The Love of a Dog

One of the places my wife, Helen, and I like to hang out in Bangkok once in a while is “Crystal Design Square” (CDC).  It’s a sort of half park/half shopping area/half flea market.  One reason we like to go there is that (on weekends) our friends from Kiss Me! Barbecue serve their scrumptious barbecue kebabs, ribs, and other delectables.

We’ll shop a bit, gorge ourselves on ribs, walk around, and then sit in front of our favorite little cubicle sized coffee shop called, “Okay Okay Cafe” and watch the people go by.

And their dogs…

It’s popular for people to take their dogs to CDC to walk around “socializing” and other visitors are treated to a wide variety of canine breeds and a broad spectrum of human IQ’s.

We were amused when we started seeing humans pushing what at first appeared to be baby carriages but learned that the passengers were actually dogs. On closer examination, we learned that these conveyances are not merely converted or adapted baby carriages as one might think but are actually purpose built genuine no-kidding DOG CARRIAGES.

And not for paraplegic Dachshunds or nursing mother dogs with eight puppies either, as one might think, but for what are apparently otherwise healthy adult dogs being taken for a “walk” by their humans.

After you’ve seen this spectacle multiple times on the same day, you begin to wonder about your fellow man.

In the immortal words of Ron Popeil, “But wait!  There’s more!”

What do you say to the human walking an Alaskan Malemute wearing what appears to be a royal blue wool sweater in 95 degree Bangkok heat?  Or on the same day, a snow white Samoyd wearing a similar sweater in plaid?  

You know.  In case they get cold…  

In Bangkok…

Me?  I was simply too proud of them to speak.

The day we heard the huffing and puffing of a pack of panting pugs before we saw them coming was really memorable.  They were all wearing sweaters too and panting loudly because they were so hot.  One of the humans leading a panting pug that must have been 100 pounds (the dog!) got tangled up in the leash and before the dance was over, one of the dog’s front paws was resting on her canvas shoe covered foot.

Now, to be clear, this woman was no more trapped under the weight of this dog than Mean Joe Green would be by a Toy Poodle standing on HIS foot.  

Nonetheless, this woman stood there for a full three minutes BEGGING this dog to get off her foot.

It was as if she really believed she was powerless to free herself.

Or thought the dog was an elephant…

“Please get your foot off me.”

“Oh come on!  Please remove your foot!”

“Darling, please stop stepping on my foot.”

And so forth until the Pug’s olfactory senses were distracted by the tempting effluvia of a very girlie white poodle walking by with an equally girlie transvestite at the other end of the leash.

And she was free…

At that point we felt this dog-loving variation on the human species needed a name and we were best qualified to provide it.  I considered something easily acronym-ized like, “CLIC” being the acronym for “Canine Love-Induced Cretinism” but Helen was having enough trouble with “canine” and wasn’t even willing to give “cretinism” a try so finally we settled on her idea which was, “Dog Idiots.”

Bill Cosby once said, “I told you that story to tell you this one.”

As I went about my business today, Helen went a little bit “up country” with a friend to “make merit” (a Buddist Custom) whereby they bring food to Monks and make other donations to score points in the planetary competition to improve one’s next life by doing good in the present one.  This friend, whom I’ll call “Miss B,”  has not an unkind bone in her body but can be a bit, to put it kindly, “detail oriented” (as opposed to “fastidious and precise”).

Anyway, Miss B lives in a house on the outskirts of Bangkok with two elderly domestic servants we’ll call “Granny” and “Gramps” and her dog we’ll call (to protect the truly innocent), “Rover.”

After the field trip to the Temple upcountry, they returned to Miss B’s house and Helen almost immediately noticed that Rover was limping.  She related the following conversation between her and the residents of Miss B’s compound.

“B, why is Rover limping?”

(B in raised voice) “Granny, did you massage Rover’s leg too long again?  He’s limping!”

“No Miss B.  Just the two hours you told me to.”

Helen is incredulous:  “Massaging the DOG’s legs?”

“Yes.  He doesn’t get enough calcium so his muscles are sore.”

(Helen, noticing the dog’s dish is filled with what looks like boiled rice)  “B, why don’t you feed Rover real DOG FOOD?  It has calcium and all the other minerals he needs for healthy muscles.”

“He’s old so we have to give him boiled rice because it’s easy to digest.  Otherwise he’ll get sick.”

Gramps walks over to the dog, places his hand on the dogs forehead for a few moments and then says, “Miss B, don’t worry.  Rover doesn’t have a fever.”

“Well, it might rain soon so take him inside to sleep with you for tonight so he doesn’t catch a cold.”

It appears that the old principle of mob mentality whereby the total IQ of a mob actually gets smaller with an increase in the size of the mob also applies to small groups of dog idiots.

You can’t make up this stuff…