Going to the dogs...

What is going on with people and their dogs?

Growing up in Brooklyn, it seemed everyone had a dog.  In my household we had Muggsey, a scrappy terrier mix who loved ketchup on anything and a slurp of beer or two on a hot summer's day.  He palled around with Casey, a lovable Irish Setter owned by our next door neighbors, Fran and Frank.  These two compatible canines would run up and down the driveway chasing each other around until Muggsey, the more agile of the two, would jump quickly over the fence that separated the vegetable garden from the rest of the yard.  Casey, bless his heart, could not figure out how to get over the fence, and he would look over it with a mournful expression until his more agile pet pal dained to jump over it again and continue the dog run fun going until they were exhausted.

My Connecticut cousins always had dogs of one type or another.  I particularly remember Amber, a lovable cuddly clump of golden yellow fur who looked after everyone at the car dealership owned by my cousins.  And the Jersey side of the family are well represented by a series of dogs from Whippets to Bull Dogs ( affectionately known as  Marty and Feldman) who entertained us all during our Thanksgiving dinners, being so patient with my grandson, Ian, who was delighted to find a pet in his size range.

My late husband's immediate family were cat people, but others had dogs that were memorable in their own right.  Bates belonged to Aunt Eleanor.  When I met him he was quite old and toothless. It seems he had all of his teeth removed by his vet; no, I don't remember why, but am sure someone out there will tell me.  His long, flat dog tongue hung out the side of his mouth like a wet, limp leather bookmark. His food had to be specially prepared, and he was looked over ferociously by a younger female dog named Jenny.

Jenny was relentless.  If she loved you, she loved you unconditionally.  If she did not, you knew it right away. When first we met I was not on her "A" list. It wasn't until I was actually married into the family that she finally accepted...rather tolerated my presence, but she was crazy for my husband.

My children had a dog, Buster, who we adopted from a school colleague of mine.  Buster had a gentle manner, and he adored Tara.  He would sit and put his head in her lap.  We were all sad when his health began to fail, and we had to "put him to sleep".

Now all of the dogs I have known have been dearly loved and carefully cared for by their owners.  But, I must say, that recent pet events have me scratching my head about the motives of owners.

A tattoo artist(?) in Brooklyn tattooed his wife's initials and a heart onto his sedated dog who had undergone surgery.  the artist(?) was soon sacked by his employer, a local tattoo parlor after said artist(?) bragged about his exploits on Facebook with a photo of said "uber-cool"  tattooed pooch.  Wouldn't you think that is animal cruelty?

This morning while at the gym, I got to watch the Queen Latifa Show...I don't make the channel choice; that is up to management.  In one segment today there was a women who does competitive dog grooming.  Not sure what that would look like?  Take a gander here:

What in the name of all that is good would possess anyone to do this to an animal?  Am I the only person in America who thinks this is just crazy?  I hope not.