A Message From Bobama

Bo's Official White House Picture

Portuguese Water Dog, and presidential First Dog, Bobama, recently submitted an article to The New York Times reflecting on his first 100 days in office.

A clever idea, but not a clever execution. Despite a break to chase a ball, Bo assumes a relatively serious tone. Firstly, Bo is a puppy; I highly doubt his syntax would be that advanced and that he would talk about, let alone recognize, his inferiority in comparison to other White House hounds. Secondly, Bo is a ridiculous animal - fluffy, scruffy, hair over eyes, jumpy, playful, silly. Maybe a more austere dog, perhaps a Schnauzer or an Airedale, would make this speech, but certainly not a dog that trips the President and bites interviewer's microphones.

Bo is a fun dude; I see him closer to keg-standing frat boy than suit-wearing Wharton grad. It's sort of a Prince Harry vs. Prince William thing. Or a Bush twin vs. Chelsea thing. Or a creative writer vs. a journalist thing - which is why they should have had someone a tad more imaginative and less newsy write this piece... like, maybe, me for example. If you know someone at the Times, let them know I am available... very available.

Birth Control for Bingo?

From Osocio

I recently saw an article regarding oral contraception for animals. Yes, Texas A&M wants to put some poochies on the pill. Well, not exactly but the implications of their research will likely lead to birth control pills for domestic animals.

The researchers' initial intentions were to make a pill that would control pesty populations of wild pigs and coyotes that often disturb or cause financial ruin for land owners. But, here's the twist, in order for the pill to work, the animals would have to take it at specific times each day and point in the menstrual cycle - like humans. How in the hell is this going to work with wild animals? Sure, you can grind the pill into the feed, but what's to say the wild pig or coyote will eat the feed in the first place? And what are the chances they will eat it in the correct time range? I'm guessing these questions have come up and they have some answers? If not, this seems like an excuse to get funding so they can eventually market the pill to domestic pet owners.

But it seems to me that using the pill on domestic animals has little positives anyway. I mean, you save money initially by not having to get the animal spayed, but long-term I'd guess you lose out. Plus, as mentioned in the article, Dogs have particularly complicated cycles, making timing even more important. Most women I know can't remember to take their own pill every day at a given time; I doubt they'd be dillegent with their shiba inu.

If this is an attempt to appeal to pet owners who, for cultural or religious reasons, do not support pet sterilization, I doubt those same owners would condone birth control, probably another way in their eyes of "playing God."

Most importantly, if you give your doggie the pill as oppossed to spaying, the dog will still get her period. I don't know about you, but I have no desire to clean up blotches of menstruated blood all over my apartment. Think about bringing a guy or gal home to that. Unless it is from a sweet lip nibble, blood in the apartment is generally frowned upon.

On a semi-related side note: I saw a kid throwing a tantrum at Kinkos this morning and it made me want to get spayed.

Fiefel Goes Downtown towards Colontown

Image from Windows to the Universe

Last week Scout ate a dead mouse; she swallowed it in one big gulp. Found on the side of the street during a walk, she picked up the flattened carcus. Unwilling to reach into her mouth and pull the mouse out, I pryed her jaw open, turned her upside down and hoped it would just fall out. It did not.

At first I figured, oh well, I'm sure she's eaten worse crap that I haven't known about. But then I realized 1) She is a ten pound dog and ate a one pound mouse, 2) The flattened mouse had clearly been there a while and therefore 3) It was probably diseased. I called the vet to confirm this line of thinking and they informed me that yes, the mouse needed to come out of the Scout's belly. Luckily, they said she'd probably do this on her own.

When two hours passed and no mouse puke had ocurred, I called the vet back. They said to give her hydrogen peroxide to make her throw up. When she wouldn't simply drink the poison (figured I'd try)I decided a turkey baster would be the best method. But Scout is a fast little mo-fo and she can fit in places that even I, almost a legal midget, cannot even attempt.

I spent about half an hour chasing her around with the baster and seemed to have more on my shirt than in her mouth. Then, I waited for her to vomit.

She didn't.

They told me to give her more. Repeat baster chase. Repeat no vomit.

Scout was pissed at me and looked miserable from the hydrogen peroxide tummy ache but all my efforts produced no mouse. I brought her in to the vet. After an exam, the vet technician began to tell me my options. About 30 seconds into the speech, Scout finally puked up the mouse... on the technician's foot.

The sight of the mouse foot on the technicians foot, made me want to drink some hydrogen peroxide myself. When she grabbed a paper towel and picked the partially digested body up to eye level, I sincerely wished for momentary blindness. Anyone know a doctor that can Eternal Sunshine this memory away like Tom Wilkinson did for Jim Carey?

World's Ugliest Dog

Image Copyright Grace Chon/Shine Pet Photos

For the first time in seven years, the winner of The World's Ugliest Dog Competition is not a Chinese Crested. You've surely seen pictures of last year's winner, Elwood, a mohawked and bug-eyed Crested with a particularly large wagging tongue.

The 2009 crown went to Pabst, a rescue named for his "bitter beer face." He's a Boxer mix with a particularly large underbite and sweet disposition. He swept all three categories - Mutt, Pedigree(not sure why he could enter this one), World's Ugliest - taking home $1,600 in prize money along with some bling collars, leashes and bowls.

While Pabst got his jiggy on, judge and former Lassie star, Jon Provost signed his just-released memoir,Timmy's in the Well, which I will not link to because I am so sick of D-list celebrities with no writing talent whatsoever publishing and making tons of money off of crap books while us real writers get paid $2 to post an article on a site no one even knows exists.

Will someone please pay me more than $2 to write for them?

A Rescue Mission

Image from Boston.com

I was very drunk Saturday night. Arriving home at 3am, I took Scout for a walk. We turned a corner and there was what looked like a large stray dog, a Shepherd mix I guessed, in the street. Since I recently chased a small stray through the streets of South Central and failed to catch him, I was extra determined to save this dog.

Scout spotted the dog and started barking, causing him to run. I made kissy noises, whistled and talked/slurred sweetly as we chased the abnormally fast dog. Several blocks later, I lost him. I called my friend Natasha and voiced my concern; I asked her to drive over and scan the neighborhood with me to find him. She asked me what the dog looked like. I described it as grayish brown, about 40 pounds with large ears and a bushier than average tail.

I'm not sure if Natasha pointed it out or I came to the realization upon description, but it was evident that I was chasing a Coyote. In my drunken state, I found this hysterical and laughed the entire way back to my apartment.

When I recalled the coyote incident at 7pm the following day, I thought it must have been a dream. I recounted the tale with Natasha present; she told me my "dream" had actually ocurred.

I chased a coyote. I am totally badass.

Absolutely Not Normal

Image from Dog Training Works

Remember the Tiger Woman who fed her dog fruits and vegetables then wondered why the dog pooped so much? Well, there was an interesting incident with her at the park this weekend.

Tiger treats her dog, Bijon, who is in fact a Bijon, like a child - a porcelin child that farts honeysuckle and speaks six romance languages. She brings the severely ADHD Bijon everywhere, toting a diaper bag filled with toys, wipies, sweaters, snacks and anything else the dog may need given several unlikely situations.

Bijon was running a muck when he yelped and began to limp. Anyone who has a dog, would tell you this happens from time to time and is usually nothing to worry about. As soon as little Bijon yelped, Tiger ran over with her doggie med kit but was crying too hard to check if Bijon was injured. She wanted to rush the pup to the emergency vet but the park peeps advised her to let him try to simply walk it off, which Bijon did within ten steps. Tiger slowly began to recover.

About half an hour later, we were seated on the bench chatting when Tiger had a question: "Is it normal for Bijon to ejaculate blood?" Come again? No, actually do not cum again if it is going to be bloody. We gave a definitive "no" and informed her that neutered dogs should not be ejaculating at all, let alone blood. When asked how long this had been going on she replied, "Oh, about 6, maybe 9 months." What??? Why hadn't she taken this dog to the vet? I'm pretty sure I would have been in the office within five minutes of the first blood-filled squirt. What type of person freaks out over a slightly tweaked leg but doesn't take her dog to the vet when he ejaculates blood?

I'm starting to think mandatory sterilization is a good thing. This lady should not be permitted to have children, watch children, be around children...maybe even look at children.

Thud in the Night

Image from The Daily WTF

At 4am this morning, Dave and I were awoken by a thud. Scout had fallen off the bed. She looked very confused for a good ten seconds on the floor. Then she just popped up and wanted back on the bed. She was asleep and dream running in seconds.

Dave laughed himself back to sleep while I contemplated all the injuries she may have sustained in the fall - the apple doesn't fall far from the neurotic Jewish mother tree.

Our Duty is Your Doodie - Literally

Why is Barbie's dog eating the poop?
Image from MentalFloss

As the economy is dying, a new business is booming - pet waste removal. Yes, just as it sounds, these companies come to your home and pick up the poop from your yard. Costing about $100-150/month, poop pioneers can expect to make anywhere from $30,000 as a solo scooper into the multi millions as a chain owner.

This is absurd on many levels. First of all, if you have a gardener, they will do this for no additional charge. Second, it would take you ten minutes, once a week to bend the fuck over and pick the shit up yourself - turn off The Real Housewives of Who Gives a Shit and get off the couch for some excrement exercise. And lastly, defecation duty is part of being a pet owner - would you pay someone to change your kid's diapers? Wait, that's called a nanny.

The pet-waste-removal specialists advertise that they are not a service of convenience but one of environmental and health necessity. What if the poop gets in the drinking water? What if your child comes into contact with puppy parasites? What if we make up bogus reasons for you to justify use of our worthless service?

Note: This post is angry due to alcoholic intake both prior to, and during, writing. Maybe I'm just bitter because high school drop outs are making $20/hour picking up a little feces while I have a Masters degree and am making $0/hour slaving away at my keyboard. Would you click on my damn ads people! Throw me a freakin bone here...but not a rawhide bone...because that makes Scout poop more...and lord knows, I am not turning off Real Housewives of Blow My Face Off to walk the little fucker.

Scout is a Nudnick

Image from Cafepress

For those of you who don't have a Jewish grandmother, a nudnick is an inconsiderate pest. The past few days, Scout has woken me up early via kiss/paw attack. It is impossible to sleep through constant paws to the face and aggressive lip licks; something she never does to Dave but reserves solely for me.

I eventually give in, get up and take her for a walk followed by breakfast. Then, she gets back in bed with Dave and goes back to sleep, cuddling up against him sweetly. Since I am already too awake to go back to bed, I am forced to groggily face the day while the nudnick goes back to her beauty rest.

As this behavoir increases, I think my treat-giving will decrease - I'm hoping, but doubting, she makes the connection.

Seriously? Dog Poop DNA?

Image from Webshots

If you ever take a walk in Los Angeles - something most Angelinos don't do - it's impossible not to notice several "pick up after your dog" signs. In addition to the standard city-issued signs, residents often put handwritten warnings on trees as well. Despite this, excrement inevitably ends up on sidewalks and lawns across the city. And apparently across the world.

This past fall, Petah Tikvah, a suburb of Tel Aviv, took things into their own hands by starting a program that uses DNA technology to match dog poop to dog owner. Those who do not clean up will be fined; those who do and deposit the doodie in specially marked bins will be rewarded with dog food coupons and toys.

OK, not a bad idea, but how in the heck are they going to get the DNA in the first place? As it turns out, they don't really have a plan - they expect people to voluntarily bring their dog to the vet for a DNA swab which the owner can then send to a city lab. That's like asking known criminals to go to the police station and leave some hair, fingerprints and semen. It all seems a bit whimsical. And passing a law that you must give the city your dog's DNA feels too Gattaca and like something that would only happen in China.

Nevertheless, it appears that a small Bavarian town, has indeed decided to make the doggie DNA sample mandatory. The best part: they are going to employ someone to "collect errant canine ordure and match it with the databank – or put out an alert for a stray that must be stopped." Maybe if the Canine Concierge gig doesn't pan out I'll just head to Germany. Geben Sie mir Bratwurst!

New Job Idea - W Hotel Dog Concierge

Image from Zazzle UK

Since my teaching contract at USC has ended, I've been looking for part-time gigs to pay some bills while I finish up my Masters thesis. Searching every generic and industry-specific job search database, I came to the conclusion that my best option was to become a foot fetish model* - they only work a few hours each day and are well compensated, making up to $1,000 per four-hour night. Yes, I realize I would need to shower for another four hours thereafter to make my body, and more importantly, conscience, clean but I find that when you only have $3,000 to your name, money scrubs everything down real nicely.

But today I think I found a new opportunity. I read an interesting article about The W Hotel chain and how they recently became dog friendly. I'd actually call them more than friendly, they give your pooch a special bed with turn-down treats and will even bake them a special-occasion cake, if it happens to be their Bark Mitzvah..

In order to live up to their pampered-pet claims, they have a concierge dedicated to serving your pets every need. Armed with toys, poop bags, and maps of the dog parks and pet stores in the area, the concierge knows as much about dogs as Courtney Love does about drugs - which says a lot. I want to be the Courtney Love of dogs at the W Hotel in Westwood...what can I say, I dream big.

Do you think they'll make me dress up for this canine concierge position? I don't do well in business suits; I turn into a psycho-bitch - it is like when a superhero is made awesome by a costume, but the opposite cause I get very un-awesome. Maybe I can just wear sweatpants and a hat (my usual attire) since I'll be dealing with dogs all day. I am sending an email to The W right now and offering my services (given they approve the bum look). I'll let you know how it goes. In the mean time, I'd better get a pedicure...

*Search Craigslist for "Foot Fetish Model" - there seem to be a lot of people interested in masturbating to (and potentially on) your feet.

Daned if you do, Daned if you don't

I almost JIMPed my pants yesterday. An enormous Great Dane was walking down the street and a woman stopped to say hi. The Dane went straight for the crotch and backed the woman into a bush. Then the Dane pulled his head up and the chick was riding his snout! It was the best moment of my life and I'm pretty sure will remain so for some time to come.

Pet of the Week - Squirrel

Squirrel is the man - er, the dog. I met him at the park last week; his foster mom brought the little dude for some rompage. Squirrel played like a maniac with his dog pals then just chilled with the humans for some cuddle time. He loves to have his belly rubbed so much that when you say hi to him, he automatically rolls on his back and shuts his eyes in preparation for complete bliss. This picture doesn't quite do him justice - he is absolutely absurdly adorable, with a whimsical personality that charmed everyone at the park.

If you live in SoCal, check out Squirrel and other Much Love Dogs. If not, or in addition, search Petfinder to locate a Squirrel-like pup in your hood.

Does Fido Feel Regret?

Image from eHow

When we first got Scout, every time we left her alone she would find something to tear into a million pieces and scatter around the apartment. When it was an old brochure or tissues from the bathroom garbage, we weren't that upset. But when it was our journal from a trip to Israel or a sentimental favorite book, we were. And Scout knew this. She'd put her tail between her legs, pull her ears back and hide under the bed in shame.

But, did Scout actually feel conscious regret? Or was she merely giving a sign that she messed up, something perhaps just evolutionary? This is the topic of an article in this week's New York Times Science section. Recent experiments have resulted in moping coyotes, second-guessing monkeys and eye-covering tigers.

While I doubt that Scout feels human-like regret, in the sense of deep contemplation and even depression, I do think she feels something. When a dog at the park is playing too rough, the others will let him know by either recoiling and ignoring him or going at him aggressively. This generally results in the the offender slouching and withdrawing to the perimeter.

Marc Bekoff, a behavioral ecologist at The University of Colorado, noticed this same phenomena with wild coyotes, adding that if the animal did not show this regret, the others would not let him back into the group. In the wild, this would cause the animal to be left alone, therefore decreasing its chance of survival. So, even if animals do not contemplate like we do, they at least know what is right and wrong and feel some form of regret when they screw up.*

*I think cats may be the exception to this notion. Dave's parent's cat regularly shits in their sink then waits nearby and gloats when the turd has been discovered. My friend's cat routinely tears down all the curtains in her house then pisses on them. Instead of sulking or hiding, the cat actually leads my friend to the destroyed curtains, as if saying "Go out again; I dare you." Cats are some freaking pissy biatches.<sup>†

†</sup> Not Fred Holop, who was da bomb

World's Scariest Dog?

Image from GotPetsOnline.com

Could this cuddly guy actually be the most aggressive dog breed? According to a study done by The Autonomous University of Barcelona, he is indeed. Looking at 1,049 cases of aggression over 8 years, the researchers noticed that English Cocker Spaniels, like the one pictured above, were involved in the most cases followed by Rottweilers, Boxers, Yorkshire Terriers and German Shepherds.

What I found most interesting about the research is that this study, along with another by The University of Cordova, found that gold-coated English Cocker Spaniels were more aggressive than those with black or mixed-color coats. The lead researcher explained that this was because melanin shares a biochemical pathway with dopamine and other brain chemicals that determine aggression.

This got me thinking about humans and melanin. Being the dork that I am, I took several college classes in paleopathology, the study of ancient disease. I recall a professor telling us that Parkinson's Disease was related to an inability to produce a sufficient amount of dopamine. Though there has been no definitive link to race, Parkinson's is far more prevalent in Caucasians (those with less melanin) than African Americans (those with more melanin). Though the exact types of melanin in skin (eumelanin and pheomelanin) and melanin in the brain (neuromelanin) are different, I find the whole idea of skin or coat color affecting biochemistry, or rather, being linked to it, mind-boggling. This is one of the once-a-month moments when I wish I'd gone to med school instead of getting a Masters Degree in something that helps me write a blog.

Awesome "Best in Show" Clip

I love Christopher Guest and "Best in Show" is my favorite of his movies. This is not because the movie is about dogs, but because it is about people obsessed with their dogs. And while people obsessed with any one thing - Pickleball, JTT, The Weather Channel - are funny, dog obsession makes me feel better about my treatment of my own dog.

Dave thinks I am ridiculous with Scout; namely because I feel absurdly guilty leaving her, I incorporate her into as many of my daily activities as possible and I often roll around on the floor with her pretending to be a dog and exchanging kisses.

This movie proves that though ridiculous, I am not obsessed. Yes, the movie is indeed fiction, but it is completely based on reality and the exaggeration is actually pretty minimal. The following people visit the dog park on a regular basis: a woman who cooks filet mignon and rack of lamb every day for her poop-eating (literally, the dog eats turds) Wheaton Terrier; a man who gives his Beagle aromatherapy facials; an unemployed writer who dresses her Maltipoo in Burberry.

Dissing Your Dog

Just found this sketch while messing around on Hulu. I'd seen it before but never really considered it as a serious training option. Food and congratulatory excitement, the former being far preferred, are what I use with Scout. Though I can't say I've ever really trained Scout in the sense that she listens to me. Sure, she can sit, lay down, roll over, give paw, even come sometimes. But if there was say, an enticing butt to smell or squirrel to chase or poop to roll in, she'd ignore me and do whatever the hell she wanted.

The fact that she understands free will on some rudimentary dog-level makes me think she is smart; it also makes me think she is a total a-hole. Perhaps if I applied Mr.Sturtevant's techniques, she would realize her a-holeness and actually listen. It's no crueler than Caesar Milan's "Shhh"/neck jerk technique.

Alas, I won't insult the derelect doggie - mainly because I think it is unfun and anxiety-inducing to employ verbal irony upon a being that can't return it. If Scout refused to come to me and I said "Ok, I guess I'll leave and you can go back to the original family that abandoned you," I would want her to come back with "Go ahead, leave me here and go hang out with the other friends you don't have." Instead, the comeback stays in her little mutt brain, for only her to enjoy, as I sit and contemplate every terrible thing she could be thinking about me.

Our dogs see us at our most vulnerable times: naked, peeing, stuffing our face with cookie dough after we learn our "the one's" most lofty goal is to have tattoo sleeves, etc. Let's hope that evolution doesn't lead to talking dogs; they've got far too much on us.

Again?!

Image from Slate.com

I just got caught by the same neighbor, in the same spot, singing a very similar song, this time about a "tushy monster." It appears I am the one with a poopy brain (see previous post). I bet she thinks I'm schizophrenic. Maybe I should just go with it? Could be fun to see how long before I sufficiently weird this lady out and she moves out.

On a sort of related note, when I met David Sedaris a few weeks ago I pretended to have multiple personality disorder in an attempt to make it into his journal and therefore his future readings. We had to fill out sheets of paper with our name so that he could spell it correctly when signing our book. I wrote "Rufus B. VonKleinsmid: Purveyor of the Dark Arts."

When he asked who Rufus was, I said he was my other personality but couldn't make it that night because he was home sick with swine flu. David said he thought he had swine flu and upon telling me his symptoms I deduced that yes, indeed he did. Then he offered me a piece of fried bread and I went on my way.

Kids, may this be your lesson - this is what happens when you are on drugs*.

*Relatively harmless drugs that are legal in CA

The Next American Idol

When I'm happy, I sing. Since Scout makes me happy, I often sing when with her and often about her. The songs are improvised on the spot, sometimes following popular tunes but often to harmonies I just make up. The whole process is pretty unconscious and most times, if you ask me to repeat a song I sang ten minutes ago, I can't.

Dave seems to enjoy these little diddies. This has encouraged me to sing them even more and even louder. But I hadn't realized I was singing them outside our abode until this morning.

While returning from a walk and approaching my apartment I was singing a song that consisted of the following lyrics: "Poopy brain. Little Scout's got poopy in her little pinhead"* The initial "poopy" was an elongated "pooooooopy." I was looking down at my keys and failed to notice my brand new neighbor walking towards us. I belted "poopy in her little pinhead" quite enthusiastically only to look up and lock eyes with the neighbor, who was now face to face. It was too late to recover; I put my head down and hummed the rest of the melody as I quickly headed up the stairs to my apartment.

*I never said the songs were good

Can't We All Just Get Along

I spend far too much time on Cute Overload, where I came across a squirrel that hangs out with a litter of puppies. I'm moderately obsessed with inter-species love.





Why can't Jews and Arabs just cuddle up together? Their roughly century long hatred is nothing compared to the 15,000 year battle between dogs and squirrels.