If you were a dog, what kind would you be? I can’t say I’ve thought about it a lot myself, but it is an interesting, possibly introspective question considering the theory that many dog owners pick a breed that looks or perhaps acts like themselves. There’s the Bulldog guy with the similar face, the blonde socialite with a pair of Afghan Hounds trailing alongside, and the paranoid homeowner with a Doberman Pinscher. You get the “picture”. I myself have owned four different dogs during my 70 years, although only one of them came home because of my choosing. Budgie, the German Shepherd, and Daisy, the mutt, were my parents’ choices, and Wiggles, the irrepressible Pomeranian was Sue’s or perhaps 8-year-old Nick’s pick. Nick was so proud of Wiggles that we let him enter her in a dog contest a’ la the movie “Best in Show”. It was immediately apparent however, that Wiggles was no match for the better bred and coiffured competition. Thankfully though, the show was not well attended and there was a category – “home breed” – where no dog was entered. Nick never knew when he was walking Wiggles in front of the judges that he was guaranteed a blue ribbon! Wiggles didn’t seem to care much though, and seemed more interested in sniffing the competition’s crotches than observing their ear placement.
The dog I picked for myself over 35 years ago is at the top of the page – a Golden Retriever, appropriately named, Honey. It would be pretentious to say that I resembled Honey in any way, but nonetheless she was the puppy I chose. Honey turned out to be a little bit of a tramp, so maybe there’s the connection. Back in the freewheeling ‘80s when society had not even contemplated poop scooping and blue pick-up bags, Honey would roam the neighborhood, depositing wherever she pleased, but bringing things back home in return. There was always a fresh assortment of rocks on the front porch, and stale loaves of bread from neighborhood garbage cans. Like the Nathan’s hot dog eating champion, Joey Chestnut, who last July 4th downed 61 hot dogs to win the Coney Island championship, Honey once swallowed four frozen swordfish steaks placed innocently on the kitchen counter. One minute they were there; five minutes later there was nary a trace. Like I say, sort of a tramp. But a loveable one and a loving one, that’s for sure. If you’re into love, and not so much concerned about a fresh fish dinner, I’d recommend a Golden Retriever. If otherwise, I’m sure you’re happy with the mutt in your own “dog” house. Arf, Arf. Sometimes when life seems to be going to the dogs, it’s not necessarily a bad thing. Continue Reading »