Dog Humiliated...from the Onion

hilarious!

http://www.theonion.com/content/news/dog_humiliated_in_front_of_entire?utm_source=a-section

(thanks for sending this Tom!)

Hurricane Defeats Heatstroke

When they talk about all the pets that died in Hurricane Katrina, I wonder how many of those passed on not in the brunt of the storm but in the hellish doldrums before? When I googled "heat," "dogs," and "diarrhea" earlier this week, I was somewhat surprised to retrieve dozens of articles on doggie heatstroke. It turns out that this hot, humid hell we've been inhabiting for the last week and a half is as dangerous for short-nosed dogs as for old people. The op-eds told me that the situation required immediate attention. The 4 plastic bags I was carrying on each walk to clean up Myla's unsolidified sidewalk samples spoke much louder.

[Picture: All sorts of heat-related explosions: Myla drinks from a fire-hydrant-turned-fountain on our block]

At first I blamed the pork chop. Myla and I shared this most amazing urban moment in Prospect Park as I let the dog off leash to fetch the ball. We were simultaneously distracted: I by a huge Peregrine falcon landing on the branch above my head; Myla by the delicious remnants of a BBQ. It took me 15 minutes to get her back on lead (the precise amount of time it took to gnaw her bone into nothingness). She walked home, between bathroom breaks, with a swagger. But after 2 days of 90 degree weather, even with ice packs and fans applied as close as possible, the shit truly hit the fan. Unable to cool herself off at 2 in the morning, the poor girl lost control and exploded all over our carpet.

After a visit to our neighborhood vet, the installation of an AC unit, and a couple crazy thunderstorms courtesy of Hurricane Oscar, I'm happy to report that we are no longer "hotter than shit." My 2 am walks to weather Myla's movements have come to a close, replaced by a lovely midnight stroll before bed. An enthusiastic thumbs up to Resolve carpet cleaner, as well, without which our world would not be the same.

Knock Out: Boxer gives woman a black eye

Sunday, August 17, 2:48 am, Union street

There's nothing like waking up for Sunday Brunch with a black eye. The only thing better is telling people that you got it from your dog, the Boxer, whose face you fell into at 3 o'clock in the morning.

See, everyone's heard that people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. And everyone (trust me, I've heard them all) tells you that people in small New York City apartments shouldn't own big dogs. But the reasons they cite (exercise, busy schedules, excessive summer heat) usually preclude your dog suddenly becoming a hazardous object.

Having moved close to a giant park, invested in an oval-oscillating fan (not just side-to-side, but up-and-down), and added ice cubes to Myla's water bowl, I've so far managed to maintain Big-Dog-Big-City Harmony. The problem has come with the position of the animal's large, sprawled body relative to this particular woman's slightly-unsteady, heel-clad feet. When you collide, which is inevitable, there's nowhere to fall but into an exposed-brick wall or onto them (perhaps being so lucky as to smash your eyebrow straight into their knuckle head).

Small Town USA: Farmer's Markets and Friends

Your typical Park Slope Saturday morning streetside: baby strollers jostling for position on the sidewalk, dogs stopping for each sprig of green grown up through the concrete. The heat and humidity are still bearable. Myla and her owner are on their way to the off-leash extravaganza that occurs every morning before 9am at the incredibly long meadow that constitutes Long Meadow in Prospect Park.

On the two and a half block walk to the park, Myla meets 19 other leashed dogs. She allows all of them to sniff her superior butt with only the occasional growl. 19/19. Amazing.

At the park, Myla retrieves her tennis ball repeatedly, standing with the thing wedged part-way into her jowly mouth as she surveys the scene around her with queenly stature. The entire expanse of meadow--bigger than a football field--is riddled with dogs. Big dogs, fluffy dogs, rat dogs that the grass nearly swallows and Myla ignores them all, not exactly coming when her owner calls her, but racing up when the woman starts to move in another direction. They have the dance down. We'll call it 72/72.

Woman and dog stop for water at the Grand Army Plaza entrance to the park, where the weekly farmer's market is in full swing. Without missing a beat, Myla moves her weight to her hind legs and stands up, positioning her paws on the edge of the drinking fountain. She looks expectantly at her owner. Slobber drools from her jowls down into the bowl. Another dog approaches. Myla bristles. Myla stares at the dingo dog, about half her 69 pounds. Myla lunges at the dog and the owners pull on their leashes and look up at one another. Turns out they know each other: the victim's owner is the cousin of one of the aggressor's owner's bestfriends back in the Bay Area. Small world. Since no hard feelings, 1/1.

Myla pants patiently where she's tied in the shade as her owner shops for squash, blueberry scones, green beans, baguette, eggplant, onions, peaches and plums.

Curb the Bitch!

8.11.09, 4:14 pm, President street, Park Slope, Brooklyn

Welcome to Brooklyn!

Fawn-colored Boxer in blue harness leads young female owner to a fresh pee stain on the low, ivy-covered wall in front of a Park Slope brownstone between 7th and 8th avenues. The dog sniffs with dignified curiosity, but makes no move to claim the territory--this was obviously a bigger dog's legacy.

A pair of gray-haired old females approach on the sidewalk. Their pruned faces resemble those of the California Raisinettes after hearing news that the ad campaign'd been cut. Their gray hair stands on end, an obvious result of ubiquitous amounts of hairspray. As the pair pass, the old maid nearest the dog owner aims her lip-sticked, snarl of a mouth at the young female and says loudly,

"I just do not understand why people do not curb their dogs."

The young female resists all urges to unclip her dog and hand the silent old female the leash to attach to her companion. At present, though, there are no reports of bitches being curbed.