friend is also held in very high esteem among another neighbor of mine, the Dual Income No Kids.

YUPs and DINKs are not inherently flawed people. They advance our civilization in many ways (none currently come to mind, but I'm sure those ways do exist). It just seems that whenever I'm relaxing on the patio at the West Village Starbucks, I always end up being salivarily accosted by a loosely-leashed mongrel with an Hermes collar that happens to cost more than my monthly car payment.

"Oh, he's just being friendly," the YUPs and DINKs assure me, as I freeze in terror and search the premises for a Wet-Vac with which to clean my newly-slobbered NewBalances.

"If I were that friendly," I think to myself, "I'd end up on the receiving end of a female backhand; or on the phone with Jim Adler, brainstorming unscrupulous ways to beat the sexual harassment rap I'd no doubt be facing."

C.W., one of my best friends in the whole world, absolutely loves dogs. Throughout his life, he has spent oodles of time and money on the acquisition and upkeep of his dogs. I love this man like a brother, and in no way does his canine infatuation ever affect our friendship.

In spite of his fondness for fleabags, I am able to continue loving CW not only because he shares my passion for 1980's hair bands and the San Antonio Spurs, but also because he is capable of holding a relatively enlightened conversation with other humans, friends and strangers alike. CW contributes to our society. In short, CW has social skills.

The same cannot be said for thousands of YUPs and DINKs in Dallas for whom the term "dog" is synonymous with "only interaction with another living creature I ever experience."

"You don't understand," they say, "my dog has been my best friend for nine years."

Well, there's a good reason why your dog has been your best (and more than likely, only) friend for the past decade, and it might have something to do with the entire human race growing tired of you. If you'd only had something to talk about besides your boring job or your BMW or your ski trip, perhaps every other living human soul on the planet would not have given up on you long ago.

The thing about most people is: we're attracted to certain redeeming social qualities. Among these are 1. a personality, and 2. the ability to maintain eye contact with another person and hold their attention for more than five seconds.

When a member of the animal kingdom occupies the front seat of your car more often than a human does, you make it hard for the rest of the world to assume you possess either of these two traits.

"No matter how bad things get," they argue, "Fido will always love and accept me. He's there for me at the end of the day, no matter what."

If a tick-infested animal (animal!) that licks his own anus and eats his own turds is the only one who loves and accepts you, it may be time for that Self Evaluation you've been putting off (or- it may be time for that bullet in the head).

But who am I to judge?? Maybe I'm missing something... Maybe there's something to be said for a wet, cold tongue waking you at 4:45 every morning (it's more tongue than I ever get!).
And maybe there's some value in having your entire wardrobe covered with a malodorous animal's fur (unlimited access to tapestry supplies, if you ever get that old loom up and running).


Not too long ago, because I'm a horrible friend, I decided to put CW to the test.
Smack dab in the middle of the NBA Playoffs, while our revered Spurs were staving off elimination against the Detroit Pistons, when CW's beloved dog Gordo was not on the top of his priority list, when I knew CW would be most vulnerable, I broadsided him:

"If you had to pick between the Spurs winning the NBA Championship and Gordo's life," I asked, "which would you choose?"

He hesitated.

He sighed.

He paused.

CW could not betray his Spurs. He could not betray his childhood team. He wanted a championship more than anything else in the world.... But he loved Gordo.

"Dude, that's not fair," he argued. "Wait until after the playoffs to ask me that."

Now that's a man with his life in order: Pets are temporary... championships are forever!


Recently, CW surrendered his dearest Gordo to an ex, in order to avoid a protracted and potentially messy custody battle. His life, predictably, moved on.

The Spurs won the NBA title this past June, and nobody--NOBODY!--can ever take that from him.

I told you so.